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WAE  AND  PEACE 


BT 

COUNT  LYOF  N,  TOLSTOI 


PROM  THE  RUSSIAN  BY 

NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE 


AUTHORIZED  TRANSLATION 


m  FOUK  VOLUMES 


VOL.   Ill 


NEW  YORK 
THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  &   CO, 

13  ASTOR  Placb 


S-tct^v  H?.  b'^i.  '^ .  4/4.  )5 


LIBRARY 


Copyright,  1889, -bt 
T.  y.  CftowKLL  9t  Co. 


C.  J.  PETERS  &  SON, 

TYP00RAPHER6  AND  ElXCTBOTYPEBS, 
146  HIQN  STRUT,  BOCTON. 


.     ^ 


WAR   AND    PEACE. 


VOL.  III.— PART  FIRST. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  1811,  a  tremendous  armament 
and  concentration  of  forces  took  place  in  Western  Europe ; 
and  in  1812,  these  forces  —  millions  of  men,  counting  those 
who  were  concerned  in  the  transport  and  victualling  of  the 
armies  —  were  moved  inSm  west  to  east  toward  the  borders  of 
Russia,  where  the  Russian  forces  were  drawn  up  just  as  they 
had  been  the  year  before. 

On  the  24th  of  June,  the  forces  of  Western  Europe  crossed 
the  Russian  frontier,  and  war  began ;  in  other  words,  an  event 
took  place  opposed  to  human  reason  and  human  nature. 

Millions  of  men  committed  against  one  another  an  infinite 
number  of  crimes :  deception,  treachery,  robbery,  forgery, 
issues  of  false  assignats,  depredations,  incendiary  fires,  mur- 
ders, such  as  the  annals  of  all  the  courts  in  all  the  world  could 
not  equal  in  the  aggregate  of  centuries;  and  yet  which,  at 
that  period,  the  perpetrators  did  not  even  regard  as  crimes. 

What  brought  about  this  extraordinary  event  ? 

What  were  its  causes  ? 

The  historians,  with  natve  credulity,  assure  us  that  the 
causes  of  this  event  are  to  be  found  in  the  affront  offered  to 
the  Duke  of  Oldenbourg,  in  the  disregard  of  the  "  Continental 
System,"  in  Napoleon's  ambition,  Alexander's  firmness,  the 
mistakes  of  diplomatists,  and  what  not. 

Of  course,  in  that  case,  to  put  a  stop  to  the  war,  it  would 
have  merely  required  Metternich,  Rumyantsef,  or  Talleyrand, 
between  a  levee  and  a  rout,  to  have  made  a  little  effort  and 
skilfully  composed  a  state  paper;  or,  Napoleon  to  have 
written  to  Alexander:  Monsieur ,  mo7i  Fr^re,  je  consens  a 
rendre  le  duche  au  Due  d^  Oldenbourg. 

It  is  easily  understood  that  the  matter  presented  itself  in 
that  light  to  the  men  of  that  day.    It  is  easily  understood 

VOL.  3.  —  1.  1 


2  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

that  Napoleon  attributed  the  cause  of  the  war  to  England's 
intrigues  (indeed,  he  said  so  on  the  island  of  St.  Helena) ;  it 
is  easily  understood  that  the  members  of  the  British  Parliar 
ment  attributed  the  cause  of  the  war  to  Napoleon's  ambition ; 
that  Prince  Oldenbourg  considered  the  war  to  have  been 
caused  by  the  insult  which  he  had  received ;  that  the  mer- 
chants regarded  the  "  Continental  System,"  which  was  ruining 
European  trade,  as  responsible  for  it ;  that  old  veterans  and 
generals  saw  the  chief  cause  for  it  in  the  necessity  to  find 
them  something  to  do ;  the  legitimists  of  that  day,  in  the 
necessity  of  upholding  les  bon  principes  ;  and  the  diplomatists 
in  the  fact  that  they  had  not  been  skilful  enough  to  hoodwink 
Napoleon  in  regard  to  the  Russian  alliance  with  Austria  in 
1809,  or  that  it  had  been  awkward  to  draw  up  memorandum 
No.  178. 

It  is  easily  understood  that  these,  and  an  endless  number  of 
other  reasons — the  diversity  of  which  is  simply  proportioned  to 
the  infinite  diversity  of  standpoints  —  satisfied  the  men  who 
were  living  at  that  time ;  but  for  us,  Posterity,  who  are  far 
enough  removed  to  contemplate  the  magnitude  of  the  event 
from  a  wider  perspective,  and  who  seek  to  fathom  its  simple  and 
terrible  meaning,  such  reasons  appear  insufficient.  To  us  it  is 
incomprehensible  that  millions  of  Christian  men  killed  and  tor- 
tured each  other  because  Napoleon  was  ambitious,  Alexander 
firm ;  English  policy,  astute ;  and  Duke  Oldenbourg,  affronted. 
It  is  impossible  to  comprehend  what  connection  these  circum- 
stances have  with  the  fact  itself  of  murder  and  violence :  why, 
in  consequence  of  the  affront  put  upon  the  duke,  thousands 
of  men  from  the  other  end  of  Europe  should  have  killed  and 
plundered  the  people  of  the  governments  of  Smolensk  and 
Moscow,  and  have  been  killed  by  them. 

For  us.  Posterity,  who  are  not  historians,  and  not  carried 
away  by  any  far-fetched  processes  of  reasoning,  and  who  can, 
therefore,  contemplate  the  phenomena  with  unclouded  and 
healthy  vision,  the  causes  thereof  arise  before  us  in  all  their 
innumerable  quantity.  The  deeper  we  delve  into  the  investi- 
gation of  causes,  the  more  numerous  do  they  open  up  before 
us  ;  and  every  separately  considered  cause,  or  whole  series  of 
causes,  appears  equally  efficient  in  its  own  nature,  and  equally 
fallacious  by  reason  of  its  utter  insignificance  in  comparison 
with  the  prodigiousness  of  the  events  ;  and  equally  fallacious 
also  by  reason  of  its  inability,  without  the  co-operation  of  all 
the  other  causes  combined,  to  produce  the  events  in  question. 

Such  a  cause  as  the  refusal  of  the  Napoleon  to  draw  his 


tr^i?  AND  PEACE,  6 

army  back  within  the  Vistula,  and  to  restore  the  duchy  of 
Oldenbourg,  has  as  much  weight  in  this  consideration  as  the 
willingness  or  unwillingness  of  a  single  French  corporal  to 
take  part  in  the  campaign  ;  whereas,  if  he  had  refused,  and  a 
second,  and  a  third,  and  a  thousand  corporals  and  soldiers  had 
likewise  refused.  Napoleon's  army  would  have  been  so  greatly 
reduced  that  the  war  could  not  have  occurred. 

If  Napoleon  had  not  been  offended  by  the  demand  to  retire 
his  troops  beyond  the  Vistula,  and  had  not  issued  orders  for 
thein  to  give  battle,  there  would  have  been  no  war ;  but  if  all 
the  sergeants  had  refused  to  go  into  action,  there  also  would 
have  been  no  war.  And  there  would  also  have  been  no  war  if 
there  had  been  no  English  intrigues,  and  no  Prince  Oldenbourg ; 
and  if  Alexander  had  not  felt  himself  aggrieved ;  and  if  there 
had  been  no  autocratic  power  in  Russia;  and  if  there  had  been 
no  French  Revolution,  and  no  Dictatorship,  and  Empire  follow- 
ing it ;  and  nothing  of  all  that  led  up  to  the  Revolution,  and  so 
I  on.    Had  any  one  of  these  causes  been  missing,  war  could 

have  taken  place.  Consequently,  all  of  them  —  milliards 
of  causes — must  have  co-operated  to  bring  about  what  re- 
sulted. 

And,  as  a  corollary,  there  could  have  been  no  exclusive  final 
cause  for  these  events  ;  and  the  great  event  was  accomplished 
simply  because  it  had  to  be  accomplished.  And  so  millions  of 
men,  renouncing  all  their  human  feelings,  and  their  reason, 
had  to  march,  from  west  to  east,  and  kill  their  fellows  ;  exactly 
the  same  as,  several  centuries  before,  swarms  of  men  had  swept 
from  east  to  west,  likewise  killing  their  fellows. 

The  deeds  of  Napoleon  and  Alexander,  on  whose  fiat  appar- 
ently depended  this  or  that  occurrence,  were  just  as  far  from 
being  spontaneous  and  free  as  the  actions  of  the  merest  sol- 
dier taking  part  in  the  expedition,  either  as  a  conscript  or  as 
recruit.  This  was  inevitably  the  case,  because,  in  order  that 
Napoleon's  or  Alexander's  will  should  be  executed  —  they  be- 
ing apparently  the  men  on  whom  the  event  depended  —  the 
co-operation  of  countless  factors  was  requisite,  one  of  which 
failing,  the  event  could  not  have  occurred.  It  was  indispensa- 
ble that  millions  of  men,  in  whose  hands  was  really  all  the 
power,  soldiers  who  fought,  and  men  who  transported  mimi- 
tions  of  war  and  cannon,  should  consent  to  carry  out  the  will 
of  these  two  feeble  human  units ;  and  they  were  brought 
to  this  by  an  endless  number  of  complicated  and  varied 
causes. 

Fatalism  in  history  is  inevitable,  if  we  would  explain  its  il- 


4  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

logical  phenomena  (that  is  to  say,  those  events  the  reason  for 
which  is  beyond  our  comprehension).  The  more  we  strive  by 
our  reason  to  explain  these  phenomena  in  histoiy,  the  more 
illogical  and  incomprehensible  to  us  they  become. 

Every  man  lives  for  himself,  and  enjoys  sufficient  freedom 
for  the  attainment  of  his  own  personal  ends,  and  is  conscious 
in  his  whole  being  that  he  can  instantly  perform  or  refuse  to 
perform  any  action ;  but  as  soon  as  he  has  done  it,  this  action, 
accomplished  in  a  definite  period  of  time,  becomes  irrevocable 
and  forms  an  element  in  history,  in  which  it  takes  its  place 
with  a  fully  pre-ordained  and  no  longer  capricious  significance. 

Every  man  has  a  twofold  life  :  on  one  side  is  his  personal 
life,  which  is  free  in  proportion  as  its  interests  are  abstract ; 
the  other  is  life  as  an  element,  as  one  bee  in  the  swarm ;  and 
here  a  man  has  no  chance  of  disregarding  the  laws  imposed 
upon  him. 

Man  consciously  lives  for  himself ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  he 
serves  as  an  unconscious  instrument  for  the  accomplishment 
of  historical  and  social  ends.  An  action  once  accomplished 
is  fixed ;  and  when  a  man's  activity  coincides  with  others,  with 
the  millions  of  actions  of  other  men,  it  acquires  historical  sig- 
nificance. The  higher  a  man  stands  on  the  social  ladder,  the 
more  men  he  is  connected  with,  the  greater  the  influence  he 
exerts  over  others,  —  the  more  evident  is  the  predestined  and 
unavoidable  necessity  of  his  every  action. 

"  The  king's  heart  is  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord." 

The  king  is  the  slave  of  history. 

History,  that  is  to  say,  the  unconscious,  universal  life  of 
humanity,  in  the  aggregate,  every  moment  profits  by  the  life 
of  kings  for  itself,  as  an  instiximent  for  the  accomplishment  of 
its  own  ends. 

Napoleon,  though  never  before  had  it  seemed  so  evident  to 
him  as  now  in  this  year  1809,  that  it  depended  upon  him 
whether  he  should  shed  or  not  shed  the  blood  of  his  people  — 
verser  le  sang  de  ses  peuples,  as  Alexander  expressed  it  in  his 
last  letter  to  him  — was  in  reality  never  before  so  subordinated 
to  the  inevitable  laws  which  compelled  him  —  even  while,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  working  in  accordance  with  his  own  free  will  — 
to  accomplish  for  the  world  in  general,  for  history,  what  was 
destined  to  be  accomplished. 

The  men  of  the  West  moved  toward  the  East  so  as  to  kill 
each  other.  And,  by  the  law  of  co-ordination,  thousands 
of  trifling  causes  made  themselves  into  the  guise  of  final 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  6 

Causes,  and  coinciding  with  this  event,  apparently  explained 
this  movement  and  this  war:  the  dissatisfaction  with  the 
"  Continental  System  ;  "  and  the  Duke  of  Oldenbourg  ;  and  the 
,  invasion  of  Prussia,  undertaken  (as  it  seemed  to  Napoleon) 
simply  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  about  an  armed  neutrality  ; 
and  the  French  Emperor's  love  and  habit  of  war  coinciding  with 
the  disposition  of  his  people ;  the  attraction  of  grander  prepa- 
rations, and  the  outlays  for  such  preparations,  and  the  necessity 
for  indemnities  for  meeting  these  outlays  ;  and  the  intoxicat- 
ing honors  paid  at  Dresden  ;  and  the  diplomatic  negotiations 
which,  in  the  opinion  of  contemporaries;  were  conducted  with  a 
sincere  desire  to  preserve  peace,  but  which  merely  offended  the 
pride  of  either  side ;  and  millions  and  millions  of  other  causes,, 
serving  as  specious  reasons  for  this  event  which  had  taken 
place,  and  coinciding  with  it. 

When  an  apple  is  ripe  and  falls,  what  makes  it  fall  ?  Is  it 
the  attraction  of  gravitation  ?  or  is  it  because  its  stem  withers  ? 
or  because  the  sun  dries  it  up  ?  or  because  it  is  heavy  ?  or 
because  the  wind  shakes  it  ?  or  because  the  small  boy  standing 
underneath  is  hungry  for  it  ? 

There  is  no  such  proximate  cause.  The  whole  thing  is  the 
result  of  all  those  conditions,  in  accordance  with  which  every 
vital,  organic,  complex  event  occurs.  And  the  botanist  who 
argues  that  the  apple  fell  from  the  effect  of  decomposing  vege- 
table tissue,  or  the  like,  is  just  as  much  in  the  right  as  the  boy 
who,  standing  below,  declares  that  the  apple  fell  because  he 
wanted  to  eat  it,  and  prayed  for  it. 

Equally  right  and  equally  wrong  would  be  the  one  who 
should  say  that  Napoleon  went  to  Moscow  because  he  wanted 
to  go,  and  was  ruined  because  Alexander  wished  him  to  be 
ruined ;  equally  right  and  equally  wrong  would  be  the  man  who 
should  declare  that  a  mountain,  weighing  millions  of  tons  and 
undermined,  fell  in  consequence  of  the  last  blow  of  the  mat- 
tock dealt  by  the  last  laborer.  In  the  events  of  history,  so- 
called  great  men  are  merely  tags  that  supply  a  name  to  the 
event,  and  have  quite  as  little  connection  with  the  event  itself 
as  the  tag. 

Every  one  of  their  actions,  though  apparently  performed  by 
their  own  free  will,  is,  in  its  historical  significance,  out  of  the 
scope  of  volition,  and  is  correlated  with  the  whole  trend  of  his- 
tory ;  and  is,  consequently,  pre-ordained  from  all  eternity. 


6  War  and  peace. 


CHAPTER  II. 

On  the  lOth  of  June,  Napoleon  started  from  Dresden,  where 
he  had  been  for  three  weeks  the  centre  of  a  court  composed  of 
princes,  dukes,  kings,  and  at  least  one  emperor. 

Before  his  departure,  Napoleon  showed  his  favor  to  the 
princes,  kings,  and  the  emperor,  who  deserved  it :  he  turned  a 
cold  shoulder  on  the  kings  and  princes  who  had  incurred  bis 
displeasure;  he  gave  the  Empress  of  Austria  pearls  and  diar 
monds,  which  he  called  his  own,  though  they  liad  been  stolen 
from  other  kings,  and  then  tenderly  embracing  the  Empress 
Maria  Louisa,  as  the  historian  terms  her,  left  her  heailj-broken 
by  his  absence,  which  it  seemed  to  her,  now  that  she  considered 
herself  his  consort,  although  he  had  another  consort  left  behind 
in  Paris,  was  too  hard  to  be  endured. 

Although  the  diplomats  stoutly  maintained  their  belief 
in  the  possibility  of  peace,  and  were  working  heartily  for  this 
end ;  although  Napoleon  himself  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Emperor 
Alexander,  calling  him  Monsieur ,  mon  Frh^e,  and  sincerely  assur- 
ing him  that  he  had  no  desire  for  war,  and  that  he  should 
always  love  and  respect  him ;  —  still,  he  was  off  for  the  ai-my, 
and  at  every  station  was  issuing  new  rescripts  having  in  view 
to  expedite  the  movement  of  the  troops  from  west  to  east. 

He  travelled  in  a  calash  drawn  by  six  horses,  and  accom- 
panied by  his  pages,  aides,  and  an  escort,  and  took  the  route 
through  Posen,  Thorn,  Dantzic,  and  K5nigsberg.  The  army 
was  moving  from  the  west  to  the  east,  and  i*elays  of  fresh  horses 
bore  him  in  the  same  direction.  On  the  22d  of  June,  he  over- 
took the  army,  and  spent  the  night  in  the  Wilkowisky  forest, 
on  the  estate  of  a  Polish  count,  where  quarters  had  been  made 
ready  for  him. 

On  the  following  day  Napoleon,  outstripping  the  army, 
drove  to  the  Niemen  in  his  calash ;  and,  for  the  purpose  of 
reconnoitring  the  spot  where  the  army  was  to  cross,  he  put 
on  a  Polish  uniform,  and  went  down  to  the  banks  of  the 
river. 

When  he  saw  on  the  other  side  the  Cossacks,  and  the  wide- 
stretching  steppes,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  Moscou,  la  vllle 
sainte,  the  capital  of  that  empire,  which  reminded  him  of  the 
Scythian  one,  against  which  Alexander  of  Macedon  had 
marched.  Napoleon,  unexpectedly  and  contrary  to  all  strategi- 
cal as  well  as  diplomatic  considerations^  gave  orders  for  the 


WAR  AND  PEACn.  t 

tLdvatHs^^  a&d  on  the  next  day  the  troops  began  to  cross  the 
Niemen. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-fourth,  he  emerged 
from  his  tent,  which  had  been  pitched  on  the  steep  left  bank 
of  the  river,  and  looked  through  his  field-glass  at  the  torrents 
of  his  troops  pouring  forth  from  the  Wilkowisky  forest,  and 
streaming  across  the  three  bridges  thrown  over  the  Niemen. 

The  troops  were  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  emperor; 
they  searched  for  him  with  their  eyes,  and  when  they  discov- 
ered him  on  the  cliff,  standing  in  front  of  his  tent,  and  distin- 
guished from  his  suite  by  his  figure,  in  an  overcoat  and  cocked 
hat,  they  flung  their  caps  in  the  air,  and  shouted,  "  Vive  Vemr 
pereurl "  and  then,  rank  after  rank,  a  never-ceasing  stream,  they 
poured  forth  and  still  poured  forth  from  the  mighty  forest 
that  till  now  had  concealed  them,  and,  dividing  into  three 
currents,  crossed  over  the  bridges  to  the  other  side. 

"  Something'U  be  done  this  time !  Oh,  when  he  takes  a 
hand,  he  makes  things  hot !  —  God  —  save  us.  —  There  he  is  I 
Hurrah  for  the  emperor ! " 

"  So  these  are  the  Steppes  of  Asia  ?  Beastly  country  all 
the  same ! " 

"  Good-by  !  Beauche,  I'll  save  the  best  palace  in  Moscow 
for  you.     Good-by  !     Luck  to  you ! " 

"Have  you  seen  him?  The  emperor?  —  Hurrah  for  the 
emperor  —  ror  —  ror ! " 

"  If  I  am  made  Governor  of  India,  G6rard,  I'll  appoint  you 
minister  at  Cashmir ;  that's  a  settled  thing." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  emperor !     Hurrah  !  hurrah !  hurrah ! " 

"  Those  rascally  Cossacks  !  how  they  run !  Hurrah  for  the 
emperor ! " 

"  There  he  is  !  Do  you  see  him  ?  Twice  I've  seen  him  as 
plain  as  I  see  you,  —  the  *  Little  Corporal ! '  " 

"  I  saw  him  give  the  cross  to  one  of  our  vets.  —  Hurrah  for 
the  emperor  ! "  * 

Such  were  the  remarks  and  shouts  made  by  men,  both 
young  and  old,  of  the  most  widely  differing  characters  and 

•  "  On  /era  dn  chemin  cette  fois^i.  Oh  !  qxiand  il  8*en  mele  Ivi  mime  ga 
chaise,  Jfom  —  de  Dieti  !  —  Le  voila  !  —  Vive  Vempereur  !  —  Tje»  voila  done 
les  Steppti  de  I'Asie  !  Villain  pays,  tout  de  meme  f—  A  revoir,  Beauche' ;  je  te 
r49erve  le  plv8  beau  palais  de  Moscou.  A  revoir  !  Bonne  chance,  —  L*as  tu 
vtit  Vempereur  f — Vive  Vempereur — preur!  —  Si  on  me  fait  gouverneur 
aux  IndeSf  G^rardtje  tefais  ministre  de  Cachemir ;  c^est  arreU.  —  Vive  Vem- 
pereur! Vive!  Vive!  Vive! — Ces  f/redins  de  Cosaques ^  comme  ils  filent  ! 
Vive  Vempereur  !  —  Le  voila  !  Le  vois  tuf  je  Vat  vu  deux  fois  comme  je  te 
vols  !  Le  petit  vuporal !  —  Je  Vai  vu  donner  la  croix  a  Vun  des  vieux.  —  Vive 
I'empereitr  !  " 


8  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

positions  in  the  world.  The  faces  of  all  these  men  bore  one 
universal  expression  of  delight  at  the  beginning  of  the  long 
expected  campaign,  and  of  enthusiasm  and  devotion  for  the 
man  in  the  gray  overcoat,  standing  on  the  hill. 

On  the  twenty-fifth  of  June  a  small  thoroughbred  Arab 
steed  was  brought  to  Napoleon,  and  he  mounted  and  set  off  at 
a  gallop  down  to  one  of  the  three  bridges  over  the  Niemen, 
greeted  all  the  way  by  enthusiastic  acclamations,  which  he 
evidently  endured  for  the  reason  that  it  was  impossible  to 
prevent  the  men  from  expressing  by  these  shouts  their  love 
for  him ;  but  these  acclamations,  which  accompanied  him 
wherever  he  went,  fatigued  him,  and  distracted  his  attention 
hrokn  the  military  task  that  met  him  at  the  moment  that  he 
reached  the  army. 

He  rode  across  the  bridge  that  shook  under  his  horse's 
hoofs,  and,  on  reaching  the  farther  side,  turned  abiniptly  to 
the  left,  and  galloped  off  in  the  direction  of  Kovno,  preceded 
by  his  mounted  guards,  who,  crazy  with  delight  and  enthu- 
siasm, cleared  the  way  for  him  through  the  troops  pressing  on 
ahead.  On  reaching  the  broad  river  Vistula,  he  reined  in  hia 
horse  near  a  regiment  of  Polish  Uhlans,  that  was  halted  on 
the  bank. 

"  Hurrah  ! "  shouted  the  Polyaks,  no  less  enthusiastically, 
as  they  fell  out  of  line,  elbowing  each  other,  in  their  efforts 
to  get  a  sight  of  him.  Napoleon  contemplated  the  river ;  then 
dismounted  and  sat  down  on  a  log  that  happened  to  be  lying 
on  the  bank.  At  a  mute  signal,  liis  telescope  was  handed 
him ;  he  rested  it  on  the  shoulder  of  one  of  his  pages,  who 
came  forward  beaming  with  delight,  and  began  to  reconnoitre 
the  other  shore.  Then  he  remained  lost  in  study  of  a  map 
spread  out  over  the  driftwood.  Without  lifting  his  head  he 
said  something,  and  two  of  his  aides  galloped  off  toward  the 
Polish  Uhlans. 

"  What  was  it  ?  What  did  he  say  ?  "  was  heard  in  the 
ranks  of  the  Uhlans,  as  one  of  the  aides  came  hurrying  toward 
them. 

The  order  was  that  they  should  find  a  ford,  and  cross  to  the 
other  side. 

The  Polish  colonel,  who  commanded  the  Uhlans,  a  hand- 
some old  man,  flushing  and  stumbling  in  his  speech  from 
excitement,  asked  the  aide-de-camp  whether  he  might  be 
permitted  to  swim  the  river  with  his  men,  instead  of  trying  to 
find  the  ford.    He  was  evidently  as  apprehensive  of  receiving 

"^ifusal  as  a  schoolboy  who  asks  permission  to  ride  on  horse* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  9 

back;  and  what  he  craved  was  the  chance  to  swim  the  river 
under  his  emperor's  eyes. 

The  aide-de-camp  replied  that  in  all  probability  the  em- 
peror would  not  be  displeased  with  this  superfluity  of 
zeal. 

As  soon  as  the  aide-de-camp  had  said  this,  the  old  musta- 
chioed officer,  with  beaming  face  and  gleaming  eyes,  waved  his. 
sword  and  cried  Vivat !  And  ordering  his  Uhlans  to  follow 
him,  he  plunged  spurs  into  his  horse  and  dashed  down  to  the 
river.  He  angrily  struck  the  horse,  that  shied  at  the  task,  and 
forced  him  into  the  water,  striking  out  boldly  into  the  swift 
current  where  it  was  deepest.  The  water  was  cold,  and  the 
swiftness  of  the  current  made  the  passage  difficult.  The 
Uhlans  clung  to  one  another,  in  case  they  were  dismounted 
from  their  horses.  Several  of  the  horses  were  drowned,  and 
iome  of  the  men  ;  the  others  endeavored  to  swim,  one  clinging 
to  his  saddle,  another  to  his  horse's  mane.    Their  endeavor 

tas  to  swim  to  the  farther  side,  and,  although  there  was 
ford  only  half  a  verst  below,  they  were  proud  of  swijn- 
ing  and  drowning  in  that  river  under  the  eye  of  the  man 
itting  on  the  log,  and  not  even  noticing  what  they  were 
ing ! 
When  the  aide-de-camp  on  his  return  found  a  favorable 

Koment,  he  allowed  himself  to  call  the  emperor's  attention  to 
e  devotion  of  these  Polyaks  to  his  person.  The  little  man 
fn  the  gray  great-coat  got  up,  and,  calling  Berthier,  began  to 
iiralk  with  him  back  and  forth  on  the  river  bank,  giving  him 
brders,  and  occasionally  casting  a  dissatisfied  glance  at  the 
frowning  Uhlans,  who  distracted  his  attention. 

It  was  nothing  new  in  his  experience  that  his  presence  any- 
where, in  the  deserts  of  Africa  as  well  as  in  the  Moscovite 
^ppes,  was  sufficient  to  stimulate  and  drive  men  into  the 
bost  senseless  self-sacrifice.  He  commanded  a  horse  to  be 
^ught,  and  rode  back  to  his  bivouac. 

Forty  Uhlans  were  drowned  in  the  river,  although  boats 
^ere  sent  to  their  aid.  The  majority  gave  up  the  task,  and 
ieturned  to  the  hither  side.  The  colonel  and  a  few  of  the 
lien  swam  across  the  river,  and  with  great  difficulty  crept  up 
b  the  farther  shore.  But  as  soon  as  they  were  on  the  lan(^ 
hough  their  garments  were  streaming  with  water,  they 
kouted  Vivatf  gazing  with  rapture  at  the  spot  where  Napoleon 
lad  been,  but  from  which  he  had  vanished,  and  counting 
kemselves  fortunate. 

In  the  afternoon,  after  making  arrangements  for  procuring 


10  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

with  all  possible  despatch  the  counterfeit  Russian  assignats, 
that  had  been  prepared  for  use  in  Russia ;  and  after  issuing  an 
order  to  shoot  a  certain  Saxon,  who,  in  a  letter  that  had  been 
intercepted,  gave  information  in  regard  to  the  disposition  of 
the  French  forces ;  —  Napoleon,  in  still  a  third  order,  caused  the 
Polish  colonel  who  had  quite  needlessly  flung  himself  into  the 
river,  to  be  enrolled  in  the  Legion  d^Honneur^*  of  which  he  him- 
self was  the  head. 

QuQ8  viUt  perdere  —  dementat.'f 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Russian  emperor,  meantime,  had  been  now  for  more 
than  a  month  at  Vilno,  superintending  reviews  and  ma- 
noeuvres. 

Nothing  was  ready  for  the  war,  though  all  had  foreseen  that 
it  was  coming,  and  though  the  emperor  had  left  Petersburg 
to  prepare  for  it.  The  vacillation  as  to  what  plan,  from  among 
the  many  that  had  been  prepared,  was  to  be  selected,  was  still 
more  pronounced  after  the  emperor  had  been  for  a  month  at 
headquarters. 

Each  of  the  three  divisions  of  the  army  had  a  separate  com- 
mander ;  but  there  was  no  nachalnik,  or  responsible  chief,  over 
all  the  forces ;  and  the  emperor  did  not  see  fit  to  assume  this 
position. 

The  longer  the  emperor  staid  at  Vilna,  the  less  ready  for 
the  war  were  they  who  had  grown  weary  of  expecting  it.  The 
whole  purpose  of  those  who  surrounded  the  sovereign  seemed 
directed  toward  making  him  pass  the  time  agreeably,  and  for- 
get about  the  impending  conflict. 

After  a  series  of  balls  and  festivities,  given  by  Polish  mag- 
nates, and  by  the  courtiers,  and  by  the  emperor  himself,  a 
Polish  adjutant  proposed  one  fine  June  day,  that  the  im- 
perial staft  should  give  a  banquet  and  ball,  in  his  majesty's 
honor. 

The  suggestion  was  gladly  adopted  by  all.  The  sovereign 
granted  his  sanction.  The  imperial  adjutants  collected  the 
necessary  funds  by  a  subscription.  A  lady,  who  it  was  thought 
would  be  most  acceptable  to  the  emperor,  was  invited  to  do 
the  honors.     Count  Benigsen,  a  landed  proprietor  of  the  Vilncj 

*  Instituted  by  Napoleon,  May  19, 1802;  carried  out,  JuIt  14, 181^ 
t  Those  whom  Goa  wishes  to  destroy,  he  first  makes  mad. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  11 

gOTemmenty  tendered  the  use  of  his  country  house  for  the 
festivity,  which  was  set  for  the  25th  of  June ;  and  it  was 
decided  that  the  ball  and  banquet,  together  with  a  regatta  and 
fireworks,  should  take  place  at  Zakreto,  Count  Benigsen's 
country  place. 

On  that  very  day  on  which  Napoleon  gave  orders  to  cross 
the  Niemen,  and  the  vanguard  of  his  army  drove  back  the 
Cossacks  and  set  foot  on  Eussian  soil,  Alexander  was  spend- 
ing the  evening  at  Count  Benigsen's  villa,  at  a  ball  given  by 
his  staff! 

It  was  a  gay,  brilliant  occasion.  Connoisseurs  in  such  mat- 
ters declared  that  never  before  had  so  many  pretty  women 
been  gathered  in  one  place.  The  Countess  Bezukhaya,  who, 
with  other  Russian  ladies,  had  followed  the  sovereign  from 
Petersburg  to  Vilno,  was  at  this  ball ;  by  her  overwhelming 
sooalled  Eussian  beauty  quite  putting  into  the  shade  the  more 
refined  and  delicate  Polish  ladies.  She  attracted  much  atten- 
tion, and  the  sovereign  did  her  the  honor  of  dancing  with 
her. 

Boris  Drubetskoi,  having  left  his  wife  at  Moscow,  was  also 
present  at  this  ball  en  gargoUy  as  he  expressed  it ;  and,  although 
not  on  his  majesty's  staff,  was  a  participant  in  the  festivities 
in  virtue  of  having  subscribed  a  large  sum  toward  the  expenses. 
Boris  was  now  a  rich  man,  who  had  already  arrived  at  high 
honors,  and  now  no  longer  required  patronage ;  but  stood  on 
an  equal  footing  with  any  of  his  own  age,  no  matter  how  lofty 
their  rank  might  be. 

He  had  met  Ellen  at  Vilno,  not  having  seen  her  for  some 
time ;  but  he  made  no  reference  to  the  past.  But  as  Ellen 
was  "enjoying  the  favor"  of  a  very  influential  individual, 
and  Boris  had  not  long  been  married,  it  suited  their  purposes 
to  meet  as  good  old  friends. 

At  midnight,  they  were  still  dancing.  Ellen,  finding  no 
partner  to  her  taste,  had  herself  proposed  to  Boris  to  dance 
the  mazurka.  They  were  in  the  third  set.  Boris,  with  cool  in- 
difference glancing  at  Ellen's  dazzling,  bare  shoulders,  set  off 
by  a  dark  gauze  dress,  shot  with  gold,  was  talking  about  old 
acquaintances ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  neither  he  nor  any  one 
else  observed  that,  not  for  a  single  second,  did  he  cease  to 
watch  the  emperor,  who  was  in  the  same  hall. 

The  emperor  was  not  dancing :  he  was  standing  in  the  door- 
way, and  addressing,  now  to  one  and  now  to  another,  those 
gracious  words  which  he,  of  all  men  alone^  had  the  art  of  speak* 
ing. 


12  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Just  before  the  beginning  of  the  mazurka,  Boris  noticed 
that  the  General- Adjutant  Balashof,  who  stood  on  terms  of 
special  intimacy  with  the  sovereign,  approached  him  as  he 
was  talking  with  a  Polish  lady,  and,  contrary  to  court  etiquette, 
stood  waiting  at  a  short  distance  from  him.  While  still  talk- 
ing, the  sovereign  looked  up  inquiringly,  and,  evidently  per- 
ceiving that  only  weighty  considerations  would  have  caused 
Balashof  to  act  thus,  he  gave  the  lady  a  slight  bow,  and  turned 
to  the  adjutant. 

At  Balashof 's  very  first  words,  an  expression  like  amazement 
came  over  the  sovereign's  face.  He  took  Balashof  s  arm,  and, 
together  with  him,  crossed  the  ballroom,  so  absorbed  that  he 
did  not  notice  how  the  company  parted,  making  a  sort  of  lane, 
three  sazhens  wide,  through  which  he  passed. 

Boris  observed  Arakcheyef  s  agitated  face,  as  the  sovereign 
walked  out  with  Balashof.  Arakcheyef,  looking  askance  at 
the  emperor,  and  snuffing  through  his  red  nose,  moved  out 
from  the  throng,  as  though  expecting  that  the  sovereign  would 
address  him.  It  was  clear  to  Boris  that  Arakcheyef  hated 
Balashof,  and  was  much  dissatisfied  that  any  news  of  impor- 
tance should  be  brought  to  the  sovereign  otherwise  than  through 
him. 

But  the  sovereign,  not  heeding  Arakcheyef,  passed  out, 
together  with  Balashof,  through  the  open  door,  into  the  bril- 
liantly illuminated  garden.  Arakcheyef,  grasping  the  hilt  of 
his  sword,  and  viciously  glancing  around,  followed  them, 
twenty  steps  in  the  rear. 

While  Boris  continued  to  perform  the  proper  figures  of  the 
mazurka,  he  was  continually  tortured  by  the  thought  of  what 
news  Balashof  had  brought,  and  how  he  might  get  hold  of  it 
before  the  others. 

In  the  figure,  when  he  had  to  choose  a  lady,  he  whispered 
to  Ellen  that  he  wanted  to  get  the  Countess  Potocka,  who,  he 
believed,  had  gone  out  on  the  balcony.  Hastily  crossing  the 
marquetry  floor,  he  slipped  out  of  the  open  door  into  the 
garden;  and  there,  perceiving  the  sovereign  walking  along 
the  terrace  in  company  with  Balashof,  he  stepped  to  one  side. 
The  sovereign  and  Balashof  were  directing  their  steps  toward 
the  door.  Boris,  pretending  that  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  iie 
had  not  time  to  get  out  of  the  way,  respectfully  crowded  np 
against  the  lintel  and  bowed. 

The  sovereign,  with  the  agitated  face  of  a  man  personally 
offended,  uttered  these  words :  — 

<'To  make  war  against  Eussia  without  any  declaration  I    I 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  18 

will  never  consent  to  peace  so  long  as  a  single  armed  foe 
remains  in  my  land  !  "  said  he.  It  seemed  to  Boris  that  the 
sovereign  took  a  delight  in  uttering  these  words ;  he  was  satis* 
fied  with  the  form  in  which  his  thought  was  couched,  but  he 
was  annoyed  that  Boris  had  overheard  him.  *'  Let  not  a  word 
of  this  be  known,"  he  added,  with  a  frown.  Boris  understood 
that  this  was  a  hint  to  him,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  he  again 
bowed  slightly.  The  sovereign  returned  to  the  ballroom,  and 
remained  for  about  half  an  hour  longer. 

Boris  was  the  first  to  learn  the  news  of  the  French  army 
having  crossed  the  Niemen  ,•  and,  turning  his  luck  to  good  use, 
made  several  important  personages  think  that  many  things 
concealed  from  the  others  were  known  to  him,  and  thereby  he 
succeeded  in  rising  still  higher  in  their  estimation. 

The  news  of  the  French  crossing  the  Niemen,  unexpected 
as  it  was,  was  peculiarly  unexpected  after  a  long  month  of 
strained  expectancy,  and  by  reason  of  being  announced  at  a 
ball !  The  sovereign,  at  the  first  instant  of  receiving  the  news, 
under  the  influence  of  inner  revolt  and  indignation,  made  use 
of  that  bold  sentiment  which  gave  him  such  satisfaction,  and 
so  exactly  expressed  his  feeling,  at  the  time,  and  afterwards 
became  famous. 

On  his  return  to  his  residence  after  the  ball,  the  sovereigpi 
sent,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  his  secretary,  Shish- 
kin;  and  dictated  a  general  order  to  his  troops,  and  a  re- 
script to  Field-Marshal  Prince  Saltuikof,  strictly  charging 
him  to  use  the  words  about  his  refusal  to  make  peace  so 
long  as  a  single  armed  Frenchman  remained  on  Russian 
soil.  On  the  next  day,  the  following  note  was  written  to 
Napoleon :  — 

Mt  Brotsbb:  I  learned  yesterday  that,  notwithstanding  the  fidelity 
with  which  I  have  adhered  to  my  engagements  towards  your  majesty, 
your  troops  have  crossed  the  Russian  frontier;  and  I  have  this  moment 
received  from  Petersburg  a  note  wherein  Coimt  Lauriston,  in  order  to  ex- 
plain this  aggression,  announces  that  your  majesty  considered  himself  at 
war  with  me  from  the  time  that  Prince  Kurakin  demanded  his  pass- 
ports. The  cjounds  on  which  the  Duke  of  Bassano  refused  to  grant  it 
would  never  have  allowed  me  to  suppose  that  this  step  could  serve  as  a 
pretext  for  the  aggression.  In  fact,  my  ambassador  was  never<authorized 
to  take  this  step,  as  he  himself  explicitly  declared ;  and,  as  soon  as  I  was 
informed  of  it,  I  manifested  the  extent  of  my  disapproval  by  ordering  him 
to  remain  at  his  post.  If  your  majesty  is  not  obstinately  bent  upon  shed- 
ding the  blood  of  our  peoples  through  a  misunderstanding  of  this  sort,  and 
will  consent  to  withdraw  your  troops  from  the  Russian  territory,  I  will 
regud  what  has  passed  as  non-existent,  and  we  may  arrive  at  some 


14  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

accommodation.  In  the  opposite  case,  your  majesty,  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled  to  repulse  an  attack  whicli  I  have  done  nothing  to  provoke. 
There  is  still  a  chance  for  your  majesty  to  avoid  the  calamities  of  a 
new  war.  I  am,  etc., 

(Signed)    At.bxawdbb,* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

On  the  twenty-fifth  of  June,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  moming, 
the  sovereign,  having  summoned  BaJashof,  and  read  over  to 
him  his  letter  to  Napoleon,  ordered  him  to  take  it  and  deliver 
it  to  the  French  emperor  in  person.  In  despatching  Balashof, 
the  sovereign  once  more  repeated  what  he  had  said  about  not 
making  peace  so  long  as  a  single  armed  foe  remained  on  Rus- 
sian soil,  and  he  ordered  him  to  quote  these  exact  words  to 
Napoleon.  The  sovereign  did  not  incorporate  this  threat  in 
his  letter  to  Napoleon,  because  his  tact  made  him  feel  that 
they  were  inappropriate  at  a  moment  when  the  last  efforts 
were  making  for  reconciliation ;  but  he  strenuously  com- 
manded Balashof  to  repeat  them  to  Napoleon  verbally. 

Setting  off  that  very  same  night,  Balashof,  accompanied  by 
a  bugler  and  two  Cossacks,  by  daybreak  reached  the  village  of 
Rykonty,  on  the  Russian  side  of  the  Niemen,  where  the  French 
vanguard  were  stationed.  He  was  brought  to  a  halt  by  the 
French  videttes.  A  non-commissioned  officer  of  hussars,  in  a 
erimson  uniform  ai^d  shaggy  cap,  challenged  the  approaching 
^nvoy,  and  ordered  him  to  halt.     Balashof  did  not  come  in- 

*  Monsieur  man  Frere  :  tPai  appris  hier  que  malgH  la  ioyauU,  avec 
laquellefai  maintenu  mes  engagements  envers  voire  rnajesU,  ses  troupes 
ont  franchi  les  frontVeren  de  la  BussiCy  et  je  re^oia  d  V instant  de 
Petersbourg  une  note  par  laquelle  le  Comte  Lauristony  pour  cause  de 
cette  aggression,  annonce  que  voire  majesti  s^est  consideree  comme 
en  iUit  de  guerre  avec  moi  des  le  moment  oil  le  prince  Kourakine  a  fait 
la  demande  de  ses  passeports,  Les  mot^s  sur  lesquelles  le  due  de  Bas- 
sanofondait  son  refus  de  les  lui  d^livrer,  n^auraient  jamais  pu  me  faire 
pupposer  que  cette  demarche  servir ait  Jamais  de  pretexte  d  V aggression. 
J^n  effet  cet  ambassadeur  n'y  a  jamais  6te  autorise  comme  il  Va  declare 
\ui  m^me,  et  aussitdt  quej'€nfusinforme,jelui  aifait  connaitre  combien 
Je  le  desapprouvait  en  lui  donnar^t  Vordre  de  rester  ft  son  paste.  Si  votre 
majesty  n^est  pas  intentionnie  de  verser  le  sang  de  nos  peuples  pour  un 
malentendfi  de  ce  genre  et  qu^elle  consente  h  ritirer  ses  troupes  du  terrU 
toire  russe,Je  regarderai  ce  qui  s-est  passi  comme  non  avenu  et  un  ac^ 
commodement  entre  nous  sera  possible.  Dans  le  cas  contraire,  votre 
majesty,  Je  me  tcrrai  force  de  repousser  une  attaque  qu^  Hen  n^a 
provoquee  de  ma  part.  II  depend  encore  de  votre  majesti,  d'imter  h 
Vhumaniti  les  calamitis  dhine  nouvelle  guerre. 

fy  suis^  etc.^  {Signi)  ALSJ^A^fk^JS^ 


9 

WAR  AND  PEACE.  15 

stantly  to  a  pause,  but  continued  to  advance  at  a  footpace 
along  the  road. 

The  subaltern,  scowling  and  muttering  some  abusive  epi- 
thet, blocked  BalashoFs  way  with  his  horse,  and  rudely 
shouted  to  the  Bussian  general,  demanding  if  he  were  deaf, 
that  he  paid  no  attention  to  what  was  said  to  him.  Balashof 
gave  his  name.  The  subaltern  sent  a  soldier  to  the  officer  in 
command. 

Paying  no  further  heed  to  Balashof,  the  non-commissioned 
officer  began  to  talk  with  his  comrades  concerning  their  pri- 
vate affairs,  and  did  not  even  look  at  the  Russian  general. 

It  was  an  absolutely  new  experience  for  Balashof,  after 
being  so  accustomed  to  proximity  to  the  very  fountain  head  of 
power  and  might,  after  just  coming  from  a  three  hours'  con- 
versation with  his  sovereign,  and  having  been  universally 
treated  with  respect,  to  find  this,  here  on  Kussian  soil,  hostile 
and  peculiarly  disrespectful  display  of  brutal  insolence. 

The  Sim  was  just  beginning  to  break  through  the  clouds ; 
the  air  was  cool  and  fresh  with  dew.  Along  the  load  from 
the  village  they  were  driving  the  cattle  to  pasture.  Over  the 
fields,  one  after  another,  like  bubbles  in  the  water,  soared  the 
larks  with  their  matin  songs. 

Balashof  looked  about  him  while  waiting  for  the  officer  to 
arrive  from  the  village.  The  Bussian  Cossacks  and  the  bugler 
and  the  French  hussars  occasionally  exchanged  glances,  but  no 
one  spoke. 

A  French  colonel  of  hussars,  evidently  just  out  of  bed,  came 
riding  up  from  the  village  on  a  handsome,  well  fed,  gray 
horse,  accompanied  by  two  hussars.  The  officer,  the  soldiers, 
and  their  horses  had  an  appearance  of  content  and  jauntiness. 

It  was  the  first  period  of  the  campaign,  while  the  army  was 
still  in  the  very  best  order,  almost  fit  for  a  review  in  time  of 
peace,  with  just  a  shade  of  martial  smartness  in  their  attire, 
and  with  their  minds  a  trifle  stirred  up  to  that  gayety  and 
cheerfulness  and  spirit  of  enterprise  that  always  characterize 
the  beginning  of  an  expedition. 

The  French  colonel  with  difficulty  overcame  a  fit  of  yawn- 
ing, but  he  was  courteous,  and  evidently  appreciated  Balashof  s 
high  dignity.  He  conducted  him  past  his  soldiers  inside  the 
lines,  and  informed  him  that  his  desire  to  have  a  personal 
interview  with  the  emperor  would  in  all  probability  be  imme- 
diately granted,  since  the  imperial  headquarters,  he  believed, 
were  not  far  distant. 

They  approached  the  village  of  Rykonty,  riding  by  pickets, 


16  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

sentinelB,  and  soldiery,  who  saluted  their  colonel,  and  gazed 
with  curiosity  at  the  Russian  uniforms,  and  finally  oame  to 
the  other  side  of  the  village.  According  to  the  colonel,  the 
chief  of  division,  who  would  receive  Balashof  and  arrange  the 
interview,  would  be  found  two  kilometers  distant. 

The  sun  was  now  mounting  high,  and  shone  bright  and 
beautiful  over  the  vivid  green  of  the  fields. 

They  had  just  passed  a  pot-house  on  a  hillside,  when  they 
saw,  coming  to  meet  them  up  the  hill,  a  little  band  of  horse- 
men, led  by  a  tall  man  in  a  red  cloak  and  in  a  plumed  hat, 
\mder  which  long  dark  locks  rolled  down  upon  his  shoulders. 
He  rode  a  coal-black  horse,  whose  housings  glittered  in  the 
sun,  and  his  long  legs  were  thnist  forward  in  the  fashion  affected 
by  French  ridei-s.  This  man  came  at  a  gallop  toward  Bala- 
shof, flashing  and  waving  in  the  bright  June  sun,  with  his 
plumes  and  precious  stones  and  gold  galloons. 

Balashof  was  within  the  length  of  two  horses  from  this 
enthusiastically  theatrical-looking  individual,  who  was  gallop- 
ing to  meet  him  in  all  his  bravery  of  bracelets,  plumes,  neck- 
laces, and  gold,  when  lulner,  the  French  colonel,  respectfully 
said,  in  a  deferential  whisper,  "  Le  roi  de  Najyles,^* 

This  was  indeed  Murat,  who  was  still  called  the  King  of 
Naples.  Although  it  was  wholly  incomprehensible  in  what 
respect  he  was  the  king  of  Naples,  still  he  bore  that  title ;  and 
he  himself  was  convinced  of  its  validity,  and  consequently  he 
assumed  a  more  majestic  and  important  aspect  than  ever 
before.  He  was  so  convinced  that  he  was  actually  King  of 
Naples  that  when,  on  the  day  before  his  departure  from  that 
city,  as  he  was  walking  with  his  wife  through  the  streets  of 
Naples,  and  a  few  Italians  acclaimed  him  with  Viva  il 
re  —  Hurrah  for  the  king —  he  turned  to  his  consort  and  said, 
with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  Oh,  poor  creatures,  they  do  not 
know  that  I  am  going  to  leave  them  to-morrow." 

But  though  he  firmly  believed  that  he  was  King  of  Naples,  and 
was  grieved  for  the  sorrow  that  was  coming  upon  his  faith- 
ful subjects  in  losing  him,  still  when  he  was  commanded  to 
enter  the  military  service  again,  and  especially  since  his  meet- 
ing with  Napoleon  at  Danzig,  when  nis  august  brother-in- 
law  had  said  to  him,  "  I  made  you  king  to  reign  in  my  way, 
not  in  yours,"  *  he  had  cheerfully  taken  up  the  business  which 
he  understood  so  well,  and,  like  a  carriage  horse,  driven  but 
not  overworked,  feeling  himself  in  harness,  he  was  frisky 
even  between  the  thills,  and,  decked  out  in  the  most  gorgeous 

*  Je  vou<  aifait  roi  pour  regner  a  ma  maniiref  mcMpas  a  la  vdtre. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  17 

and  costly  manner  possible,  galloped  gayly  and  contentedly 
along  the  Polish  highway,  not  knowing  whither  or  wherefore. 

As  soon  as  he  api*roaehed  the  Kussian  general,  he  threw  his 
head  badk  in  royal  fashion,  and  solemnly,  with  his  black  curls 
flowing  down  over  his  shoulders,  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
French  colonel.  The  colonel  respectfully  explained  to  his  Ma- 
jesty Balashofs  errand,  though  he  could  not  pronounce  his  name. 

"  De  BdUmorcheve^^^  said  the  king,  his  self-confidence  help- 
ing him  to  overcome  the  difficulty  that  had  floored  the  colonel. 
"  Charme  defaire  vot7'e  connaissance,  general,^*  he  added,  with 
a  royally  gracious  gesture^ 

The  moment  the  king  began  to  speak  loud  and  rapidly  all 
the  kingly  dignity  instantly  deserted  him,  and,  without  his 
suspecting  such  a  thing  himself,  changed  into  a  tone  of  good- 
natured  familiarity.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  withers  of  Bal- 
ashofs horse. 

"  Well,  general,  everything  looks  like  war,  it  seems,"  said 
he,  as  though  he  regretted  a  state  of  things  concerning  which 
he  was  in  no  position  to  judge. 

**  Your  majestj/y^'  replied  Balashof ,  "  the  Russian  emperor,  my 
sovereign,  has  no  desire  for  war,  and,  as  your  majesty  sees,"  .  .  . 
said  Balashof,  and  thus  he  went  on,  with  unavoidable  affecta- 
tion, repeating  the  title  votre  majeste  at  every  opportunity 
during  his  conversation  with  this  individual,  for  whom  it  was 
still  a  novelty. 

Murat's  face  glowed  with  dull  satisfaction  while  he  listened 
to  Monsieur  de  Balachoff.  But  royauti  oblige  ;  and  he  felt 
that  it  was  indispensable  for  him,  as  king  and  ally,  to  converse 
with  Alexander's  envoy,  on  matters  of  state.  He  dismounted, 
and,  taking  Balashofs  arm,  and  drawing  him  a  few  paces  aside 
from  his  suite,  waiting  respectfully,  he  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  with  him,  trying  to  speak  with  all  authority.  He  in- 
formed him  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  was  offended  by  the 
demand  made  upon  him  to  withdraw  his  forces  from  Prussia : 
especially  as  this  demand  was  made  publicly,  and,  therefore, 
was  an  insult  to  the  dignity  of  France. 

Balashof  said  that  there  was  nothing  insulting  in  this 
demand,  "  because  "  — 

Murat  interrupted  him,  — 

"  So  then  you  do  not  consider  the  Emperor  Alexander  as  the 
instigator  of  the  war  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly,  with  a  stupidly 
good-natured  smile. 

Balashof  explained  why  he  really  supposed  that  N'ax>oleon 
was  the  aggressor. 
VOL.  3.  —  2. 


18  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"Ah,  my  dear  general,"  again  exclaimed  Murat,  interrupt* 
ing  him,  "I^desire,  with  all  my  heart,  that  the  emperors 
should  come  to  a  mutual  understanding,  and  that  the  war, 
begun  in  spite  of  me,  should  be  brought  to  a  termination  as  soon 
as  possible,"  *  said  he,  in  the  tone  of  servants  who  wish  to  remain 
good  friends,  though  their  masters  may  quarrel.  And  he  pro- 
ceeded to  make  inquiries  about  the  grand  duke,  and  the  state 
of  his  health,  and  recalled  the  jolly  good  times  which  they  had 
enjoyed  together  at  Naples.  Then,  suddenly,  as  though  re- 
membering his  kingly  dignity,  Murat  drew  himself  up  haugh- 
tily, struck  the  same  attitude  in  which  he  had  stood  during  his 
coronation,  and,  waving  his  right  hand,  said,  — 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  general ;  I  wish  you  all  suc- 
cess in  your  mission ; "  and  then,  with  his  embroidered  red 
mantle,  and  his  plumes  gayly  waving,  and  his  precious  trin- 
kets glittering  in  the  sun,  he  rejoined  his  suite,  which  had 
been  respectfully  waiting  for  him. 

Balashof  went  on  his  way,  expecting,  from  what  Murat  said, 
to  be  very  speedily  presented  to  Napoleon  himself.  But,  in- 
stead of  any  such  speedy  meeting  with  Napoleon,  the  sentinels 
of  Davoust's  infantry  corps  detained  him  again  at  the  next 
village — just  as  he  had  been  halted  at  the  outposts — until  an 
aide  of  the  corps  commander,  who  was  sent  for,  conducted  him 
to  Marshal  Davoust,  in  the  village. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Davot^st  was  the  Emperor  Napoleon's  Arakcheyef — Arak- 
cheyef  except  in  cowardice :  just  the  same,  punctilious  and 
cruel ;  and  knowing  no  other  way  of  manifesting  his  devotion 
except  by  cnielty. 

In  the  mechanism  of  imperial  organism,  such  men  are  neces- 
sary, just  as  wolves  are  necessary  in  the  organism  of  nature ; 
and  they  always  exist  and  manifest  themselves  and  maintain 
themselves,  however  incompatible  their  presence  and  proxim- 
ity to  the  chief  power  may  seem.  Only  by  this  indispensable- 
ness  can  it  be  explained  how  Arakcheyef — a  ciniel  man,  who 
personally  pulled  the  mustache  of  a  grenadier,  and  who  by 
reason  of  weakness  of  nerves  could  not  endure  any  danger^and 


*  Ehf  mon  Cher  gAa&al,  je  dStire  de  tout  mon  cceur,  que  Ua  emperettrs  8*t 
rangent  entre  eux,  et  que  la  guerre  commences  malgre  moi  m  termine  ie 
plus  tdt  possible. 


WAB  AKD  PEACE.  Id 

Was  ill-bred  and  ungentlemanly  —  could  maintain  power  and 
influence  with  a  character  so  chivalrous,  noble,  and  affectionate 
as  Alexander's. 

In  the  bam  attached  to  a  peasant's  cottage,  Balashof  found 
Marshal  Davoust,  sitting  on  a  keg,  and  busily  engaged  in 
clerk's  business  (he  was  verifying  accounts).  An  aide  stood 
near  him.  He  might  have  found  better  accomnfbdations ;  but 
Marshal  Davoust  was  one  of  those  men  who  pui-posely  make 
the  conditions  of  life  as  disagreeable  as  possible  for  themselves, 
in  order  to  have  an  excuse  for  being  themselves  disagreeable. 
Consequently,  they  are  always  hurried  and  obstinate.  "  How 
can  I  think  of  the  happy  side  of  life  when,  as  you  see,  I  am 
sitting  on  a  keg,  in  a  dirty  barn,  and  working  ?  "  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  seemed  to  say.  The  chief  satisfaction  and 
requirement  of  such  men  are  that  they  should  be  brought  into 
contact  with  men  of  another  stamp,  and  to  make  before  them  an 
enormous  display  of  disagreeable  and  obstinate  activity.  This 
gratification  was  granted  Bavoust  when  Balashof  was  ushered 
into  his  presence.  He  buried  himself  more  deeply  than  ever 
in  his  work  when  the  Russian  general  appeared.  He  glanced 
over  his  spectacles  at  Balashof's  face,  animated  by  the  spirit 
of  the  beautiful  morning  and  the  meeting  with  Murat,  but  he 
did  not  get  up  or  even  stir.  He  put  on  a  still  more  portentous 
frown,  and  smiled  sardonically. 

Noticing  the  impression  produced  on  Balashof  by  this  recep- 
tion, Davoust  raised  his  head,  and  chillingly  demanded  what 
he  wanted. 

Supposing  that  this  insulting  reception  was  given  him 
because  Davoust  did  not  know  that  he  was  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander's general-adjutant,  and,  what  was  more,  his  envoy  to 
Napoleon,  Balashof  hastened  to  inform  him  of  his  name  and 
mission.  Contrary  to  his  expectation,  Davoust,  after  listening 
to  Balashof's  communication,  became  still  more  gruff  and  rude. 

"  Where  is  your  packet  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Give  it  to  me ; 
I  will  send  it  to  the  emperor." 

Balashof  replied  that  he  was  ordered  to  give  the  package 
personally  to  the  emperor. 

"  Your  emperor's  orders  are  carried  out  in  your  army  ;  but 
here,"  said  Davoust,  **you  must  do  as  you  are  told."  And,  as 
though  to  make  the  Eussian  general  feel  still  more  keenly  how 
completely  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  brute  force,  Davoust  sent 
an  aide  for  the  officer  of  the  day. 

Balashof  took  out  the  packet  containing  the  sovereign's  note, 
and  laid  it  on  the  table  —  a  table  improvised  of  a  door,  with 


20  VITAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  torn  hinges  still  protruding,  and  laid  on  a  couple  of  barrels. 
Davoust  took  the  packet  and  read  the  superscription. 

"  You  have  a  perfect  right  to  treat  me  with  respect,  or  not 
to  treat  me  with  respect,"  said  Balashof .  "  But  permit  me  to 
remark  that  I  have  the  honor  of  being  one  of  his  Majesty's 
aides  "  — 

Davoust  gs^ed  at  him  without  saying  a  word ;  but  a  trace 
of  annoyance  and  confusion,  betrayed  in  Balashof  s  face,  evi- 
dently afforded  him  gratification. 

"  All  due  respect  will  be  showed  you,"  said  he ;  and,  pla- 
cing the  envelope  in  his  pocket,  he  left  the  barn. 

A  moment  later,  the  marshal's  aide,  Monsieur  de  Castrier, 
made  his  appearance,  and  conducted  Balashof  to  the  lodgings 
made  ready  for  him  ]  Balashof  dined  that  same  day  with  the 
marshal,  in  the  barn,  the  boards  on  the  barrels  serving  as  the 
table ;  early  in  the  morning  of  the  following  day,  Davoust  came, 
and,  taking  Balashof  to  one  side,  told  him  confidentially  that 
he  was  requested  to  stay  where  he  was  \  though,  if  the  baggage 
train  received  orders  to  advance,  he  was  to  advance  with  it, 
and  not  to  communicate  with  any  one  except  with  Monsieur 
de  Castrier. 

At  the  end  of  four  days  of  solitude,  of  tedium,  of  bitter  con- 
sciousness of  his  helplessness  and  insignificance  all  the  more 
palpable  through  contrast  with  the  atmosphere  of  autocracy  to 
which  he  had  so  recently  been  accustomed,  after  a  number  of 
transfers  with  the  marshal's  baggage  and  the  French  forces 
which  occupied  the  whole  region,  Balashof  was  brought  back 
to  Vilno  now  in  possession  of  the  French:  he  re-entered  the 
town  by  the  same  gate  by  which  he  had  left  it  four  days 
before. 

On  the  following  day  the  Imperial  Chamberlain,  Monsieur 
de  Turenne,  came  to  Balashof  and  announced  that  the  Emperor 
Kapoleon  would  be  pleased  to  grant  him  an  audience. 

Four  days  previously  sentinels  from  the  Preobrazhensky 
regiment  had  been  standing  in  front  of  the  mansion  into  which 
Balashof  was  conducted ;  now  two  French  grenadiers  in  blue 
uniforms  opened  over  the  chest,  and  in  shaggy  caps,  an  escort 
of  hussars  and  Uhlans  and  a  brilliant  suite  of  aides,  pages,  and 
generals,  were  standing  at  the  steps  near  his  saddle  horse  and 
his  Mameluke  Eustan,  waiting  for  him  to  make  his  appear- 
ance. 

Napoleon  received  Balashof  in  the  same  house  in  Vilno  from 
which  Alexander  had  despatched  him. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  21 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Though  Balashof  was  accustomed  to  court  magnificence,  the 
sumptuousness  and  display  of  Napoleon's  court  surprised  him. 
Count  Turenne  conducted  him  into  the  great  drawing-room, 
where  a  throng  of  generals,  chamberlains,  and  Polish  magnates, 
many  of  whom  Balashof  had  seen  at  court  during  the  sojourn 
of  the  Kussian  emperor,  were  in  waiting.  Duroc  told  the 
Russian  general,  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  would  receive 
him  before  going  out  to  ride. 

At  the  end  of  some  moments  of  expectation  the  chamber- 
lain on  duty  came  into  the  great  drawing-room,  and,  bowing 
courteously,  invited  Balashof  to  follow  him. 

Balashof  passed  into  a  small  drawing-room  which  opened 
into  the  cabinet,  —  into  the  very  same  cabinet  where  the  Rus- 
sian Emperor  had  given  him  his  directions.  Balashof  stood  a 
couple  of  minutes  waiting.  Then  hasty  steps  were  heard  in 
the  other  room.  The  folding  doors  were  hastily  flung  open. 
All  was  silent,  and  then  firm,  resolute  steps  were  heard  coming 
from  the  cabinet :  it  was  Napoleon.  He  had  only  just  completed 
his  toilet  for  riding  on  horseback.  He  was  in  a  blue  uni- 
foi-m  coat  thrown  open  over  a  white  waistcoat  that  covered  the 
rotundity  of  his  abdomen ;  he  wore  white  chamois-skin  small- 
clothes that  fitted  tightly  over  the  stout  thighs  of  his  shoii; 
legs,  and  Hessian  boots.  His  short  hair  had  evidently  only 
just  been  brushed,  but  one  lock  of  hair  hung  down  over  the 
centre  of  his  broad  brow.  His  white,  puffy  neck  was  in  sharp 
contrast  with  the  dark  collar  of  his  uniform  coat ;  he  exhaled 
a  strong  odor  of  eau-de-Cologne.  His  plump  and  youthful- 
looking  face  with  its  prominent  chin  wore  an  expression  of 
benevolence  entirely  compatible  with  his  imperial  majesty. 

He  came  in,  giving  little  quick  jerks  as  he  walked  along, 
and  holding  his  head  rather  high.  His  whole  figure,  thick- 
set and  short,  with  his  broad,  stout  shouldei-s  and  with  the 
abdomen  and  breast  involuntarily  tlinist  forward,  had  that 
portly,  stately  carriage  which  men  of  forty  who  have  lived  in 
comfort  are  apt  to  have.  Moreover  it  was  evident  that  on 
this  particular  day  he  was  in  the  most  enviable  frame  of  mind. 
He  inclined  his  head  in  response  to  Balashof's  low  and  re- 
spectful bow,  and,  approaching  him,  began  immediately  to 
speak  like  a  man  who  values  every  moment  of  his  time, 
and  does  not  condescend  to  make  set  speeches;  but  is  con- 


22  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

vinced  in  his  own  mind  that  he  always  speaks  well  and  to 
the  point. 

"  How  are  you,  general  ? ''  said  he.  "  I  have  received  the 
Emperor  Alexander's  letter  which  you  brought,  and  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you." 

He  scrutinized  Balashof  s  face  with  his  large  eyes,  and  then 
immediately  looked  past  him.  It  was  evident  that  BalashoFs 
personality  did  not  interest  him  in  the  least.  It  was  evident 
that  only  what  came  into  his  own  mind  had  any  interest  for 
him.  Everything  outside  of  him  had  no  consequence,  because, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  everything  in  the  world  depended  on  his 
will  alone. 

"  I  have  not  desired  war,  and  I  do  not  desire  it  now,"  said 
he.  "But  I  have  been  driven  to  it.  Even  7iow"  —  he  laid  a 
strong  stress  on  the  word  —  "I  am  ready  to  accept  any  explar 
nation  which  you  can  offer. '* 

And  he  began  clearly  and  explicitly  to  state  the  grounds  for 
his  dissatisfaction  with  the  Russian  Government.  Judging  by 
the  calm,  moderate,  and  even  friendly  tone  in  which  the  French 
Emperor  spoke,  Balashof  was  firmly  convinced  that  he  was 
anxious  for  peace  and  intended  to  enter  into  negotiations. 

"  Sire,  VEmpereur,  mon  mattre  "  —  Balashof  began  his  long 
prepared  speech  when  Napoleon,  having  finished  what  he  had 
to  say,  looked  inquiringly  at  the  Russian  envoy  :  but  the  look 
in  the  Emperor's  eyes,  fastened  upon  him,  confused  him. 
"  You  are  confused,  —  regain  your  self-possession,"  Napoleon 
seemed  to  say  as  he  glanced  with  a  hardly  perceptible  amile  at 
Balashof  s  uniform  and  sword.  Balashof  recovered  his  self- 
possession  and  began  to  speak.  He  declared  that  the  Em- 
peror Alexander  did  not  consider  Kurakin's  demand  for  his 
passport  a  sufficient  ground  for  war,  that  Kurakin  had  pro- 
ceeded on  his  own  responsibility  and  without  the  sovereign's 
sanction,  that  the  Emperor  Alexander  did  not  wish  for  war 
and  that  he  had  no  understanding  with  England. 

"  None  as  yet,"  suggested  Napoleon,  and,  as  though  fearing 
to  commit  himself,  he  scowled  and  slightly  inclined  his  head, 
giving  Balashof  to  understand  that  he  might  go  on. 

Having  said  all  that  he  had  been  empowered  to  say,  Balashof 
declared  that  the  Emperor  Alexander  desired  peace,  but  that 
he  would  not  enter  into  negotiations  except  on  condition 
that  —  Here  Balashof  stopped  short.  He  recollected  the 
words  which  the  Emperor  Alexander  had  not  incorporated  in 
the  letter,  but  which  he  had  strenuously  insisted  should  be  in- 
serted in  the  rescript  to  Saltuikof,  and  which  he  had  com- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  28 

manded  Balashof  to  repeat  to  Napoleon.  Balashof  remembered 
these  words,  "  so  long  as  an  armed  foe  remains  on  Russian 
soil/'  but  some  strange  and  complicated  feeling  restrained  him* 
He  found  it  impossible  to  repeat  these  words,  although  his 
desire  to  do  bo  was  great.  He  hesitated  and  said,  "On  condi- 
tion that  the  French  troops  retire  beyond  the  Niemen." 

Napoleon  remarked  Balashof's  confusion  as  he  said  those 
last  words.  His  face  twitched ;  the  calf  of  his  left  leg  began  to 
tremble  nei-vously.  Not  stirring  from  the  place  where  he  was 
standing,  he  began  to  speak  in  a  higher  key,  and  more  rapidly 
than  before.  All  the  time  that  he  was  speaking,  Balashof,  not 
once  shifting  his  eyes,  involuntarily  watched  the  twitching  of 
Napoleon's  left  calf,  which  increased  in  violence  in  proportion 
as  he  raised  his  voice. 

"  I  desire  peace  no  less  than  the  Emperor  Alexander,"  said 
he.  "Have  I  not  for  eighteen  months  done  everything  to 
preserve  it?  I  have  been  waiting  eighteen  months  for  an 
explanation.  But  what  is  demanded  of  me  before  negotiations 
can  begin  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  frown,  and  emphasizing  his 
question  with  an  energetic  gesture  of  his  little,  white,  plump 
hand. 

"The  withdrawal  of  the  troops  beyond  the  Niemen,  sire," 
replied  Balashof. 

"  Beyond  the  Niemen,"  repeated  Napoleon.  "  So  that  is  all 
that  is  wanted  now,  is  it,  —  'beyond  the  Niemen,'  merely 
beyond  the  Niemen,"  insisted  Napoleon,  looking  straight  at 
-Balashof. 

Balashof  respectfully  inclined  his  head. 

"  Four  montns  ago  the  demand  was  to  evacuate  Pomerania, 
but  now  all  that  is  required  is  to  retire  beyond  the  Niemen." 
—  Napoleon  abruptly  turned  away  and  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  room.  "You  say  that  it  is  demanded  of  me  to 
retire  beyond  the  Niemen  before  there  can  be  any  attempt  at 
negotiations,  but  in  exactly  the  same  way  two  months  ago  all 
that  was  required  of  me  was  to  retire  beyond  the  Oder  and  the 
Vistula,  and  yet  you  can  still  think  of  negotiating  ?  " 

He  walked  in  silence  from  one  comer  of  the  room  to  the 
other,  and  then  stopped  in  front  of  Balashof.  Balashof 
noticed  that  his  left  leg  trembled  even  faster  than  before,  and 
his  face  seemed  petrified  in  its  sternness  of  expression.  This 
trembling  Napoleon  himself  was  aware  of.  He  afterwards 
said,  "Xa  vibration  de  man  mollet  gauche  est  un  grand  signe 
ehez  mai" 

"  Any  such  propositions  as  to  abandon  the  Oder  or  the 


24  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Vistula  may  be  made  to  the  Prince  of  Baden,  but  not  to  me," 
Napoleon  almost  screamed,  the  words  seeming  to  take  him  by 
surprise.  "  If  you  were  to  give  me  Petersburg  and  Moscow, 
I  would  not  accept  such  conditions.  You  declare  that  I  began 
this  war.  But  who  went  to  his  army  first  ?  The  Emperor 
Alexander,  and  not  I.  And  you  propose  negotiations  when  I 
have  spent  millions,  when  you  have  made  an  alliance  with 
England,  and  when  your  position  is  critical  —  you  propose 
negotiations  with  me !  But  what  was  the  object  of  your  alli- 
ance with  England  ?  What  has  she  given  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
hurriedly,  evidently  now  making  no  effort  to  show  the  advan- 
tages of  concluding  peace,  and  deciding  upon  the  possibilities 
of  it,  but  simply  to  prove  his  own  probity  and  power,  and 
Alexander's  lack  of  probity  and  blundering  statecraft. 

At  first  he  was  evidently  anxious  to  show  what  an  advanta- 
geous position  he  held,  and  to  prove  that,  nevertheless,  he 
would  be  willing  to  have  negotiations  opened  again.  But  he 
was  now  fairly  launched  in  his  declaration,  and  the  longer 
he  spoke  the  less  able  he  was  to  control  the  cuiTcnt  of  his  dis- 
course. The  whole  aim  of  his  words  now  seemed  to  exalt 
himself  and  to  humiliate  Alexander,  which  was  precisely 
what  he  least  of  all  wished  to  do  at  the  beginning  of  the  inter- 
view. 

"  It  is  said  you  have  concluded  peace  with  the  Turks  ?  " 

Balashof  bent  his  head  affirmatively.  "Peace  has  been 
dec  — "  he  began ;  but  Napoleon  gave  him  no  chance  to 
speak.  It  was  plain  that  he  wished  to  have  the  floor  to  him- 
self, and  he  went  on  talking  with  that  eloquence  and  excess 
of  irritability  to  which  men  who  have  been  spoiled  are  so 
prone. 

"Yes,  I  know  that  you  have  concluded  peace  with  the 
Turks,  and  without  securing  Moldavia  and  Valakhia.  But  I 
would  have  given  your  sovereign  these  provinces  just  as  I 
gave  him  Finland !  Yes,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  I  promised  the 
Emperor  Alexander  the  provinces  of  Moldavia  and  Valakhia, 
and  I  would  have  given  them  to  him ;  but  now  he  shall  not 
have  those  beautiful  provinces.  He  might,  however,  have 
united  them  to  his  empire,  and,  in  his  reign  alone,  he  would 
have  made  Russia  spread  from  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia  to  the 
mouths  of  the  Danube.  Catherine  the  Great  could  not  have 
done  more,"  exclaimed  Napoleon,  growing  more  and  more 
excited,  as  he  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  and  saying  to 
Balashof  almost  the  same  words  which  he  had  said  to  Alex- 
ander himself  at  Tilsit.     "  All  that  my  friendship  would  have 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  25 

brought  to  him  !  Oh,  what  a  glorious  reign !  what  a  glorious 
reign ! "  he  repeated  several  times.  He  paused  and  took  out 
a  gold  snuff-box,  and  greedily  sniffed  at  it.  "  What  a  glorious 
reign  the  Emperor  Alexander's  might  have  been  !  "  * 

He  gave  Balashof  a  compassionate  look,  but  as  soon  as  the 
general  started  to  make  some  remark,  Napoleon  hastened  to 
interrupt  him  again. 

"  What  could  he  have  wished  or  sought  for  that  he  would 
not  have  secured  by  being  my  friend  ?  '*  Napoleon  asked, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  in  perplexity.  "  No,  he  preferred  to 
surround  himself  with  my  enemies,  and  what  enemies  ?  "  pur- 
sued Napoleon.  "He  has  attached  to  himself  Steins,  Arm- 
feldts,  Benigsens,  Winzengerodes  !  Stein,  a  traitor  banished 
from  his  own  country ;  Armfeldt,  a  scoundrel  and  intriguer ; 
Winzengerode,  a  fugitive  French  subject ;  Benigsen,  a  rather 
better  soldier  than  the  others,  but  still  incapable,  who  had  no 
idea  how  to  act  in  1807,  and  who  ought  to  arouse  horrible 
recollections  in  the  emperor's  mind.  We  will  grant  that  he 
might  make  some  use  of  them,  if  they  had  any  capacity,"  pur- 
sued Napoleon,  scarcely  able  in  his  speech  to  keep  up  with  the 
arguments  that  kept  rising  in  his  mind  in  support  of  his  right 
or  might  —  the  two  things  being  one  in  his  view.  "  But  there 
is  nothing  of  the  sort :  they  are  of  no  use  either  for  war  or 
peace  !  Barclay,  they  say,  is  better  than  all  the  rest  of  them ; 
but  I  should  not  say  so,  judging  by  his  first  movements.  But 
what  are  they  doing  ?  What  are  all  these  courtiers  doing  ? 
Pfuhl  proposes ;  Armfeldt  argues ;  Benigsen  considers ;  and 
Barclay,  w^hen  called  upon  to  act,  knows  not  what  plan  of 
action  to  decide  upon,  and  time  slips  away,  and  nothing  is 
accomplished.  Bagration  alone  is  a  soldier.  He  is  stupid, 
but  he  has  experience,  a  quick  eye,  and  decision.  And  what 
sort  of  a  part  is  your  young  sovereign  playing  in  this  hopeless 
throng?  They  are  compromising  him,  and  making  him  re- 
sponsible for  everj'^thing  that  takes  place.  A  sovereign  has  nq 
right  to  be  with  his  army  unless  he  is  a  general,"  said  he, 
evidently  intending  these  words  to  be  taken  as  a  direct  chal- 
lenge to  the  Russian  emperor.  Napoleon  was  well  aware 
how  desirous  the  Emperor  Alexander  was  to  be  a  military  com? 
mander. 

"The  campaign  has  not  been  begun  a  week,  and  you  could 
not  defend  Vilno.  You  are  cut  in  two,  and  driven  out  of  the 
Polish  provinces.     Your  army  is  already  grumbling." 

*  Tovt  cela  il  Vaurait  du  a  mon  amiti^.  Ah  !  quel  beau  regne  I  quel  hea^ 
fegne  ! —  Q"€/  btau  regne  axiraitpu  cclui  de  Vempereur  Alexandra, 


26  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"On  the  contrary,  your  majesty,"  said  Balashof,  scarcely 
remembering  what  nad  been  said  to  him,  and  finding  it  hard 
to  follow  this  pyrotechnic  of  words,  "  the  troops  are  full  of 
zeal "  — 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Napoleon,  interrupting  him.  "  I 
know  the  whole  story ;  and  I  know  the  contingent  of  your 
battalions  as  well  as  that  of  my  own.  You  have  not  two 
hundred  thousand  men;  and  I  have  three  times  as  many. 
I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,"  said  Napoleon,  who  forgot 
that  his  word  of  honor  might  have  very  little  weight, — "I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  have  five  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand  men  on  this  side  of  the  Vistula.  The  Turks 
will  be  no  help  to  you:  they  are  never  of  any  use;  and 
they  have  proved  this  by  making  peace  with  you.  The 
Swedes  —  it  is  their  fate  to  be  ruled  by  madmen.  Their 
king  was  crazy :  they  got  rid  of  him,  and  chose  another  — - 
Bernadotte,  who  instantly  lost  his  wits :  because  it  is  sure 
proof  of  madness  that  a  Swede  should  enter  into  alliance  with 
Kussia." 

Napoleon  uttered  this  with  a  vicious  sneer,  and  again  car- 
ried the  snuff-box  to  his  nose. 

To  each  of  Napoleon's  propositions,  Balashof  was  ready  and 
willing  to  give  an  answer ;  he  kept  making  the  gestures  of  a 
man  who  has  somewhat  to  say ;  but  Napoleon  gave  him  no 
chance  to  speak.  In  refutation  of  the  Swedes  being  mad, 
Balashof  was  anxious  to  state  that  Sweden  was  isolated  if 
Kussia  were  against  her;  but  Napoleon  interrupted  him, 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  so  as  to  drown  his  words. 
Napoleon  had  worked  himself  up  into  that  state  of  irritation 
in  which  a  man  must  talk,  and  talk,  and  talk,  if  for  nothing 
else  but  to  convince  himself  that  he  is  in  the  right  of  a 
question. 

Balashof  began  to  grow  uncomfortable:  as  an  envoy  he 
began  to  fear  that  he  was  compromising  his  dignity ;  and  he 
felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  reply ;  but,  as  a  man,  he  had  a 
moral  shrinking  before  the  assault  of  such  unreasonable  fury 
as  had  evidently  come  upon  Napoleon.  He  was  aware  that 
anything  Napoleon  might  say  in  such  circumstances  had  no 
special  significance ;  that  he  himself,  when  he  came  to  think 
it  over,  would  be  ashamed.  Balashof  stood  with  eyes  cast 
down,  looking  at  Napoleon's  restless  stout  legs,  and  tried  to 
avoid  meeting  his  eyes. 

"  But  what  do  I  care  for  your  allies  ?  "  demanded  Napoleon. 
**  I  too  have  allies  —  these  Poles,  eighty  thousand  of  them  j 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  27 

they  fight  like  lions,  and  there  will  be  two  hundred  thoasand  of 
them." 

Andy  probably,  still  more  excited  by  the  fact  that  in  making 
this  statement  he  was  uttering  a  palpable  falsehood,  and  by 
Balashof  standing  there,  in  silent  submission  to  his  fate,  he 
abruptly  turned  back,  came  close  to  Balashof,  and,  making 
rapid  and  energetic  gestures  with  his  white  hands,  he  almost 
screamed,  — 

"  Understand !  If  you  incite  Pi*ussia  against  me,  I  assure 
you,  I  will  wipe  her  off  from  the  map  of  Europe,"  said  he,  his 
face  pale  and  distorted  w^ith  rage,  and  energetically  striking 
one  white  hand  against  the  other.  "  Yes,  and  I  will  drive  you 
beyond  the  Dwina  and  the  Dnieper ;  and  I  will  erect  against 
you  that  barrier  which  Europe  was  stupid  and  blind  enough 
to  permit  to  be  overthrown.  That  is  what  will  become  of  you, 
that  is  what  you  will  have  lost  in  alienating  me,"  said  he,  and 
once  more  began  to  pace  the  room  in  silence,  a  number  of 
times  jerking  his  stout  shoulders. 

He  replaced  his  snuff-box  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  took  it  out 
again,  carried  it  to  his  nose  several  times,  and  halted  directly 
in  front  of  Balashof.  He  stood  thus  without  speaking,  and 
gazed  directly  into  Balashof  s  eyes,  with  a  satirical  expression ; 
then  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  — 

"  Et  cependant  quel  beau  regne  aurait  pu  avoir  voire  mattre 
— what  a  glorious  reign  your  master  might  have  had  !  " 

Balashof,  feeling  it  absolutely  indispensable  to  make  some 
answer,  declared  that  affairs  did  not  present  themselves  to  the 
eyes  of  the  Russian s  in  such  a  gloomy  aspect.  Napoleon  said 
nothing,  but  continued  to  look  at  him  with  the  same  satirical 
expression,  and  apparently  had  not  heard  what  he  said.  Bal- 
ashof declared  that  in  Eussia  the  highest  hopes  were  enter- 
tained of  the  issue  of  the  war.  Napoleon  tossed  his  head  con- 
descendingly, as  much  as  to  say.  "  I  know  it  is  your  duty  to 
say  so,  but  you  do  not  believe  it ;  my  arguments  have  con- 
vinced you." 

When  Balashof  had  finished  what  he  had  to  say.  Napoleon 
once  more  raised  his  snuff-box,  took  a  sniff  from  it,  and  then 
stamped  twice  on  the  floor,  as  a  signal.  The  door  was  flung 
open :  a  chamberlain,  respectfully  approaching,  handed  the 
emperor  his  hat  and  gloves ;  another  brought  him  his  handker- 
chief. Napoleon,  not  even  looking  at  them,  addressed  Bala- 
shof,— 

"  Assure  the  Emperor  Alexander,  in  my  name,"  said  he,  as 
he  topH  V^  b^^i  "  ^l^t  I  esteem  him  as  warmly  as  before  :  I 


28  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

know  him  thoroughly,  and  I  highly  appreciate  his  lofty  quali- 
ties. Je  ne  vous  retiensplus,  general ;  vous  reeevrez  ma  lettre  h 
VempereurJ^ 

And  Napoleon  swiftly  disappeared  through  the  door.     All 
in  the  reception-room  hurried  forward  and  down  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

After  all  that  Napoleon  had  said  to  him,  after  those  ex- 
plosions of  wrath,  and  after  those  last  words  spoken  so  coldly, 
"Je  ne  vous  retiensplus,  general ;  vous  reeevrez  ma  lettre"  Bal- 
ashof  was  convinced  that  Napoleon  would  not  only  Have  no 
further  desire  to  see  him,  but  would  rather  avoid  seeing  him, 
a  humiliated  envoy,  and,  what  was  more,  a  witness  of  his  un- 
dignified heat.  But,  to  his  amazement,  he  received  through 
Duroc  an  invitation  to  dine  that  day  with  the  emperor. 

The  guests  were  Bessieres,  Caulamcourt,  and  Berthier. 

Napoleon  met  Balashof  with  a  cheerful  face  and  affably.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  sign  of  awkwardness  or  self-reproach  for 
bis  outburst  of  the  morning,  but,  on  the  contrary,  he  tried  to 
put  Balashof  at  his  ease.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  Napoleon 
was  perfectly  persuaded  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  his 
making  any  mistakes  and  that  in  his  understanding  of  things 
all  that  he  did  was  well,  not  because  it  was  brought  into  com- 
parison with  the  standards  of  right  and  wrong,  but  simply 
because  ?ie  did  it. 

The  emperor  was  in  excellent  spirits  after  his  ride  through 
Vilno,  where  he  was  received  and  followed  by  the  acclamations 
of  a  throng  of  people.  In  all  the  windows  along  the  streets 
where  he  passed  were  displayed  tapestries,  flags,  and  decora- 
tions ornamented  with  his  monogram,  while  Polish  ladies 
saluted  him  and  waved  their  handkerchiefs. 

At  dinner  he  had  Balashof  seated  next  himself  and  treated 
him  not  only  cordially  but  as  though  he  considered  him  one  of  his 
own  courtiers,  one  of  those  who  sympathized  in  his  plan  and 
rejoiced  in  his  success.  Among  other  topics  of  conversation 
he  brought  up  Moscow  and  began  to  ask  Balashof  about  the 
Kussian  capital,  not  merely  as  an  inquisitive  traveller  asks 
about  a  new  place  which  he  has  in  mind  to  visit,  but  as  though 
he  were  convinced  that  Balashof,  as  a  Russian,  must  be  flat- 
tered by  his  curiosity. 

"How  many  inhabitants  are  there  in  Moscow  ?    How  many 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  29 

houses  ?  Is  it  a  fact  that  Moscow  is  called  Mosgou  la  Sainte  ? 
How  many  churches  are  there  in  Moscow  ?  "  he  asked. 

And  when  told  that  there  were  upwards  of  two  hundred  he 
asked,  "  What  is  the  good  of  such  a  host  of  chui-ches  ?  " 

"  The  Russians  are  very  religious,"  replied  Balashof. 

"Nevertheless  a  great  number  of  monasteries  and  churches 
is  always  a  sign*  that  a  people  are  backward,"  said  Napoleon, 
glancing  at  Caulaincourt  for  confirmation  in  this  opinion. 

Balashof  respectfully  begged  leave  to  differ  from  the  French 
emperor's  opinion. 

"  Every  country  has  its  own  customs,"  said  he. 

"  But  nowhere  else  in  Europe  is  there  anything  like  it," 
remarked  Napoleon. 

"  I  beg  your  majesty's  pardon,"  replied  Balashof.  "  There 
is  Spain  as  well  as  Kussia  where  monasteries  and  churches 
abound." 

This  reply  of  BalashoFs,  which  had  a  subtile  hint  at  the 
recent  defeat  of  the  French  in  Spain,  was  considered  very 
clever  when  Balashof  repeated  it  at  the  Emperor  Alexander's 
court ;  but  it  was  not  appreciated  at  Napoleon's  table,  and 
passed  unnoticed. 

The  indifferent  and  perplexed  faces  of  the  marshals  plainly 
betrayed  the  fact  that  they  did  not  understand  where  the 
point  of  the  remark  came  in,  or  realize  Balashof's  insinuation. 
"  If  that  had  been  witty,  then  we  should  have  understood  it ; 
consequently  it  could  not  have  been  witty,"  the  marshals' 
faces  seemed  to  say.  So  little  was  this  remark  appreciated 
that  even  Napoleon  did  not  notice  it,  and  7icCively  asked  Bala- 
shof the  names  of  the  cities  through  which  the  direct  road  to 
Moscow  led. 

Balashof,  who  throughout  the  dinner  was  on  the  alert,  replied, 
"  Just  as  all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  so  all  roads  lead  to  Moscow ; " 
that  there  were  many  roads,  and  that  among  these  different 
routes  was  the  one  that  passed  through  Pultava,  which  Charles 
XII.  had  chosen.  Thus  replied  Balashof,  involuntarily  flush- 
ing with  delight  at  the  cleveniess  of  this  answer.  Balashof 
had  hardly  pronounced  the  word  "Pultava"  when  Caulain- 
court began  to  complain  of  the  difficulties  of  the  route  from 
Petersburg  to  Moscow  and  to  recall  his  Petersburg  experiences. 

After  dinner  they  went  into  Napoleon's  cabinet  to  drink 
their  coffee ;  four  days  before  it  had  been  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander's cabinet ;  Napoleon  sat  down,  stirring  his  coffee  in  a 
Sevres  cup  and  pointed  Balashof  to  a  chair  near  him. 

There  is  a  familiar  state  of  mind  that  comes  over  a  man 


30  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

after  a  dinner,  and,  acting  with  greater  force  than  all  the  die- 
tates  of  mere  reason,  compels  him  to  be  satisfied  with  himself 
and  to  consider  all  men  his  friends.  Napoleon  was  now  in 
this  comfortable  mental  condition.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  surrounded  by  men  who  adored  him.  He  was  persuaded 
that  even  Balashof,  after  having  eaten  dinner  with  him,  was  his 
friend  and  worshipper.  Napoleon  addressed  him  with  a 
pleasant  and  slightly  satirical  smile,  — 

"  This  is  the  very  room,  I  am  informed,  which  the  Emperor 
Alexander  used.  Strange,  isn't  it,  general  ? "  he  asked,  evi- 
dently not  having  any  idea  that  such  a  remark  could  fail  to 
be  agreeable  to  his  guest,  as  it  insinuated  that  he,  Napoleon, 
was  superior  to  Alexander. 

Balashof  could  have  nothing  to  reply  to  this,  and  merely 
inclined  his  head. 

"  Yes,  in  this  room,  four  days  ago,  Winzengerode  and  Stein 
were  holding  council,"  pursued  Napoleon  with  the  same  self- 
confident,  satirical  smile.  "  What  I  cannot  understand  is  that 
the  Emperor  Alexander  has  taken  to  himself  all  my  personal 
enemies.  I  do  not — understand  it.  Has  it  never  occurred 
to  him  that  T  might  do  the  same  thing  ?  "  And  this  question 
directed  to  Balashof  evidently  aroused  his  recollection  of  the 
cause  of  liis  morning's  fury,  which  was  still  fresh  in  his  mind. 

"  And  have  him  know  that  I  will  do  so,"  said  Napoleon,  get- 
ting up  and  pushing  away  his  cup.  ^*I  will  drive  all  his 
kindred  out  of  Germany,  —  those  of  Wurtemberg,  Weimar, 
Baden  —  yes,  I  will  drive  them  all  out."  Let  him  be  getting 
ready  for  them  an  asylum  in  Russia !  " 

Balashof  bowed,  and  signified  that  he  was  anxious  to  with- 
draw, and  that  he  listened  simply  because  he  could  not  help 
listening  to  what  Napoleon  said.  But  Napoleon  paid  no  heed 
to  this  motion ;  he  addressed  Balashof  not  as  his  enemy's  en- 
voy, but  as  a  man  who  was  for  the  time  being  entirely 
devoted  to  him  and  must  needs  rejoice  in  the  humiliation  of 
his  former  master. 

"  And  why  has  the  Emperor  Alexander  assumed  the  command 
of  his  forces  ?  What  is  the  reason  of  it  ?  War  is  my  trade, 
and  his  is  to  rule  and  not  to  command  armies.  Why  has  he 
taken  upon  him  such  responsibilities  ?  " 

Napoleon  again  took  his  snuff-box,  silently  strode  several 
times  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  and  then  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  went  straight  up  to  Balashof  and  with  a  slight 
smile  he  unhesitatingly,  swiftly,  simply, — as  though  he  were 
doing  something  not  only  important,  but  rather  even  agre^s^ble 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  31 

to  Balashof ,  —  ptit  liis  hand  into  his  face  and,  taking  hold  of  his 
ear,  gave  it  a  bttle  pull,  the  smile  being  on  his  lips  alone. 
To  have  one's  ear  pulled  by  the  Emperor  was  considered  the 
greatest  honor  and  favor  at  the  French  court. 

"  Eh  bien,  vaus  ne  dvtes  rien,  admirateur  et  courtisan  de 
rjEhnpereur  Alexandre  ?  "  asked  Napoleon,  as  though  it  were  an 
absurdity  in  his  presence  to  be  an  admirer  and  courtier  of  any 
one  besides  himself.  '<  Are  the  horses  ready  for  the  general  ?  " 
he  added,  slightly  bending  his  head  in  answer  to  BalashoFs 
bow.     "  Give  him  mine,  he  has  far  to  <7o." 

The  letter  which  was  intrusted  to  Balashof  was  the  last 
that  Napoleon  ever  wrote  to  Alexander.  All  the  pai'ticulars  of 
the  interview  were  communicated  to  the  Eussian  emperor, 
and  the  war  began. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

After  his  interview  with  Pierre,  Prince  Andrei  went  to 
Petersburg  on  business,  as  he  told  his  relatives,  but  in  reality 
to  find  Prince  Anatol  Kuragin  there,  since  he  considered  it 
his  bounden  duty  to  fight  him.  But  Kuragin,  whom  he  in- 
quired after  as  soon  as  he  reached  Petersburg,  was  no  longer 
there.  Pierre  had  sent  word  to  his  brother-in-law  that  Prince 
Andrei  was  in  search  of  him.  Anatol  Kuragin  had  immedi- 
ately secured  an  appointment  from  the  minister  of  war,  and 
gone  to  the  Moldavian  army. 

During  this  visit  to  Petersburg  Prince  Andrei  met  Kutuzof, 
his  former  general,  who  was  always  well  disposed  to  him,  and 
Kutuzof  proposed  that  he  should  go  with  him  to  the  Molda- 
vian army,  of  which  the  old  general  had  been  appointed  com- 
mander-in-chief. Prince  Andrei,  having  thereupon  received 
his  appointment  as  one  of  the  commander's  staff,  started  for 
Turkey. 

Prince  Andrei  felt  that  it  would  not  be  becoming  to  write 
Kuragin  and  challenge  him.  Having  no  new  pretext  for  a 
duel,  he  felt  that  a  challenge  from  him  would  compromise  the 
Countess  Eostova,  and  therefore  he  sought  for  a  personal 
interview  with  Kuragin,  when  he  hoped  he  should  be  able  to 
invent  some  new  pretext  for  the  duel.  But  in  Turkey  also  he 
failed  of  finding  Kuragin,  who  had  returned  to  Bussia  as  soon 
as  he  learned  of  Prince  Andrei's  arrival. 

In  a  new  country,  and  under  new  conditions,  life  began  to 
9^m  easier  to  Prijice  Aodrei,    After  the  faithlessness  of  his 


82  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

betrothed,  which  had  affected  him  all  the  more  seriously  from 
his  very  endeavor  to  conceal  from  all  the  grief  that  it  had 
really  caused  him,  the  conditions  of  life  in  which  he  had 
found  so  much  happiness  had  grown  painful  to  him,  and  still 
more  painful  the  very  freedom  and  independence  which  he 
had  in  times  gone  by  prized  so  highly.  He  not  only  ceased  to 
harbor  those  thoughts  which  had  for  the  first  time  occurred  to 
him  ss  he  looked  at  the  heavens  on  the  field  of  Austerlitz, 
which  he  so  loved  to  develop  with  Pierre,  and  which  were  the 
consolations  of  his  solitude  at  Bogucharovo,  and  afterwards  in 
Switzerland  and  Rome,  but  he  even  feared  to  bring  up  the 
recollection  of  these  thoughts,  which  opened  up  such  infinite 
and  bright  horizons.  He  now  concerned  himself  solely  with 
the  narrowest  and  most  practical  interests,  entirely  discon- 
nected with  the  past,  and  busied  himself  with  these  with  all 
the  greater  avidity  because  the  things  that  were  past  were 
kept  from  his  remembrance.  That  infinite,  ever-retreating 
vault  of  the  heavens  which  at  that  former  time  had  arched 
above  him  had,  as  it  were,  suddenly  changed  into  one  low  and 
finite  oppression,  where  all  was  clear,  but  there  was  nothing 
eternal  and  mysterious. 

Of  all  the  activities  that  offered  themselves  to  his  choice, 
the  military  service  was  the  simplest  and  best  known  to  him. 
Accepting  the  duties  of  general  inspector  on  Kutuzof's  staff, 
he  entered  into  his  work  so  doggedly  and  perseveringly  that 
Kutuzof  was  amazed  at  his  zeal  and  punctuality.  Not  finding 
Kuragin  in  Turkey,  he  did  not  think  it  worth  his  while  to  fol- 
low him  back  to  Russia ;  but  still  he  was  well  aware  that,  no 
matter  how  long  a  time  should  elapse,  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him,  in  spite  of  all  the  scorn  which  he  felt  for  him,  in 
spite  of  all  the  arguments  which  he  used  in  his  own  mind  to 
prove  that  he  ought  not  to  stoop  to  any  encounter  with  him, 
he  was  aware,  I  say,  that  if  ever  he  met  him  he  would  be 
obliged  to  challenge  him,  just  as  a  starving  man  throws  him- 
self on  food.  And  this  consciousness  that  the  insult  had  not 
yet  been  avenged,  that  his  anger  had  not  been  vented,  but  still 
lay  on  his  heart,  poisoned  that  artificial  serenity  which  Prince 
Andrei  by  his  apparently  indefatigable  and  somewhat  ambi- 
tious and  ostentatious  activity  procured  for  himself  in  Turkey. 

When,  in  J812,  the  news  of  the  war  with  Napoleon  reached 
Bukharest,  —  where  for  two  months  Kutuzof  had  been  living, 
spending  his  days  and  nights  with  his  Wallachian  mistress,  — 
Prince  Andrei  asked  his  permission  to  be  transferred  to  the 
western  army.    Kutuzof;  who  had  already  grown  weary  of  th^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  83 

excess  of  Bolkonsky's  activilnr^  which  was  a  constant  reproach 
to  his  own  indolence,  willingly  granted  his  request,  and  gave 
him  a  commission  to  Barclay  de  Tolly. 

Before  joining  the  army,  which,  during  the  month  of  May, 
was  encamped  at  Drissa,  Prince  Andrei  drove  to  Luisiya 
Gorui,  which  was  directly  in  his  route,  being  only  three  versts 
from  the  Smolensk  highway. 

During  the  last  three  years  of  Prince  Andrei's  life,  there 
had  been  so  many  changes,  he  had  thought  so  much,  felt  so 
much,  seen  so  much,  — for  he  had  travelled  through  both  the 
east  and  the  west,  —  that  he  felt  a  sense  of  strangeness,  of 
unexpected  amazement,  to  find  at  Luisiya  Gorui  exactly  the 
same  manner  of  life  even  to  the  smallest  details.  As  he 
entered  the  driveway,  and  passed  the  stone  gates  that  guarded 
his  paternal  home,  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  an  enchanted 
castle,  where  everything  was  fast  asleep.  The  same  sobriety, 
the  same  neatness,  the  same  quietude  reigned  in  the  house ; 
the  same  furniture,  the  same  walls,  the  same  sounds,  the  same 
odor,  and  the  same  timid  faces,  only  grown  a  little  older. 

The  Princess  Mariya  was  the  same  timid,  plain  body,  only 
grown  into  an  old  maid,  and  living  out  the  best  years  of  her 
life  in  fear  and  eternal  moral  sufferings,  without  profit  and 
without  happiness.  Bourienne  was  the  same  coquettish,  self- 
satisfied  person,  cheerfully  getting  profit  out  of  every  moment 
of  her  life,  and  consoling  herself  with  the  most  exuberant 
hopes ;  only  it  seemed  to  Prince  Andrei  that  she  showed  an 
increase  of  assurance. 

The  tutor,  Dessalles,  whom  Prince  Andrei  had  brought  from 
Switzerland,  wore  an  overcoat  of  Bussian  cut ;  his  unmanagea- 
ble tongue  involved  itself  in  Bussian  speech  with  the  servants, 
btit  otherwise  he  was  the  same  pious  and  pedantical  tutor  of 
somewhat  limited  intelligence. 

The  only  physical  change  in  the  old  prince  was  a  gap  left 
by  the  loss  of  a  tooth,  from  one  comer  of  his  mouth ;  morally, 
he  was  just  the  same  as  before,  only  with  an  accentuation  of  his 
ugly  temx)er,  and  his  distrust  in  the  genuineness  of  everything 
that  was  done  in  the  world. 

Nikolushka,  with  his  rosy  cheeks  and  dark,  curly  hair,  had 
been  the  one  person  to  grow  and  change ;  and,  unconsciously, 
gay  and  merry,  he  lifted  the  upper  lip  of  his  pretty  little 
mouth,  just  as  the  lamented  princess,  his  mother,  had  dono. 
He,  alone,  refused  to  obey  the  laws  of  immutability  in  this 
enchanted,  sleeping  castle.  But,  though  externally  every- 
thing remained  as  it  had  always  been,  the  internal  relations 

VOL.  3.  —  3. 


84  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

of  all  these  people  had  altered  since  Prince  Andrei  had  seen 
them. 

The  members  of  the  household  were  divided  into  two  alien 
and  hostile  camps,  which  made  common  cause  now  simply 
because  he  was  tnere,  —  for  liis  sake  changing  the  ordinary 
course  of  their  lives.  To  the  one  party  belonged  the  old 
prince,  Bourienne,  and  the  architect :  to  the  other,  the  Prin- 
cess Mariya,  Dessalles,  Nikolushka,  and  all  the  women  of  the 
establishment. 

During  his  brief  stay  at  Luisiya  Grorui,  all  the  family  dined 
together ;  but  it  was  awkward  for  them  all,  and  Prince  Andrei 
felt  that  he  was  a  guest  for  whose  sake  an  exception  was  made^ 
and  that  his  presence  was  a  constraint  upon  them.  At  dinner, 
the  first  day,  Prince  Andrei,  having  this  consciousness,  was  invol- 
untarily taciturn ;  and  the  old  prince,  remarking  the  unnatural- 
ness  of  his  behavior,  also  relapsed  into  a  moody  silence,  and, 
immediately  after  dinner,  retired  to  his  room.  When,  later, 
Pjince  Andrei  joined  him  there,  and,  with  the  desire  of  entertain- 
ing him,  began  to  tell  him  about  the  young  Count  Ramiensky's 
campaign,  the  old  prince  unexpectedly  broke  out  into  a  tirade 
against  the  Princess  Mariya,  blaming  her  for  her  superstitioni 
and  her  dislike  of  Mademoiselle  Bourienne,  who,  according  to 
him,  was  the  only  person  truly  devoted  to  him. 

The  old  prince  laid  the  cause  of  his  feeble  health  entirely 
to  the  Princess  Mariya,  insisting  that  she  all  the  time  annoyed 
and  exasperated  him ;  and  that,  by  her  injudicious  coddling, 
and  foolish  talk,  she  was  spoiling  the  little  Prince  Nikolai. 
The  old  prince  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  it  was  he  who 
tormented  his  daughter,  and  that  her  life  was  rendered  exceed- 
ingly trying ;  but  he  was  also  aware  that  he  could  not  help 
tormenting  her,  and  that  she  deserved  it. 

"  Why  does  not  Prince  Andrei,  who  sees  how  things  are,  say 
anything  to  me  about  his  sister  ?  "  wondered  the  old  prince. 
"  He  thinks,  I  suppose,  that  I  am  a  wicked  monster,  or  an  old 
idiot,  who  has  unreasonably  estranged  himself  from  his 
daughter,  and  taken  a  Frenchwoman  in  her  place.  He  does 
not  understand  ;  and  so  I  must  explain  to  him,  and  he  must  lis- 
ten to  me,"  thought  the  old  prince.  And  he  began  to  expound 
the  reasons  that  made  it  impossible  to  endure  his  daugnter's 
absurd  character. 

"  Since  you  ask  my  opinion,"  said  Prince  Andrei,  not  look- 
ing at  his  father — for  he  was  condemning  him  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  — "  but  I  did  not  wish  to  talk  about  it ;  since 
you  ask  me,  however,  I  will  tell  you  frankly  my  opinion,  in 


WAR  AND  P^ACn.  36 

regard  to  this  matter.  If  there  is  any  misunderstanding  and 
discord  between  you  and  Masha,  I  could  never  blame  her  for 
it,  for  I  know  how  she  loves  and  reveres  you.  And  if  you 
ask  me  further,"  pursued  Prince  Andrei,  giving  way  to  his 
irritation,  because  he  had  become  of  late  exceedingly  prone  to 
fits  of  irritation,  ''  then  I  must  have  one  thing  to  say  :  if  there 
is  any  such  misunderstanding,  the  cause  of  it  is  that  vulgar 
woman,  who  is  unwoi-thy  to  be  my  sister's  companion." 

The  old  man  at  first  gazed  at  his  son  with  staring  eyes,  and, 
by  his  forced  smile,  uncovered  the  new  gap  caused  by  the  loss 
of  the  tooth,  to  which  Prince  Andrei  could  not  accustom  him- 
self. 

"  What  companion,  my  dear  ?  Ha !  Have  you  already 
been  talking  that  over  ?    Ha ! " 

"  Batyushka,  I  do  not  wish  to  judge  you,"  said  Prince 
Andrei,  in  a  sharp  and  choleric  voice ;  "  but  you  have  driven 
me  to  it ;  and  I  have  said,  and  always  shall  say,  that  the 
Princess  Mariya  is  not  to  blame ;  but  they  are  to  blame  — the 
little  Frenchwoman  is  to  blame  "  — 

"  Ha !  you  condemn  me  !  you  condemn  me !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  in  a  subdued  voice,  and  with  what  seemed  confusion  to 
Prince  Andrei;  but  then  suddenly  he  sprang  up,  and 
screamed, — 

"  Away  !  away  with  you !    Don't  dare  to  come  here  again ! " 

Prince  Andrei  intended  to  take  his  departure  immediately ; 
but  the  Princess  Mariya  begged  him  to  stay  another  day.  He 
did  not  meet  his  father  that  day  ;  the  old  prince  kept  in  his 
room,  and  admitted  no  one  except  Mademoiselle  Bourienne 
and  Tikhon ;  but  he  inquired  several  times  whether  his  son 
had  yet  gone.  On  the  following  day,  just  before  dinner. 
Prince  ^drei  went  to  his  little  son's  apartment.  The  bloom- 
ing lad,  with  his  curly  hair,  just  like  his  mother's,  sat  on  his 
knee.  Prince  Andrei  began  to  tell  him  the  story  of  Bluebeard ; 
but,  right  in  the  midst  of  it,  he  lost  the  thread,  and  fell  into  a 
brown  study.  He  did  not  give  a  thought  to  this  pretty 
little  lad,  his  son,  while  he  held  him  on  his  knee,  but 
he  was  thinking  about  himself.  With  a  sense  of  horror, 
he  sought,  and  failed  to  find,  any  remorse  in  the  fact 
that  he  had  exasperated  his  father ;  and  no  regret  that  he  was 
about  to  leave  him  —  after  the  first  quarrel  that  they  had  ever 
had  in  their  lives.  More  serious  than  all  else  was  his  discov- 
ery that  he  did  not  feel  the  affection  for  his  son  which  he 
hoped  to  arouse,  as  of  old,  by  caressing  the  lad  and  taking  him 
on  his  knee. 


36  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  Well,  go  on,  papa ! "  said  the  boy.  Prince  Andrei,  with- 
out responding,  set  him  down  from  his  knees,  and  left  the 
room.  The  moment  Prince  Andrei  suspended  his  daily  occu- 
pations, and  especially  the  moment  he  encountered  the  former 
conditions  of  his  life,  in  which  he  had  been  engaged  in 
the  old,  happy  days,  the  anguish  of  life  took  possession  of  him 
with  fresh  force ;  and  he  made  all  haste  to  leave  the  scene  of 
these  recollections,  and  to  find  occupation  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  Are  you  really  going,  Andre  ?  "  asked  his  sister. 

*^  Thank  God,  I  can  go,"  replied  Prince  Andrei.  "  I  am  very 
sorry  that  you  cannot  also." 

"What  makes  you  say  so  ?  "  exclaimed  his  sister.  "Why 
do  you  say  so,  now  that  you  are  going  to  this  terrjble  war  ? 
and  he  is  so  old !  Mademoiselle  Bourienne  told  me  that  he 
had  asked  after  you."  As  soon  as  she  recalled  this  subject, 
her  lips  trembled,  and  the  tears  rained  down  her  cheeks. 
Prince  Andrei  turned  away,  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"  Oh !  my  God !  my  God  ! "  *  he  cried.  "  And  how  do  you 
conceive  that  any  one  —  that  such  a  contemptible  creature  can 
bring  unhappiness  to  others ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  such  an  out- 
burst of  anger  that  it  frightened  the  Princess  Mariya.  She 
understood  that,  in  speaking  of  "  such  contemptible  creatures," 
he  had  reference  not  alone  to  Mademoiselle  Bourienne,  who 
had  caused  him  misery,  but  also  to  that  man  who  had  destroyed 
his  happiness. 

"  Andr^ !  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you ;  I  beg  of  you," 
said  she,  lightly  touching  his  elbow  and  gazing  at  him  with 
her  eyes  shining  through  her  tears.  —  "I  understand  you."  — 
The  Princess  Mariya  dropped  her  eyes.  —  "  Do  not  think  that 
sorrow  is  caused  by  men.  Men  are  HU  instruments."  She 
gazed  somewhat  above  her  brother's  head,  with  that  confident 
look  that  people  have  who  are  accustomed  to  look  at  the  place 
where  they  know  a  portrait  hangs.  "  Sorrow  is  sent  by  Him, 
and  comes  not  from  men.  Men  are  His  instruments;  they  are 
not  accountable.  If  it  seem  to  you  that  any  one  is  culpable 
toward  you,  forget  it  and  forgive.  We  have  no  right  to  pun- 
ish.    And  you  will  find  happiness  in  forgiving." 

"  If  I  were  a  woman  I  would,  Marie !  Forgiveness  is  a 
woman's  virtue.  But  a  man  has  no  right  and  no  power  to  for- 
give and  forget,"  said  he,  and,  although  he  was  not  at  that 
instant  thinking  of  Kuragin,  all  his  unsatisfied  vengeance 
suddenly  surged  up  in  his  heart.     "  If  the  Princess  Mariya  at 

*  Akh  !  Bozhe  mot  I  BozHa  molt 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  87 

this  late  day  urges  me  to  forgive,  it  is  proof  positive  that  I 
ought  loug  ago  to  have  punished,"  he  said  to  himself.  And, 
not  stopping  to  argue  with  his  sister,  he  began  to  dream  of 
that  joyful  moment  of  revenge  when  he  should  meet  Kurs^in, 
who  (as  he  knew)  had  gone  to  the  army. 

The  Princess  Mariya  urged  her  brother  to  delay  his  jour- 
ney yet  another  day,  assuring  him  how  unhappy  her  father 
would  be  if  Andrei  went  off  without  a  reconciliation  with 
him ;  but  Prince  Andrei  replied  that  in  all  probability  he 
should  soon  return  from  the  array,  that  he  would  certainly 
write  to  his  father,  and  that  now  the  longer  he  staid  the 
more  bitter  this  quarrel  would  become. 

"Adieu,  Andrei  remember  that  sorrows  come  from  God, 
and  that  men  are  never  accountable  for  them ; "  those  were 
the  last  words  that  his  sister  said  as  they  bade  each  other 
farewell. 

"  Such  is  our  fate ! "  said  Prince  Andrei  to  himself  as  he 
turned  out  of  the  avenue  of  the  Luisogorsky  mansion.  "  She, 
poor  innocent  creature,  is  left  to  be  devoured  by  this  crazy  old 
man.  The  old  man  is  conscious  that  he  is  doing  wrong,  but 
he  cannot  change  his  nature.  My  little  lad  is  growing  up  and 
enjoying  life,  though  he  will  become  like  all  the  rest  of  us, 
deceivers  or  deceived.  I  am  going  to  the  army  —  for  what 
purpose  I  myself  do  not  know,  and  I  am  anxious  to  meet  a 
man,  whom  I  despise,  so  as  to  give  him  a  chance  to  kill  me 
and  exult  over  me.'' 

In  days  gone  by  the  same  conditions  of  life  had  existed,  but 
then  there  was  a  single  purpose  ramifying  through  them  and 
connecting  them,  but  now  everything  was  in  confusion.  Iso- 
lated, illogical  thoughts,  devoid  of  connection,  arose  one  after 
another  in  Prince  Andrei's  mind. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Prince  Andret  reached  the  army  headquarters  toward  the 
first  of  July.  The  troops  of  the  first  division,  commanded  by 
the  sovereign  in  person,  were  intrenched  in  a  fortified  camp 
on  the  Drissa;  the  troops  of  the  second  division  were  in  retreat 
though  they  were  endeavoring  to  join  the  first,  from  which,  as 
the  report  went,  they  had  been  cut  off  by  a  strong  force  of 
the  French.  All  were  dissatisfied  with  the  general  conduct  of 
military  affairs  in  the  Kussian  army ;  but  no  one  ever  dreamed 
of  any  of  the  Kussian  provinces  being  invaded,  and  no  one  had 


38  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

supposed  that  tlie  war  would  be  carried  beyond  the  western 
government  of  Poland. 

Prince  Andrei  found  Barclay  de  Tolly  on  the  bank  of  the 
Drissa.  As  there  was  no  large  town  or  village  within  easy 
reach  of  the  camp,  all  this  enormous  throng  of  generals  and 
courtiers  who  were  present  with  the  army  were  scattered  in 
the  best  houses  of  the  little  villages  for  a  distance  of  ten 
versts  from  the  camp,  on  both  sides  of  the  river. 

Barclay  de  Tolly  was  stationed  about  four  versts  from  the 
Jsovereign. 

He  gave  Bolkonsky  a  dry  and  chilling  welcome,  and,  speak- 
ing in  his  strong  German  accent,  told  him  that  he  should  have 
•to  send  in  his  name  to  the  sovereign  for  any  definite  employ- 
ment, but  proposed  that  for  the  time  being  he  should  remain 
•on  his  staff.  Anatol  Kuragin,  whom  Prince  Andrei  hoped  to 
find  at  the  army,  was  no  longer  there  ;  he  had  gone  to  Peters- 
fburg,  and  this  news  was  agreeable  to  Bolkonsky.  He  was 
^absorbed  in  the  interest  of  being  at  the  very  centre  of  a 
mighty  war  just  beginning,  and  he  was  glad  to  be,  for  a  short 
•time,  freed  from  the  provocation  which  the  thought  of 
Kuragin  produced  in  him. 

During  the  first  four  days,  as  no  special  duties  were  required 
of  him,  Prince  Andrei  made  the  circuit  of  the  whole  fortified 
camp,  and  by  the  aid  of  his  natural  intelligence  and  by  making 
inquiries  of  men  who  were  well  informed  he  managed  to 
acquire  a  very  definite  comprehension  of  the  position.  But 
the  question  whether  this  camp  were  advantageous  or  not 
remained  undecided  in  his  mind.  He  had  already  come  to  the 
conclusion,  founded  on  his  own  military  experience,  that  even 
those  plans  laid  with  the  profoundest  deliberation  are  of  little 
consequence  in  battle  —  how  plainly  he  had  seen  this  on  the 
field  of  Austerlitz !  —  that  everything  depends  on  what  was 
done  to  meet  the  unexpected  and  impossible-to-be-foreseen 
tactics  of  the  enemy,  that  all  depended  on  how  and  by  whom 
the  affair  was  conducted. 

Therefore  in  order  to  settle  this  last  question  in  his  own 
mind  Prince  Andrei,  taking  advantage  of  his  position  and  his 
acquaintances,  tried  to  penetrate  the  character  of  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  armies,  and  of  the  persons  and  parties  that  took 
part  in  it,  and  he  drew  up  for  his  own  benefit  the  following 
digest  of  the  position  of  affairs. 

While  the  sovereign  was  still  at  Vilno,  the  troops  had  been 
divided  into  three  armies  :  the  first  was  placed  under  command 
of  Barclay  de  Tolly;    the  second  under  the  command  of 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  39 

Bagration;  the  third  under  command  of  Tonnasof.  The 
emperor  was  present  with  the  first  division,  but  not  in  his 
quality  of  commander^n-chief*  In  the  orders  of  the  day  it 
was  simply  announced  that  the  sovereign  would  —  not  take 
command,  but  would  simply  be  present  with  the  army.  More- 
over the  sovereign  had  no  personal  staff,  as  would  have  been 
the  case  had  he  been  commander-in-chief,  but  only  a  staff 
appropriate  to  the  imperial  headquarters.  Attached  to  hitn 
were  the  chief  of  the  imperial  staff,  the  General-Quartermaster 
Prince  Volkonsky,  generals,  flilgel-adjutants,  diplomatic  chi" 
novniks  and  a  great  throng  of  foreigners ;  but  these  did  not 
form  a  military  staff.  Besides  these  there  were  attached  to 
his  person,  but  without  sx)ecial  functions,  Arakcheyef,  the 
ex-minister  of  war ;  Count  Benigsen,  with  the  rank  of  seniol* 
general ;  the  grand  duke,  the  Tsesarevitch  Konstantin  Pavlo- 
viteh,  Count  Rumyantsef ;  the  Chancellor  Stein,  who  had  been 
Minister  in  Prussia;  Armfeldt,  a  Swedish  general;  Pfuhl,  the 
principal  originator  of  the  plan  of  the  campaign;  Paulucci) 
general-adjutant  and  a  Sardinian  refugee;  Woltzogen,  and 
many  others. 

Although  these  individuals  were  present  without  any  spe- 
cial military  function,  still  by  their  peculiar  position  they 
wielded  a  powerful  influence,  and  oftentimes  the  chief  of  the 
corps,  and  even  the  commander-in-chief,  did  not  know  in  what 
capacity  Benigsen  or  the  Grand  Duke  or  Arakcheyef  or 
Prince  Volkonsky  asked  questions  or  proffered  advice,  and 
could  not  tell  whether  such  and  such  an  order,  couched  in  the 
form  of  a  piece  of  advice,  emanated  from  the  speaker  or  the 
sovereign,  and  whether  it  was  incumbent  upon  him  or  not  in- 
cumbent upon  him  to  carry  it  out.  But  these  were  merely  a 
stage  accessory;  the  essential  idea  why  the  emperor  was 
present  and  all  these  men  were  present  was  perfectly  palpable 
to  all  from  the  point  of  view  of  courtiers,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  sovereign  all  were  courtiers. 

This  idea  was  as  follows  :  The  monarch  did  not  assume  the 
title  of  commander-in-chief,  but  he  exercised  control  over  all  the 
troops ;  the  men  who  surrounded  him  were  his  aids ;  Arakcheyef 
was  the  faithful  guardian  of  law  and  order,  and  the  sovereign's 
body  guard.  Benigsen  was  a  landowner  in  the  Vilno  government, 
who,  as  it  were,  did  les  honneurs  of  the  region,  and  in  reality  was 
an  excellent  general,  useful  in  council,  and  ready,  in  case  he  were 
needed,  to  take  Barclay's  place.  The  Grand  Duke  was  there 
because  it  was  a  pleasure  for  him  to  be.  Ex-Minister  Stein 
was  there  because  he  was  needed  to  give  advice,  and  because 


40  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  Emperor  Alexander  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  per- 
sonal qualities.  Armfeldt  was  Napoleon's  bitter  enemvy  and 
a  general  possessed  of  great  confidence  in  his  own  ability, 
which  always  had  an  influence  upon  Alexander.  Paulucci  was 
there  because  he  was  bold  and  resolute  in  speech.  The  gen- 
eral-adjutants were  there  because  they  were  always  attendant 
on  the  sovereign's  movements ;  and,  last  and  not  least,  Pfohl 
was  there  because  he  had  conceived  a  plan  for  the  campaign 
against  Napoleon,  and  had  induced  Alexander  to  place  his  con- 
fidence in  the  expedience  of  this  plan,  thereby  directing  the 
entire  action  of  the  war.  Pfuhl  was  attended  by  Woltzogen, 
a  keen,  self-conceited  cabinet  theorist,  who  scorned  all  things, 
and  had  the  skill  to  dress  Pfuhl's  schemes  in  a  more  pleasing 
form  than  Pfuhl  himself  could. 

In  addition  to  these  individuals  already  mentioned,  Rus- 
sians and  foreigners,  —  especially  foreigners,  who  each  day 
proposed  new  and  unexpected  plans  with  that  boldness  char- 
acteristic of  men  engaged  in  activities  in  a  land  not  their  own, 

—  there  were  a  throng  of  subordinates  who  were  present  with 
the  army  because  their  principals  were  there. 

Amid  all  the  plans  and  voices  in  this  tremendous,  restless, 
brilliant,  and  haughty  world.  Prince  Andrei  distinguished  the 
following  sharply  outlined  subdivisions  of  tendencies  and 
parties. 

The  first  party  consisted  of  Pfuhl  and  his  followers,  military 
theorists,  who  believed  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  a 
science  of  war,  and  that  this  science  had  its  immutable  laws 

—  the  laws  for  oblique  movements,  for  outflanking,  and  so  on. 
Pfuhl  and  his  followers  insisted  on  retreating  into  the  interior 
of  the  country,  according  to  definite  principles  prescribed  by 
the  so-styled  science  of  war,  and  in  every  departure  from  this 
theory  they  saw  nothing  but  barbarism,  ignorance,  or  evil  inten- 
tions. To  this  party  belonged  the  German  princes,  and  Wolt- 
zogen, Winzengerode,  and  others ;  notably  the  Germans. 

The  second  party  was  diametrically  opposed  to  the  first. 
And,  as  always  happens,  they  went  to  quite  opposite  extremes. 
The  men  of  this  party  were  those  who  insisted  on  making 
Vilno  the  base  of  a  diversion  into  Poland,  and  demanded  to  be 
freed  from  all  preconceived  plans.  Not  only  were  the  leaders 
of  this  party  the  representatives  of  the  boldest  activity,  but  at 
the  same  time  they  were  also  the  representatives  of  nation- 
alism, in  consequence  of  which  they  showed  all  the  more 
urgency  in  maintaining  their  side  of  the  dispute.  Such  were 
the  Russians  Bagration,  Yermolof,  —  who  was  just  beginning 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  41 

to  come  into  prominence,  —  and  many  others.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  Yermolof  s  famous  jest  was  quoted  extensively :  it 
was  said  that  he  asked  the  emperor  to  grant  him  the  favor  of 
promoting  him  to  be  a  German !  The  men  of  this  party  re- 
called Suvorof,  and  declared  that  there  was  no  need  of  making 
plans  or  marking  the  map  up  with  pins,  but  to  fight,  to  beat 
the  foe,  not  to  let  him  enter  Hussia,  and  not  to  let  the  army 
lose  heart. 

The  third  party,  in  which  the  sovereign  placed  the  greatest 
confidence,  consisted  of  those  courtiers  who  tried  to  find  a 
happy  mean  between  the  two  previous  tendencies.  These 
men  —  for  the  most  part  civilians,  and  Arakcheyef  was  in  their 
number — thought  and  talked  as  men  usually  talk  who  have  no 
convictions,  and  do  not  wish  to  show  their  lack  of  them. 
They  declared  that  unquestionably  the  war,  especially  with 
such  a  genius  as  Bonaparte,  —  for  they  now  called  him  Bona- 
parte again,  —  demanded  the  prof oundest  consideration,  and 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  science,  and,  in  this  respect, 
Pfuhl  was  endowed  with  genius ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  was 
impossible  not  to  acknowledge  that  theorists  were  apt  to  be 
one-sided,  and,  therefore,  it  was  impossible  to  have  perfect 
confidence  in  them ;  it  was  necessary  to  heed  also  what  Pfuhl's 
opposers  had  to  say,  and  also  what  was  said  by  men  who  had 
had  practical  experience  in  military  affairs,  and  then  to  balance 
the  two.  The  men  of  this  party  insisted  on  retaining  the 
camp  along  the  Drissa,  according  to  Pfuhl's  plan,  but  in 
changing  the  movements  of  the  other  divisions. 

The  fourth  decided  tendency  was  the  one  of  which  the 
ostensible  representative  was  the  Grand  Duke,  the  Tsesar^- 
vitch  *  Konstantin,  heir-apparent  to  the  throne,  who  could  not 
forget  his  disappointment  at  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  when  he 
rode  out  at  the  head  of  his  guards,  dressed  in  casque  and 
jacket  as  for  a  parade,  expecting  to  drive  the  French  gallantly 
before  him,  and,  unexpectedly  finding  himself  within  range 
of  the  enemy's  guns,  was  by  main  force  involved  in  the  gen- 
eral confusion.  The  men  of  this  party  showed  in  their  opin- 
ions both  sincerity  and  lack  of  sincerity.  They  were  afraid  of 
Napoleon  ;  they  saw  that  he  was  strong  while  they  were  weak, 
and  they  had  no  hesitation  in  saying  so.  They  said,  "  Noth- 
ing but  misfortune,  ignominy,  and  defeat  will  come  out  of 
all  this.     Here  we  have  abandoned  Vilno ;  we  have  abandoned 

*  Anv  aon  of  the  Tsar  is  properly  tsarevttchj  but  the  crown  prince  bean 
the  disiinctive  title  tgesareviich  (literally,  son  of  the  Cfesar).  Coont  Tolstoi, 
emphasizes  his  position  by  using  also  the  term  nasly^dnik,  sucoessori  heir. 


\i 


y 


42  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Vitebsk ;  we  shall  abandon  the  Drissa  in  like  manner.  The 
only  thing  left  for  us  to  do  in  all  reasoii  is  to  conclude  peace, 
and  as  speedily  as  possible,  before  we  are  driven  out  of  Peters- 
burg." 

This  opinion,  widely  current  in  the  upper  spheres  of  the 
army,  found  acceptance  also  in  Petersburg,  and  was  supported 
by  the  Chancellor  liumyantsef,  who  for  other  reasons  of  state 
was  also  anxious  for  peace. 

A  fifth  party  was  formed  by  those  who  were  partisans  of 
Barclay  de  Tolly  not  as  a  man,  but  simply  because  he  was 
minister  of  war  and  commander-in-chief.  These  said,  "  What- 
ever he  is," — and  that  was  the  way  they  always  began, — 
'^  he  is  an  honest,  capable  man,  and  he  has  no  superior.  Give 
him  actual  power  because  the  war  can  never  come  to  any  suc- 
cessful issue  without  some  one  in  sole  control,  and  then  he 
will  show  what  he  can  do,  just  as  he  proved  it  in  Finland. 
We  owe  it  to  this  Barclay,  and  to  him  alone,  that  our  forces 
are  well  organized  and  powerful,  and  made  the  retreat  to  the 
Drissa  without  suffering  any  loss.  If  now  Barclay  is  replaced 
by  Benigsen  all  will  go  to  rack  and  niin,  because  Benigsen 
made  an  exhibition  of  his  incapacity  in  1807,"  said  the  men 
of  this  party. 

A  sixth  party — the  Benigsenists  —  claimed  the  contrary; 
that  there  was  no  one  more  capable  and  experienced  than 
Benigsen,  "  and,  however  far  they  go  out  of  his  way,  they'll 
have  to  return  to  him."  "  Let  them  make  their  mistakes 
now ! "  And  the  men  of  this  party  argued  that  our  whole 
retreat  to  the  Drissa  was  a  disgraceful  defeat  and  an  uninter- 
rupted series  of  blunders.  "  The  more  blunders  they  make 
now  the  better,  or,  at  least,  the  sooner  they  will  discover  that 
things  cannot  go  on  in  this  way,"  said  they.  "  Such  a  man  as 
Barclay  is  not  needed,  but  a  man  like  Benigsen,  who  showed 
what  he  was  in  1807.  Napoleon  himself  has  done  him  justice, 
and  he  is  a  man  whose  authority  all  would  gladly  recognize, 
and  such  a  man  is  Benigsen  and  no  one  else." 

The  seventh  party  consisted  of  individuals  such  as  are 
always  found  especially  around  young  monarchs  —  and  Alex- 
ander the  emperor  had  a  remarkable  number  of  such  —  namely, 
generals  and  fliigel-adjutants  who  were  passionately  devoted 
to  their  sovereign,  not  in  his  quality  as  emperor,  but  worshipped 
him  as  a  man,  heartily  and  disinterestedly,  just  as  Rostof 
had  worshipped  him  in  1805,  and  saw  in  him  not  only  all 
virtues  but  all  human  qualities.  These  individuals,  although 
they  praised  their  sovereign's  modesty  in  declining  to  assume 


-J 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  45 

the  duties  of  comniander-in-ehiefy  still  criticised  this  excess  of 
modesty,  and  had  only  one  desire  which  they  insisted  upon^ 
that  their  adored  monarch,  overcoming  his  excessive  lack  of 
confidence  in  himself,  should  openly  announce  that  he  would, 
take  his  place  at  the  head  of  his  armies,  gather  around  him 
the  appropriate  stafE  of  a  commander-in-chief,  and,  while  con- 
sulting in  cases  of  necessity  with  theorists  and  practical  men 
of  experience,  himself  lead  his  troops,  who  by  this  mere  fact, 
would  be  roused  to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 

The  eighth  and  by  all  odds  the  largest  group  of  individuals,. 
which  in  comparison  with  the  others  all  put  together  would, 
rank  as  ninety-nine  to  one,  consisted  of  men  who  desired 
neither  peace  nor  war  nor  offensive  operations,  nor  a  defensive 
camp  on  the  Drissa  or  anywhere  else,  nor  Barclay,  nor  the^ 
sovereign,  nor  Pfuhl,  nor  Benigsen,  but  simply  wished  one 
and  the  same  essential  thing :  —  the  utmost  possible  advan- 
tages and  enjoyments  for  themselves.  In  these  troubled 
waters  of  intertangled  and  complicated  intrigues  such  as. 
abounded  at  the  sovereign's  headquartei*s,  it  became  possible 
to  succeed  in  many  things  which  would  have  been  infeasible 
at  any  other  time.  One  whose  sole  desire  was  not  to  lose  his. 
advantageous  position  was  to-day  on  Pfuhl's  side,  to-morrow 
allied  with  his  opponent,  on  the  day  following,  for  the  sake 
merely  of  shirking  responsibility  and  pleasing  the  sovereign, 
would  declare  that  he  had  no  opinion  in  regard  to  some  well- 
known  matter. 

A  second,  anxious  to  curry  favor,  would  attract  the  sover- 
eign's attention  by  boisterously  advocating  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  something  w^hich  the  sovereign  had  merely  hinted  at  the 
day  before,  by  arguing  and  yelling  at  the  council  meeting, 
pounding  himself  in  the  chest  and  challenging  to  a  duel  any 
one  who  took  the  other  side,  and  thereby  show  how  ready  he 
was  to  be  a  martyr  for  the  public  weal. 

A  third  would  simply  demand  between  two  meetings  of  the 
council  and  while  his  enemies  were  out  of  sight  a  definitive  sub- 
vention in  return  for  his  faithful  service  of  the  state,  knowing 
very  well  that  they  would  never  be  able  to  refuse  him .  A  fourth 
would  forever  by  the  merest  chance  let  the  sovereign  see  how 
overwhelmed  with  work  he  was !  A  fifth,  in  order  to  attain 
his  long  cherished  ambition  of  being  invited  to  dine  at  the 
sovereign's  table,  would  stubbornly  argue  the  right  or  wrong 
of  some  newly  conceived  opinion  and  bring  up  for  this  purpose 
more  or  less  powerful  and  well  founded  arguments. 

All  the  men  of  this  party  were  hungry  for  rubles,  honor^iry 


44  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

crosses,  promotions,  and  in  their  pursuit  of  these  things  tbej 
watched  the  direction  of  the  weathercock  of  the  sovereign's 
favor,  and  just  as  soon  as  it  was  seen  that  the  weathercock 
pointed  in  any  one  direction  all  this  population  of  militaiy 
drones  would  begin  to  blow  in  the  same  direction  so  that  it 
was  sometimes  all  the  harder  for  the  sovereign  to  change  about 
to  the  other  side.  In  this  uncertainty  of  position,  in  presence 
of  the  real  danger  that  was  threatening  and  which  impressed 
upon  everything  a  peculiarly  disquieting  character,  amid  this 
vortex  of  intrigues,  selfish  ambitions,  collisions,  diverse  opin- 
ions and  feelings,  with  all  the  variety  of  nationalities  repre- 
sented by  all  these  men,  this  eighth  and  by  far  the  largest 
party  of  men,  occupied  with  private  interests,  gave  great  com- 
plication and  confusion  to  affairs  in  general.  Whatever  ques- 
tion came  up,  instantly  this  swarm  of  drones,  before  they  had 
finished  their  buzzing  over  the  previous  theme,  would  fly  off 
to  the  new  one  and  deafen  every  one  and  entirely  drown  out 
the  genuine  voices  who  had  something  of  worth  to  say. 

Just  about  the  time  that  Prince  Andrei  arrived  at  the  army, 
still  a  ninth  party  was  forming  out  of  all  these  others,  and 
beginning  to  let  its  voice  be  heard.  This  was  the  party  of 
veteran  statesmen,  men  of  sound  wisdom  and  experience,  who, 
sharing  in  none  of  all  these  contradictory  opinions,  were  able 
to  look  impartially  upon  all  that  was  going  on  at  headquarters 
and  to  devise  means  for  escaping  from  this  vagueness,  indecis- 
ion, confusion,  and  weakness. 

The  men  of  this  party  said  and  thought  that  nothing  but 
mischief  resulted  pre-eminently  from  the  presence  of  the 
sovereign  with  a  military  court  at  the  front,  introducing  into 
the  army  that  indeterminate,  conditional,  and  fluctuating  irreg- 
ularity of  relations  which,  however  useful  at  court,  were 
ruinous  to  the  troops ;  that  it  was  the  monarch's  business  to 
govern,  and  not  to  direct  the  army ;  that  the  only  cure  for  all 
these  troubles  was  for  the  sovereign  and  his  court  to  take 
their  departure ;  that  the  mere  fact  of  the  emperor  being  with 
the  army  paralyzed  the  movements  of  fifty  thousand  men  who 
were  required  to  protect  him  from  personal  peril ;  that  the 
most  incompetent  general-in-chief,  if  he  were  independent, 
would  be  better  than  the  best,  hampered  by  the  sovereign's 
presence. 

While  Prince  Andrei  was  at  Drissa,  without  stated  position, 
Shishkof,  the  imperial  secretary,  who  was  one  of  tne  chief 
members  of  this  faction,  wrote  the  sovereign  a  letter  which 
Balashof  and  Arakcheyef  agreed  to  sign.    Taking  advantage 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  46 

of  the  pennission  accorded  him  by  the  sovereign  to  make 
suggestions  concerning  the  general  course  of  events,  he  re- 
spectfully, and  under  the  pretext  that  it  was  necessary  for 
the  sovereign  to  stir  the  people  of  the  capital  to  fresh  enthu- 
siasm for  this  war,  in  this  letter  proposed  that  he  should  leave 
the  army. 

The  fanning  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  by  the  sover- 
eign and  his  summons  to  defend  the  fatherland — the  very 
thing  which'  led  to  the  ultimate  triumph  of  Eussia  and  to 
which  so  largely  his  personal  presence  in  Moscow  contributed 
—  was  therefore  offered  to  the  emperor  and  accepted  by  him 
as  a  pretext  for  quitting  the  army. 


CHAPTER  X. 

This  letter  had  not  as  yet  been  placed  in  the  sovereign's 
hands,  when  Barclay  at  dinner  informed  Bolkonsky  that  his 
majesty  would  be  pleased  to  have  a  personal  interview  with 
him,  in  order  to  make  some  inquiries  concerning  Turkey,  and 
that  he,  Prince  Andrei,  was  to  present  himself  at  Benigsen's 
lodgings  at  six  o'clock  that  evenmg. 

On  that  day  a  report  had  been  brought  to  the  sovereign's 
residence  concerning  a  new  movement  on  the  part  of  Napo- 
leon which  might  prove  dangerous  for  the  army— a  report 
which  afterward  proved  to  be  false,  however.  And  on  that 
very  same  morning,  Colonel  Michaud,  in  company  with  the 
emperor,  had  ridden  around  the  fortifications  on  the  Drissa 
and  had  proved  conclusively  to  the  sovereign  that  this  forti- 
fied camp,  which  had  been  laid  out  under  Pfuhl's  direction 
and  had  been  up  to  that  time  considered  a  chef  d'oeuvre  of  tac- 
tical skill  destined  to  be  the  ruin  of  Napoleon,  —  that  this 
camp  was  a  piece  of  folly  and  a  source  of  danger  for  the  Rus- 
sian army. 

Prince  Andrei  proceeded  to  the  lodging  of  General  Benig- 
sen,  who  had  established  himself  in  a  small  villa  on  the  very 
bank  of  the  river.  Neither  Benigsen  nor  the  sovereign  was 
there ;  but  Chemuishef,  the  emperor's  fltlgel-adjutant,  received 
Bolkonsky  and  explained  that  the  sovereign  had  gone  with 
General  Benigsen  and  the  Marchese  Paulucci  for  a  second 
time  that  day  on  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  foi'tified  camp  of 
the  Drissa,  as  to  the  utility  of  which  serious  doubts  had  begun 
to  be  conceived. 

Chemuishef  was  sitting  with  a  French  novel  at  one  of  the 


46  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

windows  of  the  front  room.  This  room  had  at  one  time 
probably  been  a  ballroom ;  there  still  stood  in  it  an  organ  on 
which  were  piled  a  number  of  rugs,  and  in  one  comer  stood 
the  folding  bed  belonging  to  Benigsen's  adjutant.  This  adju- 
tant was  there.  Apparently  overcome  by  some  merry-making 
or  perhaps  by  work  he  lay  stretched  out  on  the  bed  and  was 
fast  asleep. 

Two  doors  led  from  this  hall ;  one  directly  into  the  former 
drawing-room,  the  other  to  the  right  into  the  library.  Through 
the  first  voices  were  heard  conversing  in  German  and  occa- 
sionally in  Fi-ench.  Yonder,  In  that  former  drawing-room  were 
gathered  together  at  the  sovereign's  request  not  a  council  of 
war  —  for  the  sovereign  was  fond  of  indefiniteness  —  but  a 
meeting  of  a  number  of  individuals  whose  opinions  concerning 
the  existing  difficulties  he  was  anxious  of  ascertaining.  It 
was  not  a  council  of  war  but  a  sort  of  committee  of  gentlemen 
convened  to  explain  certain  questions  for  the  sovereign's 
personal  gratification.  To  this  semi-council  were  invited  the 
Swedish  general  Arrafeldt,  Greneral-adjutant  Woltzogen, 
Winzengerode,  whom  Napoleon  had  called  a  fugitive  French 
subject,  Michaud,  Toll,  who  was  also  not  at  all  a  military  man, 
Count  Stein,  and  finally  Pf uhl  himself,  who,  as  Prince  Andrei 
had  already  heard,  was  la  chevUle  oiivriere — the  mainspring 
—  of  the  whole  affair.  Prince  Andrei  had  an  opportunity  of 
getting  a  good  look  at  him,  as  Pfuhl  arrived  shortly  after  he 
did  and  came  into  the  drawing-room,  where  he  stood  for  a 
minute  or  two  talking  with  Chernuishef. 

Pfuhl,  dressed  like  a  Russian  general  in  a  uniform  that  was 
clumsily  constructed  and  set  on  him  without  the  slightest 
attempt  at  a  graceful  fit,  seemed  to  Prince  Andrei  at  firat 
glance  like  an  old  acquaintan(ie,  although  he  had  never  seen 
him  before.  He  was  of  the  same  type  as  Weirother  and  Mack 
and  Schmidt  and  many  other  German  theorist-generals  whom 
Prince  Andrei  had  seen  in  1805 ;  but  he  was  more  character- 
istic of  the  type  than  all  the  rest.  Never  in  his  life  had 
Prince  Andrei  seen  a  German  theorist  who  so  completely 
united  in  liimself  all  that  was  typical  of  those  Germans. 

Pfuhl  was  short  and  very  thin,  but  big-boned,  of  coarse, 
healthy  build,  with  a  broad  pelvis  and  prominent  shoulder- 
blades.  His  face  was  full  of  wrinkles,  and  he  had  deep-set 
eyes.  His  hair  had  been  evidently  brushed  in  some  haste  for- 
ward by  the  temples,  but  behind  it  stuck  out  in  droll  little 
tufts.  Looking  round  sternly  and  nervously,  he  came  into  the 
room  as  though  he  were  afraid  of  every  one.    With  awkward 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  47 

gesture  grasping  his  sword,  he  turned  to  Chemnishef  and 
asked  in  German  where  the  emperor  was.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  anxious  to  make  the  round  of  the  room  as  speedily  as 
possible,  to  put  an  end  to  the  salutations  and  greetings  and  to 
seat  himself  before  the  map,  where  alone  he  felt  that  he  was 
quite  at  home.  He  abruptly  tossed  his  head  in  reply  to  Gher- 
nuishef's  answer  and  smiled  ironically  at  the  report  that  the 
sovereign  had  gone  to  inspect  the  fortifications  which  Ffuhl 
himself  had  constructed  in  accordance  with  his  theory.  In  a 
deep,  gruff  voice  characteristic  of  all  self-conceited  Germans 
he  grumbled  to  himself, "  Stupid  blockhead !  —  Ruin  the  whole 
business ;  pretty  state  of  things  will  be  the  result."  * 

Prince  Andrei  did  not  listen  to  him  and  was  about  to  ^o, 
but  Chemuishef  introduced  him  to  Pfuhl,  remarking  that  he 
had  just  come  from  Turkey,  where  the  war  had  been  brought 
to  a  successful  termination.  Pfuhl  gave  a  fleeting  glance  not 
so  much  at  Prince  Andrei  as  through  him,  and  muttered  with 
a  smile, "  That  must  have  been  a  fine  tactical  campaign."  t  And, 
scornfully  smiling,  he  went  into  the  room  where  the  voices 
were  heard. 

Evidently  Pfuhl,  who  was  always  disposed  to  be  ironical 
and  irritable,  was  on  this  day  especially  stirred  up  because  they 
had  dared  without  him  to  inspect  his  camp  and  criticise  him. 

Prince  Andrei,  simply  by  this  brief  interview  with  Pfuhl, 
re-enforced  by  his  experiences  at  Austerlitz,  had  gained  a  suffi- 
ciently clear  insight  into  the  character  of  this  man.  Pfuhl  was 
one  of  those  hopelessly,  unalterably  self-conceited  men  who 
would  suffer  martyrdom  rather  than  yield  his  opinion,  a  genu- 
ine German,  for  the  very  reason  that  Germans  alone  are  abso- 
lutely certain,  in  their  own  minds,  of  the  solid  foundation 
of  that  abstract  idea,  —  Science ;  that  is  to  say,  the  assumed 
knowledge  of  absolute  truth. 

The  Frenchman  is  self-conceited  because  he  considers  him- 
self individually,  both  as  regards  mind  and  body,  irresistibly 
captivating  to  either  men  or  women.  The  Englishman  is  con- 
ceited through  his  absolute  conviction  that  he  is  a  citizen  of 
the  most  fortunately  constituted  kingdom  in  the  world,  and 
because,  as  an  Englishman,  he  knows  always  and  in  all  cir- 
cumstances what  it  is  requisite  for  him  to  do,  and  also  knows 
that  all  that  he  does  as  an  Englishman  is  correct  beyond  caviL 
The  Italian  is  conceited  because  he  is  excitable,  and  easily  for- 

•  Dummkopf! — Zum  Orunde  die  game  Oeschichte — 's  wird  wa$  ge- 
icheites  draus  werden. 

t  Da  mu$8  em  9ehdner  tactUeJier  Krieg  gewesen  sein. 


48  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

gets  himself  and  others.  The  Russian  is  conceited  for  the 
precise  reason  that  he  knows  nothing,  and  wishes  to  know 
nothing,  because  he  believes  that  it  is  impossible  to  know  any- 
thing. But  the  Grerman  is  conceited  in  a  worse  way  than  all  the 
rest,  because  he  imagines  that  he  knows  the  truth,  —  the  sci- 
ence which  he  has  himself  invented,  but  which  for  him  is 
absolute  truth ! 

Evidently  such  a  man  was  Ffuhl.  He  had  his  science,  — 
the  theory  of  oblique  movements,  which  he  had  deduced  from 
the  history  of  the  wars  of  Friedrich  the  Great,  —  and  every- 
thing that  he  saw  in  the  warfare  of  more  recent  date  seemed 
to  him  nonsense,  barbarism,  ignorant  collisions  in  which,  on 
both  sides,  so  many  errors  were  committed  that  these  wars  had 
no  right  to  be  called  wars.  They  did  not  come  under  his  theory, 
and  could  not  be  judged  as  a  subject  for  science. 

In  1806  Pf  uhl  had  been  one  of  those  who  elaborated  the  plan 
of  the  campaign  that  culminated  at  Jena  and  Auerstadt,  but 
the  unfortunate  issue  of  that  campaign  did  not  open  his  eyes 
to  see  the  slightest  fault  in  his  theory.  On  the  contrary,  the 
fact  that  his  theory  had  been,  to  a  cei*tain  extent,  abandoned, 
was  in  his  mind  the  sole  cause  of  the  whole  failure ;  and  he 
said,  in  the  tone  of  self-satisfied  irony  characteristic  of  him, 
^^Ich  sdgte  ja  doss  die  ganze  Geschichte  zum  Teufel  gehen 
werdSy — I  predicted  that  the  whole  thing  would  go  to  the 
deuce." 

Pfuhl  was  one  of  those  theorists  who  are  so  in  love  with 
their  theory  that  they  forget  the  object  of  the  theory,  its  relar 
tion  to  practice.  In  his  fanatic  devotion  to  his  theory  he  hated 
everything  practical,  and  could  not  listen  to  it.  He  even  de- 
lighted in  the  failure  of  any  enterprise,  because  this  failure, 
resulting  from  the  abandonment  of  theory  for  practice,  was 
proof  positive  to  him  of  how  correct  his  theory  was. 

He  spoke  a  few  words  with  Prince  Andrei  and  Chemuishef 
about  the  existing  war  with  the  expression  of  a  man  who  knew 
in  advance  that  all  was  going  to  the  dogs,  and  that  he,  for  one, 
did  not  much  regret  the  fact.  The  little  tufts  of  unkempt  hair 
that  stuck  out  on  his  occiput,  and  the  hastily  brushed  love- 
locks around  his  temples,  spoke  eloquently  of  this. 

He  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  instantly  they  heard 
the  deep-set  and  querulous  sounds  of  his  voice. 


War  and  PBAcn.  4d 


CHAPTEB  XL 

Prince  Andrei  had  no  time  to  let  his  eyes  follow  Pfuhl,  as 
Count  Benigsen  just  at  that  moment  came  hastily  into  the 
Toom,  and,  inclining  his  head  to  Bolkonsky,  but  not  pausing, 
went  directly  into  the  library,  giving  his  adjutant  some  order 
as  he  went.  Benigsen  had  hurried  home  in  advance  of  the 
sovereign  in  order  to  make  some  preparations,  and  to  be  there 
to  receive  him. 

Ghemuishef  and  Prince  Andrei  went  out  on  the  steps.  The 
emperor,  with  an  expression  of  fatigue,  was  dismounting  from 
his  horse.  The  Marchese  Paulucci  was  making  some  remark. 
The  sovereign,  with  his  head  bent  over  to  the  left,  was  listen- 
ing with  a  discontented  air  to  Paulucci,  who  was  speaking  with 
his  usual  vehemence.  The  sovereign  started  forward,  evidently 
desirous  of  cutting  short  this  harangue ;  but  the  flushed  and 
excited  Italian,  forgetting  the  proprieties,  followed  him,  still 
talking,  — 

''  As  for  the  man  who  advised  this  camp,  the  camp  of  Drissa,'' 
Paulucci  was  saying  just  as  the  sovereign,  mounting  the  steps 
and  perceiving  Prince  Andrei,  glanced  into  his  face,  though  he 
did  not  recognize  him.  '^  As  to  him.  Sire,"  pursued  Paulucci, 
in  a  state  of  desperation,  as  though  quite  unable  to  control 
himself,  —  '<  as  for  the  man  who  advised  this  camp  of  Drissa, 
I  see  no  other  alternative  for  him  than  the  insane  asylum  or 
the  gallows."  * 

The  sovereign,  not  waiting  for  the  Italian  to  finish  what  he 
had  to  say,  and  as  though  not  even  hearing  his  words,  came 
closer  to  Bolkonsky,  and,  recognizing  him,  addressed  him  gra- 
ciously, — 

'^  Very  glad  to  see  you.  Come  in  where  the  gentlemen  are, 
and  wait  for  me." 

The  sovereign  went  into  the  library.  He  was  followed  by 
Prince  Piotr  Mikhailovitch  Volkonsky  and  Baron  Stein,  and 
the  door  was  shut.  Prince  Andrei,  taking  advantage  of  the 
sovereign's  permission,  joined  Paulucci,  whom  he  had  known 
in  Turkey,  and  went  into  the  drawing-room  where  the  council 
was  held. 

Prince  Piotr  Mikhailovitch  Volkonsky  held  the  position  of 
naehalnik,  or  chief  of  the  sovereign's  staff.    Volkonsky  came 

*  Quant  a  celui.  Sire,  qui  a  conseille  le  camp  de  Drissa,  je  ne  voispasd^aU' 
tre  altemative  que  la  maisonjaune  ou  le  gibet. 

VOL.  3. — 4. 


60  VlrAR  AND  PEAOB. 

out  of  the  cabinet  and  carried  into  the  drawing-room  a  qnaii' 
tity  of  maps  and  papers,  and  as  he  deposited  them  upon  the 
table  he  communicated  the  questions  in  regard  to  which  he  was 
anxious  to  have  the  opinions  of  the  gentlemen  present.  •  The 
questions  arose  from  the  fact  that  news,  afterwards  proved  to 
be  false,  had  been  received  the  night  before  concerning  a  move- 
ment of  the  French  toward  outflanking  the  camp  on  the 
Drissa. 

Gleneral  Armfeldt  was  the  first  to  begin  the  debate,  and  he 
unexpectedly  proposed,  as  an  escape  from  the  impending  diffi- 
culty, that  they  should  choose  an  entirely  new  position  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  highways  leading  to  Moscow  and  Peters- 
burg ;  and  there,  as  he  expressed  it,  let  the  army  be  increased 
to  its  full  strength,  and  await  the  enemy.  Ko  one  could  see 
any  reason  for  his  advocating  such  a  scheme^  unless  it  came 
from  his  desire  to  show  that  he,  as  well  as  the  rest,  had  ideas 
of  his  own. 

It  was  evident  that  Armfeldt  had  long  Bgq  evolved  this 
scheme,  and  that  he  proposed  it  now  not  so  much  with  the 
design  of  responding  to  the  questions  laid  before  the  meeting 
— questions  which  this  scheme  of  his  entirely-  failed  to  answer 
—  as  it  was  with  the  design  of  using  his  chance  to  enunciate  it. 
This  was  only  one  of  the  millions  of  proposals  which,  not  hav- 
ing any  reference  to  the  character  which  the  war  was  likely  to 
assume,  had  equally  as  good  foundations  as  others  of  the  same 
sort  for  successful  accomplishment. 

Some  of  those  present  attacked  his  suggestions,  others  de- 
fended them.  The  young  Colonel  Toll  attacked  the  opinions 
of  the  Swedish  general  more  fiercely  than  the  others,  and  dur- 
ing the  discussion  took  out  of  his  side  pocket  a  manuscript 
note-book,  which  he  begged  permission  to  read.  In  this  dif- 
fusely elaborated  manuscript  Toll  proposed  still  another  plan 
of  campaign,  diametrically  the  opposite  of  those  suggested  by 
Armfeldt  and  Pfuhl. 

Paulucci,  combating  Toll,  proposed  the  plan  of  an  advance 
and  attack,  which,  according  to  his  views,  was  the  only  possible 
way  to  extricate  us  from  the  present  suspense,  and  from  the 
"  trap,"  as  he  called  the  camp  on  the  Drissa,  in  which  we  now 
found  ourselves. 

During  the  course  of  these  discussions  and  criticisms  Pfuhl 
and  Woltzogen,  his  interpreter  (his  "bridge,"  in  Court  par- 
lance), maintained  silence.  Pfuhl  merely  snorted  scornfully 
and  turned  away,  signifying  that  he  would  never  sink  so  low 
as  to  reply  to  all  this  rubbish  to  which  he  was  now  listening. 


wah  and  PS  ACS,  61 

So  when  Prince  Yolkonskj,  as  chairman  of  the  meeting,  called 
upon  him  to  express  his  opinion,  he^  merely  said,  — 

**  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  General  Armfeldt  has  proposed  a 
beautifal  position,  with  the  rear  exposed,  and  you  have  heard 
about  the  offensive  operations  proposed  by  this  Italian  gentle- 
man. Sehr  schon  /  Or  the  retreat.  Auch  gtU  /  So  why  do 
you  ask  me  ?  "  he  replied ;  "  for,  you  see,  you  yourselves  know 
more  about  all  this  than  I  do.^ 

But  when  Volkonsky  frowned,  and  said  that  he  asked  his 
opinion  in  the  name  of  the  sovereign,  then  Pfuhl  got  up,  and, 
growing  suddenly  excited,  began  to  speak :  — 

"  You  have  spoiled  everything,  you  have  thrown  everything 
into  confusion.  You  pretend  to  know  more  about  the  whole 
thing  than  I  do,  but  here  you  are  coming  to  me  now.  How  can 
things  be  remedied  ?  There's  no  possibility  of  remedying 
them.  It  is  necessary  to  carry  out  to  the  letter  my  design,  on 
the  lines  which  I  have  laid  down,"  said  he,  pounding  the  table 
with  his  bony  knuckles.  "Where  is  the  difficulty  ?  Eubbish  I 
Kinderspiel  /  "  He  stepped  up  to  the  table  and  began  to  talk 
rapidly,  scratching  with  his  linger-nail  on  the  map,  and  demon- 
strating that  no  contingency  could  alter  the  effectiveness  of 
the  camp  on  the  Drissa ;  that  everything  had  been  foreseen, 
and  that  if  the  enemy  were  actually  to  outflank  them,  then  the 
enemy  would  be  inevitably  annihilated. 

Paulucci,  who  did  not  understand  German,  began  to  question 
him  in  French.  Woltzogen  came  to  the  aid  of  his  leader,  who 
spoke  French  but  badly,  and  began  to  translate  his  words, 
though  he  could  hardly  keep  up  with  Pfuhl,  who  rapidly  de- 
monstrated that  everything,  everything,  not  only  what  had 
happened  but  whatever  could  possibly  happen,  had  been  pro- 
vided for  in  his  plan,  and  that  if  there  were  any  complications 
the  whole  blame  lay  simply  in  the  fact  that  his  plan  had  not 
been  accurately  carried  out.  He  kept  smiling  ironically  as  he 
made  his  demonstration,  and  finally  he  scornfully  stopped  ad- 
ducing argiiments,  just  as  a  mathematician  ceases  to  verify  the 
various  steps  of  a  problem  which  has  once  been  found  correctly 
solved.  Woltzogen  took  his  place,  proceeding  to  explain  in 
French  his  ideas,  and  occasionally  turning  to  Pfuhl  with  a 
"  Nieht  wahvy  Excellenz  ?  "  for  confirmation. 

Pfuhl,  like  a  man  so  excited  in  a  battle  that  he  attacks  his 
own  side,  cried  testily  to  his  own  faithful  follower,  to  Woltzo- 
gen, "  Why,  of  course ;  it's  as  plain  as  daylight."  * 

Paulucci  and  Michaud  both  at  once  fell  on  Woltzogen  in 

*  Nunja  !  wot  $oU  denn  da  noch  explitiert  werden  t 


62  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

French,  Armfeldt  addressed  a  question  to  Pfuhl  in  Germai^ 
Toll  explained  the  matter  in  Kussian  to  Prince  Volkonskj. 
Prince  Andrei  listened  without  speaking,  and  watched  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

Of  all  these  individuals  the  exasperated,  earnest,  and  ab- 
surdly self-conceited  Pfuhl  awoke  the  most  sympathy  in  Prince 
Andrei.  He  alone,  of  all  present,  evidently  had  no  taint  of 
self-seeking,  nor  had  he  any  hatred  of  any  one,  but  simply 
desired  that  his  plan,  elaborated  from  his  theory  which  had 
been  deduced  from  his  studies  during  long  years,  should  be  car- 
ried into  execution.  He  was  ridiculous,  his  use  of  sarcasm 
made  him  disagreeable;  but  at  the  same  time  he  awakened 
involuntary  respect  by  his  boundless  devotion  to  an  idea. 

Besides,  in  all  the  remarks  made  by  those  who  were  present, 
with  the  sole  exception  of  Pfuhl's,  there  was  one  common  fea- 
ture which  had  never  been  manifested  in  the  council  of  war 
in  the  year  1805,  and  this  was  a  panic  fear,  —  even  though 
sophisticated,  —  in  presence  of  the  genius  of  Napoleon,  which 
showed  itself  in  every  argument.  They  took  it  for  granted 
that  Napoleon  could  do  anything.  They  looked  for  him  on 
every  side,  and  by  the  magic  of  Ms  terrible  name  each  one  of 
them  demolished  the  proposals  of  the  other.  Pfuhl  alone,  it 
seemed,  regarded  even  Napoleon  as  a  barbarian,  like  all  the 
other  opponents  of  his  theory. 

Over  and  above  his  feeling  of  respect  for  Pfuhl,  Prince  Andrei 
was  conscious  also  of  a  feeling  of  pity  for  the  man.  By  the 
tone  in  which  he  was  addressed  by  the  courtiers,  by  the  way 
in  which  Paulucci  had  permitted  himself  to  speak  of  him  to 
the  emperor,  and,  above  all,  by  a  certain  desperate  expression 
manifested  by  Pfuhl  himself,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  the  others 
knew,  and  he  himself  felt,  that  his  fall  was  at  hand.  And, 
aside  from  his  self-conceit  and  his  grumbling  German  irony, 
he  was  pitiable  by  reason  of  his  hair  brushed  forward  into  little 
love-locks  on  his  temples,  and  the  little  tufts  standing  out  on 
his  occiput.  Although  he  did  his  best  to  dissimulate  it  under 
the  guise  of  exasperation  and  scorn,  he  was  in  despair  because 
his  only  chance  of  showing  his  theory  on  a  tremendous  scale, 
and  proving  it  before  all  the  world,  was  slipping  from  him. 

The  discussion  lasted  a  long  time,  and  the  longer  it  lasted 
the  more  heated  grew  the  arguments,  which  were  like  quarrels 
by  reason  of  the  raised  voices  and  personalities ;  and  the  less 
possible  was  it  to  come  to  any  general  conclusion  from  all  that 
was  said.  Prince  Andrei,  listening  to  this  polyglot  debate  and 
these  propositions,  plans,  and  counter-plans,  and  shouts,  was 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  63 

ftimplj  astonished  at  what  they  all  said.  The  idea  which  had 
early  and  often  suggested  itself  to  him  during  the  time  of  his 
former  military  seryice,  —  that  there  was  not,  and  could  not 
^  be,  any  such  thing  as  a  military  science,  and  consequently  could 
'  not  be  any  so-called  military  genius,  —  now  seemed  to  him  a 
truth  beyond  a  peradventure. 

'<  How  can  there  be  any  theory  and  science  in  a  matter  the 
conditions  and  circumstances  of  which  are  unknown  and  can- 
not be  determined, — in  which  the  force  employed  by  those 
who  make  the  war  is  still  less  capable  of  measurement  ?  No 
one  can  possibly  know  what  will  be  the  position  of  our  army 
and  that  of  the  enemy's  a  day  from  now,  and  no  one  can  know 
what  is  the  force  of  this  or  that  division.  Sometimes  when 
there  is  no  coward  in  the  front  to  cry,  *  We  are  cut  off,'  and 
to  start  the  panic,  and  there  is  a  jovial,  audacious  man  there 
to  shout,  *  Hurrah ! '  a  division  of  five  thousand  is  worth 
thirty  thousand,  as  was  the  case  at  Schongraben ;  and  sometimes 
fifty  thousand  will  fly  before  eight,  as  happened  at  Aus- 
terlitz.  What  science,  then,  can  there  be  in  such  a  business,, 
where  nothing  can  be  pre-determined,  as  in  any  practical  busi- 
ness,  and  where  everything  depends  on  numberless  conditions^ 
the  resolving  of  which  is  denned  at  some  one  moment,  but 
when  —  no  one  can  possibly  foretell.  Armf eldt  says  that  our 
army  is  cut  off,  and  Paulucci  declares  that  we  have  got  ther 
French  army  between  two  fires.  Michaud  says  that  the  use- 
lessness  of  the  camp  on  the  Brissa  consists  in  this,  that  the 
river  is  back  of  it,  while  Pfuhl  declares  that  therein  consists 
its  strength.  Toll  proposes  one  plan,  Armfeldt  proposes 
another,  and  all  are  good  and  all  are  bad,  and  the  advantages 
of  each  and  eveiy  proposition  can  be  proven  only  at  the 
moment  when  the  event  occurs.  And  why  do  they  all  use  the 
term,  '  military  genius '  ?  Is  that  man  a  genius  who  manages 
to  keep  his  army  well  supplied  with  biscuits,  and  commands 
them  to  go,  some  to  the  left  and  some  to  the  right  ?  Merely 
because  military  men  are  clothed  with  glory  and  power,  and 
crowds  of  sycophants  are  always  ready  to  flatter  Power,  ascrib- 
ing to  it  the  inappropriate  attributes  of  genius.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  best  generals  whom  I  have  ever  known  were  stupid 
or  absent-minded  men.  The  best  was  Bagration ;  Napoleon 
himself  called  him  so.  And  Bonaparte  himself  I  I  remember 
his  self-satisfied  and  narrow-minded  face  on  the  field  of  Aus- 
terlitz.  A  good  leader  on  the  field  of  battle  needs  not  genius 
or  any  of  the  special  qualities  so  much  as  he  needs  the  exact 
opposite,  or  the  lack  of  these  highest  human  qualities— -love. 


54  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

poetry,  a£Eection,  a  philosophical,  investigating  scepticism. 
He  must  be  narrow-minded,  firmly  convinced  that  what  he  is 
doing  is  absolutely  essential  (otherwise  he  will  not  have  pa- 
tience), and  then  only  will  he  be  a  brave  leader.  God  pity  him 
if  he  is  a  man  who  has  any  love  for  any  one,  or  any  pity,  or 
has  any  scruples  about  right  or  wrong.  It  is  perfectly  com- 
prehensible that  in  old  times  they  invented  a  theory  of  gen- 
iuses because  they  held  power.  Credit  for  success  in  battle 
depends  not  upon  them  but  upon  that  man  in  the  ranks  who 
cries,  '  They  are  on  us,'  or  who  shouts,  *  Hurrah.'  And  only 
in  the  ranks  can  you  serve  with  any  assurance  that  you  are 
of  any  service." 

Thus  mused  Prince  Andrei  as  he  listened  to  the  arguments, 
and  he  came  out  of  his  brown  study  only  when  Paulucci 
called  him  and  the  meeting  was  already  adjourned. 

On  the  following  day,  during  a  review,  the  sovereign  asked 
Prince  Andrei  where  he  preferred  to  serve,  and  Prince  Andrei 
forever  lost  caste  in  the  eyes  of  the  courtiers  because  he  did 
not  ask  for  a  place  near  the  sovereign's  person,  but  asked  per- 
mission to  enter  active  service. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BosTOF,  before  the  opening  of  the  campaign,  received  a  letter 
from  his  parents,  in  which,  after  briefly  announcing  Natasha's 
illness  and  the  rupture  of  the  engagement  with  Prince  Andrei, 
—  this  rupture,  they  explained,  was  Natasha's  own  work, — 
they  again  urged  him  to  retire  from  the  service  and  come 
home. 

Nikolai,  on  receipt  of  this  letter,  made  no  attempt  to  secure 
either  a  furlough  or  permission  to  go  upon  the  retired  list,  but 
wrote  his  parents  that  he  was  very  sorry  for  Natasha's  illness 
and  breach  with  her  lover,  and  that  he  would  do  all  that  he 
possibly  could  in  order  to  fulfil  their  desires.  He  wrote  a 
separate  letter  to  Sonya. 

"  Adored  friend  of  my  heart,"  he  wrote,  "nothing  except 
honor  could  keep  me  from  returning  home.  But  just  now,  at 
the  opening  of  the  campaign,  I  should  consider  myself  dis- 
graced not  only  before  all  my  comrades  but  in  my  own  eyes  if 
I  were  to  prefer  my  pleasure  to  my  duty,  and  my  love  to  my 
country.  But  this  is  our  last  separation.  Be  assured  that  im- 
mediately after  the  war,  if  I  am  alive  and  you  still  love  me,  I 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  S5 

will  give  up  everything  and  fly  to  thee  to  clasp  thee  forever 
to  my  ardent  heart ! " 

He  was  telling  the  truth :  —  it  was  only  the  opening  of  the 
campaign  that  detained  Nikolai,  and  prevented  him  from  ful- 
filling his  promise  by  at  once  returning  home  and  marrying 
Sony  a.  The  autumn  at  Otradnoye,  with  its  sport,  and  the 
winter  with  the  Christmas  holidays,  and  his  love  for  Sonya, 
had  opened  up  before  him  a  whole  perspective  of  the  pleasures 
of  a  country  nobleman,  and  of  domestic  contentment,  which  he 
had  never  known  before  and  which  now  beckoned  to  him  with 
their  sweet  allurements. 

"  A  glorious  wife,  children,  a  good  pack  of  hunting  dogs,  a 
leash  of  ten  or  twenty  spirited  greyhounds,  the  management 
of  the  estate,  the  neighbors  and  service  at  the  elections,"  he 
said  to  himself.  But  now  there  was  a  war  in  prospect,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  remain  with  his  regiment.  And  since  this  was 
a  matter  of  necessity,  Nikolai  Rostof,  in  accordance  with  his 
character,  was  content  with  the  life  which  he  led  in  the  regi- 
ment, and  had  the  skill  to  arrange  it  so  that  it  was  agreeable. 

On  his  return  from  his  furlough,  having  met  with  a  cordial 
reception  from  his  comrades,  Nikolai  was  sent  out  to  secure 
fresh  horses ;  and  he  brought  back  with  him  from  Little 
Erussia  an  excellent  remount,  such  as  gladdened  his  own  heart, 
and  procured  for  him  the  praise  of  his  superiors.  During  his 
absence,  he  had  been  promoted  to  the  rank  of  rotmistr,  or  cap- 
tain of  cavalry,  and,  when  the  regiment  was  restored  to  a  war 
footing,  with  increased  complement,  he  was  put  in  charge  of 
his  former  squadron. 

The  campaign  had  begun;  the  regiment  was  moved  into 
Poland,  double  pay  was  granted;  there  were  new  officers 
present,  new  men  and  horses,  and,  above  all,  there  was  an  in- 
crease of  that  excitement  and  bustle  which  al^rays  accompanies 
the  beginning  of  a  campaign ;  and  Rostof,  recognizing  his  ad- 
vantageous position  in  the  regiment,  gave  himself  up,  heart 
and  soul,  to  the  pleasures  and  interests  of  military  service, 
although  he  knew  well  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  would  have  to 
leave  it. 

The  troops  evacuated  Vilno  for  various  complicated  reasons, 
—  imperial,  political,  and  tactical.  For  there,  at  headquarters, 
every  step  of  the  retreat  was  accompanied  by  a  complicated 
play  of  interests,  arguments,  and  passions.  For  the  hussars  of 
the  Pavlogradsky  regiment,  all  this  backward  movement,  in 
the  best  part  of  the  summer,  with  abundance  of  provisions, 
was   a  most  simple  and  enjoyable  affair.     At  headquarters, 


56  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

men  might  lose  heart,  and  grow  nervous,  and  indulge  in  in- 
trigues to  their  hearts'  content,  but  in  the  ranks  no  one  thougbt 
of  asking  where  or  wherefore  they  were  moving.  If  they  in- 
dulged in  regrets  at  the  retreat,  it  was  simply  because  they 
were  compelled  to  leave  pleasant  quarters  and  the  pretty 
Polish  j9ani.  If  it  occurred  to  any  one  that  affairs  were  goings 
badly,  then,  as  became  a  good  soldier,  the  man  who  had  such 
a  thought  would  try  to  be  jovial,  and  not  think  at  all  of  the 
general  course  of  events,  but  only  of  what  nearest  concerned 
himself. 

At  first,  they  were  agreeably  situated  near  Vilno,  having 
jolly  acquaintances  among  the  Polish  landed  proprietors,  and 
constantly  expecting  the  sovereign,  and  other  commanders 
highest  in  station,  to  review  them,  and  as  constantly  being 
disappointed. 

Then  came  the  order  to  retire  to  Swienciany,  and  to  destroy 
all  provisions  that  they  could  not  carry  away  with  them. 
Swienciany  was  memorable  to  the  hussars  simply  because  it  was 
the  ''  drunken  camp,"  as  the  entire  army  called  it,  from  their 
stay  at  the  place,  and  because  many  complaints  had  been  made 
of  the  troops  having  taken  unfair  advantage  of  the  order 
to  forage  for  provisions,  and  had  included  under  this  head 
horses  and  carriages  and  rugs  stolen  from  the  Polish  panSy 
or  nobles. 

Bostof  had  a  vivid  remembrance  of  Swienciany,  because  on 
the  first  day  of  their  arrival  at  the  place  he  had  dismissed  a 
quartermaster,  and  had  not  been  able  to  do  anything  with  the 
men  of  his  squadron,  all  of  whom  were  tipsy,  having,  without 
his  knowledge,  brought  away  five  barrels  of  old  beer. 

From  Swienciany,  they  had  retired  farther,  and  then  farther 
still,  until  they  reached  the  Drissa ;  and  then  they  had  retired 
from  the  Drissa,  ^11  the  time  approaching  the  Russian  front- 
ier. 

On  the  25th  of  July,  the  Pavlogradsui,  for  the  first  time,  took 
paii;  in  a  serious  engagement. 

On  the  24th  of  July,  the  evening  before  the  engagement, 
there  was  a  severe  thimder-storm,  with  rain  and  hail.  That 
summer  of  the  year  1812  was  throughout  remarkable  for  its 
tempests. 

Two  squadrons  of  the  Pavlogradsui  had  bivouacked  in  a 
field  of  rye,  already  eared,  but  completely  trampled  down  by 
the  horses  and  cattle.  It  was  raining  in  torrents,  and  Bostof, 
with  a  young  officer  named  Ilyin,  who  was  his  proUgS,  was 
sitting  under  the  shelter  of  a  sort  of  wigwam,  extemporized 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  67 

ftt  short  notice.  An  officer  of  their  regiment,  with  long  mus- 
taches bristling  forth  and  hiding  his  cheeks,  came  along,  on 
his  way  to  headquarters,  and,  being  overtaken  by  the  rain, 
asked  shelter  of  Bostof  . 

**  Count,  I  have  just  come  from  headquarters.  Have  you 
heard  of  Rayevsky's  great  exploit?"  And  the  officer  pro- 
ceeded to  relate  the  particulars  of  the  battle  of  Saltanovo, 
which  he  had  learned  about  at  headquarters. 

Rostof,  hunching  his  shoulders  as  the  water  trickled  down 
his  neck,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  listened  negligently,  now  and 
then  giving  a  look  at  the  young  officer  Ilyin,  who  was  squeezed 
in  close  to  him.  This  officer,  a  lad  of  only  sixteen,  had  not 
been  very  long  connected  with  the  regiment,  and  was  now  in 
the  same  relation  to  Bostof  that  Bostof  had  borne  toward 
Denisof  seven  years  before.  Ilyin  had  taken  Bostof  as 
his  pattern  in  eveiy  respect,  and  loved  him  as  a  woman 
might. 

The  officer  with  the  long  mustaches,  Zdrzhinsky  by  name, 
declared  emphatically  that  the  dike  at  Saltanovo  was  the  Ther- 
mopylae of  the  Russians,  and  that  the  exploit  performed  by 
€reneral  Bayeyskjr  was  worthy  of  the  deeds  of  antiquity. 
Zdrzhinsky  described  how  Bayevsky  went  out  on  the  dike, 
with  his  two  sons,  under  a  deadly  fire,  and,  side  by  side  with 
them,  rushed  to  the  attack. 

Rostof  listened  to  the  story,  and  not  only  had  nothing  to 
say  in  response  to  the  narrators  enthusiasm,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, had  the  air  of  a  man  ashamed  of  what  is  told  him, 
although  he  has  no  intention  of  rebutting  it. 

Rostof,  after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  and  the  campaign  of 
1807,  knew,  from  his  own  personal  experience,  that  those  who 
talk  of  militarv  deeds  always  lie ;  just  as  he  himself  had  lied 
in  relating  such  things.  In  the  second  place,  his  experience 
had  taught  him  that,  in  a  battle,  every  event  is  quite  the  re- 
verse of  what  we  might  imagine  and  relate  it.  And,  there- 
fore, he  took  no  stock  in  Zdrzhinsky 's  story,  and  was  not  pleased 
with  Zdrzhinsky  himself;  who,  with  his  cheeks  hidden  by 
those  long  mustaches,  had  the  habit  of  leaning  over  close  to 
the  face  of  the  person  to  whom  he  was  tal^ng;  and  then, 
besides,  he  was  in  the  way  in  the  narrow  hut. 

Rostof  looked  at  him  without  speaking.  '^In  the  first 
place,  there  must  have  been  such  a  crush  and  confusion  on  the 
dike  which  they  were  charging  that  even  if  Rayevsky  had 
led  his  sons  upon  it,  it  could  not  have  had  any  effect  upon 
any  one  save  perhaps  a  dozen  men  who  were  in  his  immediate 


68  W^R  ^^LYD  PEACE. 

vicinity,"  thought  Rostof.  "The  rest  could  not  have 
at  all  how  or  with  whom  Eayevsky  was  rushing  upon  the 
dike.  And  then  those  who  did  see  it  could  not  have  beea 
very  greatly  stimulated,  because  what  would  they  have  cared 
for  Rayevsky's  affectionate  paternal  feeling,  when  the  only 
thing  of  interest  to  them  was  the  caring  for  their  own 
skin!  Then  again,  the  fate  of  the  country  in  no  wise 
depended  on  whether  they  took  the  dike  at  Saltanovo  or 
not,  as  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  case  at  Thermopylae.  And 
therefore  what  was  the  use  of  risking  such  a  sacriiice  ?  And, 
then,  why  should  he  have  exposed  his  children  in  the  affair  ? 
I  should  not  have  exposed  my  brother  Petya  to  it,  no,  nor 
even  this  Ilyin  here,  though  he  is  no  relation  to  me  —  but  a 
good  fellow  all  the  same — but  I  should  have  tried  to  put 
them  safe  out  of  harm's  way  somewhere,"  pursued  Rostof,  in 
his  thoughts,  all  the  while  listening  to  Zdrzhinsky.  But  he 
did  not  speak  his  thoughts  aloud ;  in  regard  to  this  also  he 
had  learned  wisdom  by  experience.  He  knew  that  this  story 
redounded  to  the  glory  of  our  arms,  and  therefore  it  was  re- 
quisite to  make  believe  that  he  had  no  doubt  of  it.  And  so 
he  did. 

"Well,  there's  one  thing,  I  can't  stand  this,"  exclaimed 
Ilyin,  perceiving  that  Rostof  was  not  pleased  with  Zdrzhin- 
sky's  chatter ;  "  my  stockings  and  my  shirt  are  wet  through, 
and  it  is  running  under  me  here.  I  am  going  in  search  of 
shelter.    It  seems  to  me  it  is  slacking  up." 

Ilyin  went  out  and  Zdrzhinsky  mounted  and  rode  off. 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes  Ilyin,  slopping  through  the  mud, 
came  hurrying  up  to  the  wigwam. 

"  Hurrah !  Rostof,  come  on  quick !  There's  a  tavern  a 
couple  of  hundred  paces  from  here,  and  a  lot  of  our  men  are 
there  already.  We  can  get  dry  there,  and  Marie  Heinrichovna 
is  there  too." 

Marie  Heinrichovna  was  the  regimental  doctor's  wife,  a 
pretty  young  German  girl  whom  the  doctor  had  married  in 
Poland.  Either  because  the  doctor  had  no  means  or  because 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  separated  from  his  bride  during  the 
early  period  of  his  married  life,  he  took  her  wherever  he 
went  in  his  travels  with  the  hussars,  and  his  jealousy  became 
a  constant  source  of  amusement  and  jest  among  the  officers  of 
the  regiment. 

Rostof  flung  his  cloak  over  him,  called  Lavrushka  to  follow 
with  the  luggage,  and  went  with  Ilyin,  ploughing  through  the 
mud,  plodding  straight  onward  amid  the  now  rapidly  dimior 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  69 

ishing  shower,  into  the  darkness  of  the  ereningy  oceasionaSly 
interrupted  by  flashes  of  distant  lightning. 

"  Rostof ,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here  I  am !  what  lightning ! "  was  what  they  said  as  they 
marched  along. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

At  the  tavern  before  which  stood  the  doctor's  kibitka  or 
trayelling  carriage,  five  officers  were  already  gathered.  Marie 
Heinrichovna,  a  plump,  light-haired  Grerman,  in  jacket  and 
night-cap,  was  sitting  in  the  front  room  on  a  wide  bench. 
Her  spouse,  the  doctor,  was  asleep  behind  her.  Kostof  and 
Ilyin,  welcomed  by  acclamations  and  roars  of  laughter,  walked 
into  the  room. 

^£e !  you  have  something  very  jolly  going  on,''  said  Bostof, 
with  a  laugh. 

^'  And  what  brings  you  here  so  late ! " 

'^  You  are  fine  specimens !  Look  at  the  way  they  are  stream- 
ing !     Don't  drown  out  our  parlor  floor !  " 

"  Be  careful  how  you  daub  Marie  Heinrichovna's  dress," 
cried  the  voices. 

Bostof  and  Ilyin  made  haste  to  find  a  comer  where,  without 
shocking  Marie  Heinrichovna's  modesty,  they  might  change 
their  wet  garments.  They  had  gone  behind  the  partition  to 
make  the  change,  but  the  little  room,  which  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  closet,  was  entirely  filled  by  three  officers,  sitting 
on  an  empty  chest,  and  playing  cards  by  the  light  of  a  single 
candle ;  and  nothing  would  induce  them  to  evacuate  the 
place. 

Accordingly,  Marie  Heinrichovna  surrendered  her  petticoat 
to  them,  and  they  hung  it  up  in  place  of  a  screen  ;  and  behind 
this,  Bostof  and  Ilyin,  with  Lavnishka's  aid,  who  had  brought 
their  saddle-bags,  exchanged  their  wet  clothing  for  dry. 

A  fire  had  been  started  in  a  broken-down  stove.  They  pro- 
cured a  board,  laid  it  across  a  pair  of  saddles,  covered  it  with 
a  caparison ;  the  samovar  was  set  up,  a  bottle-case  unpacked, 
and  half  a  bottle  of  rum  got  out,  and  Marie  Heinrichovna  was 
requested  to  do  the  honors ;  all  gathered  around  her.  One 
offered  her  a  clean  handkerchief  to  wipe  her  lovely  little 
hands ;  another  spread  his  overcoat  under  her  feet,  to  keep 
them  from  the  dampness  ;  a  third  hung  his  cloak  in  the  win- 
dow, to  keep  away  the  draught ;  a  fourth  waved  the  flies  away 
from  her  husband's  face,  so  that  he  would  not  wake  up. 


60  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

** Never  mind  him,"  said  Marie  Heinrichovna,  smiling  tim- 
idly and  happily.  "  He  always  sleeps  sound  and  well  alter  he 
has  been  up  all  night." 

''  Oh,  that  is  all  right,  Marie  Heinrichovna ! "  exclaimed  the 
officer.  "  We  must  take  good  care  of  the  doctor.  All  things 
are  possible ;  and  he  would  have  pity  on  me,  if  ever  he  came 
to  saw  off  an  arm  or  a  leg  for  me." 

There  were  only^  three  glasses ;  the  water  was  so  muddy 
that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  the  tea  were  too  strong 
or  too  weak ;  and  the  samovarchik  held  only  water  enough  for 
six  glasses ;  but  it  was  all  the  more  fun  to  take  turns,  and  to 
receive,  in  order  of  seniority,  each  his  glass  from  Marie  Hein- 
richovna's  plump  little  hands,  though  her  short  nails  were  not 
perfectly  clean  I 

All  the  officers  seemed  to  be,  and  were,  in  love  that  evening 
with  JVIarie  Heinrichovna.  Even  the  three  who  had  been 
playing  cards  in  the  little  room  made  haste  to  throw  up  their 
hands,  and  came  out  to  the  samovar,  giving  way  to  the  common 
feeling  of  worship  for  Marie  Heinrichovna's  charms. 

Marie  Heinrichovna,  seeing  herself  surrounded  by  these 
brilliant  and  courteous  young  men,  fairly  beamed  with  delight, 
in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  hide  it,  and  her  manifest  alarm 
every  time  her  husband,  on  the  bench  back  of  her,  moved  in 
his  sleep. 

There  was  only  one  spoon,  while  there  was  a  superfluity  of 
sugar ;  but,  as  it  was  slow  in  melting,  it  was  decided  that  she 
should  stir  each  glass  of  tea  in  turn.  Rostof,  having  received 
his  glass  and  seasoned  it  with  rum,  asked  Marie  Heinrichovna 
to  stir  it  for  him. 

"  But  you  haven't  put  the  sugar  in,  have  you  ?  "  said  she, 
constantly  smiling,  as  though  all  that  she  said,  and  all  that 
the  others  said,  was  as  funny  as  it  could  be,  and  concealed 
some  deep  hidden  meaning. 

"  No,  I  haven't  any  sugar  yet ;  all  it  needs  is  for  you  to  stir 
it  with  your  little  hand." 

Marie  Heinrichovna  consented,  and  began  to  look  for  the 
spoon,  which  some  one  had  meanwhile  appropriated. 

"  Stir  it  with  your  dainty  little  finger,  Marie  Heinrichovna," 
said  Kostof.     ^  It  will  make  it  all  the  sweeter ! " 

"  It's  hot ! "  exclaimed  Marie  Heinrichovna,  blushing  with 
gratification. 

Ilyin  took  a  pail  of  water,  and,  throwing  a  little  rum  into  it, 
came  to  Marie  Heinrichovna,  begging  her  to  stir  it  with  her 
finger. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  61 

"  This  is  my  cup,"  said  he.  "Just  dip  your  finger  in  it,  and 
I  will  drink  it  all  up/' 

When  the  samovar  had  been  entirely  emptied,  Kostof  took 
a  pack  of  cards,  and  proposed  to  play  koroli*  with  Marie 
HeinrichoTua.  Lots  were  cast  as  to  who  should  be  first  to 
play  with  her. 

At  Rostof  s  suggestion,  the  game  was  so  arranged  that  the 
one  who  became  "  king  "  should  have  the  privilege  of  kissing 
Marie  Heiurichovna's  little  hand ;  while  he  who  came  out 
prokhvostj  or  provost,  as  they  called  the  loser,  should  have  to 
start  the  samovar  afresh  for  the  doctor,  when  he  awoke. 

"  Well,  but  supposing  Marie  Heinrichovna  should  be  king  ?  " 
asked  Ilyin. 

"She's  our  queen  anyway.  And  her  word  shall  be  our 
law!" 

The  game  had  hardly  begun,  before  the  doctor's  dishevelled 
head  appeared  behind  Marie  Heinrichovna.  He  had  been 
awake  for  some  time,  and  had  overheard  all  that  had  been 
said  ;  and  it  was  perfectly  evident  that  he  found  nothing  very 
jolly,  amusing,  or  diverting  in  all  that  had  been  said  and  done. 
His  face  was  glum  and  sour.  He  exchanged  no  greeting  with 
the  officers,  but  scratched  his  head,  and  asked  them  to  make 
way,  so  that  he  could  get  out.  As  soon  as  he  had  left  the  room, 
all  the  officers  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  while  Marie  Hein- 
richovna blushed  till  the  tears  came,  and  thereby  became  all 
the  more  fascinating  in  the  eyes  of  all  those  young  men. 

On  his  return  from  out-of-doors,  the  doctor  told  his  wife, 
who  had  now  ceased  to  smile  that  happy  smile,  and  was  looking 
at  him  in  timid  expectation  of  a  scolding,  that  the  storm  had 
passed,  and  they  must  go  and  camp  out  in  their  kibitka,  other- 
wise all  their  effects  would  be  stolen. 

"  But  I  will  send  a  soldier  to  stand  on  guard  — two  of  them,'* 
said  Rostof.     "  What  nonsense,  doctor !  " 

"  I'll  stand  guard  myself,"  said  Ilyin. 

"  No,  gentlemen ;  you  have  had  your  rest,  but  I  have  not 
had  any  sleep  for  two  nights,"  said  the  doctor,  and  sat  down 
gloomily  next  his  wife,  to  wait  for  the  end  of  the  game. 

As  they  saw  the  doctor's  lowering  face  bent  angrily  on  his 
wife,  the  officers  became  more  jovial  still,  and  many  of  them 
could  not  refrain  from  bursts  of  merriment,  plausible  pretexts 
for  which  they  kept  striving  to  invent.     When  the  doctor  went 

*  Korolif  Kings,  is  a  South  RuBSiaa  Jfame  at  cards,  somewhat  Uke  the 
French  games  of  ecarte  and  triomphe.  The  winner  is  called  kor<fl,  king,  and 
CMn  make  the  other  pay  a  forfeit 


62  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

out,  taking  his  wife  with  him,  and  ensconced  themselves  in 
the  snug  little  kibitka  for  the  night,  the  officers  wrapped 
themselves  up  in  their  damp  cloaks  and  lay  down  anywhere  in 
the  tavern ;  but  it  was  long  before  they  could  go  to  sleep, 
because  of  the  talk  that  still  went  on  ;  some  of  them  recalling 
the  doctor's  jealous  fear,  and  the  doktorahd's  jollity ;  while 
others  went  out  on  the  steps,  and  came  back  to  report  what 
was  going  on  in  the  kibitka. 

Several  times,  Rostof,  muffling  up  his  ears,  tried  to  go  to 
sleep ;  but  then  some  one  would  make  a  remark,  and  arouse 
his  attention ;  and  again  the  conversation  would  go  on,  and 
again  they  would  break  out  into  nonsensicali  merry  laughter, 
as  though  they  were  children. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  no  one  had  caught 
a  wink  of  sleep,  when  the  quartermaster  made  his  appearance 
with  the  orders  to  proceed  to  the  little  village  of  Ostrovno. 

Still  chattering  and  laughing  as  before,  the  officers  made 
haste  to  get  ready  ;  they  again  set  up  the  samovar,  with  the 
same  dirty  water.  But  liostof,  not  waiting  for  tea,  started 
off  for  his  squadron. 

It  was  already  growing  light ;  the  rain  had  ceased ;  the 
clouds  were  scattering.  It  was  damp  and  cold  especially 
in  well-soaked  clothes.  As  they  came  out  of  the  tavern, 
Rostof  and  Ilyin  looked  at  the  doctor's  leathered  kibitka,  the 
leathered  cover  of  which,  wet  with  the  rain,  gleamed  in  the 
early  morning  twilight,  while  the  doctor's  long  legs  protruded 
from  under  the  apron ;  and,  in  the  interior,  among  the 
cushions,  the  doktorshas  nightcap  could  be  dimly  seen,  and 
heard  the  measured  breathing,  as  she  slept. 

"  Fact,  she's  very  pretty ! "  said  Rostof  to  Ilyin,  who  ac- 
companied him. 

"  Yes,  what  a  charming  woman  she  is  ! "  replied  the  other, 
with  all  the  seriousness  of  sixteen. 

Within  half  an  hour,  the  squadron  was  drawn  up  on  the 
road.  The  command  was  heard:  "To  saddle."  The  men 
crossed  themselves,  and  proceeded  to  mount.  Rostof,  taking 
the  lead,  gave  the  command,  "  Mai*sch ! "  and,  filing  off  four 
abreast,  the  hussars,  with  the  sound  of  hoofs  splashing  in  the 
pools,  the  clinking  of  sabres,  and  subdued  conversation,  started 


WAR  AXD  PEACE.  68 

along  the  broad  road,  lined  with  birch-trees,  and  following  the 
infantry  and  artillery,  which  had  gone  on  ahead. 

Scattered  purplish  blue  clouds,  growing  into  crimson  in  the 
east,  were  swiftly  fleeting  before  the  wind.  It  was  growing 
lighter  and  lighter.  More  distinguishable  became  the  crisp 
grass  which  always  g^ws  on  country  cross-roads ;  it  was  still 
wet  with  the  erening^s  rain,  the  pendulous  foliage  of  the 
birches,  also  dripping  with  moisture,  shook  in  the  wind,  and 
tossed  aside  the  sparkling  drops.  Clearer  and  clearer  grew 
the  faces  of  the  soldiers.  Rostof  rode  along  with  Ilyin,  who 
was  his  inseparable  companion ;  they  kept  to  one  side  of  the 
road,  which  led  between  a  double  row  of  trees. 

Bostof,  during  this  campaign,  had  permitted  himself  to  ride 
a  Cossack  horse,  instead  of  his  regular  horse  of  the  line.  Be- 
ing both  a  connoisseur  and  a  huntsman,  he  had  recently 
selected  a  strong,  mettlesome,  dun-colored  pony,  from  the  Don, 
which  no  one  could  think  of  matching  in  a  race.  It  was  a 
perfect  delight  for  Bostof  to  ride  on  this  steed.  His  thoughts 
now  ran  on  horses,  the  beauty  of  the  morning,  the  doctor's 
wife,  and  not  once  did  he  let  the  possibility  of  serious  danger 
occur  to  him. 

In  days  gone  by,  Bostof,  on  approaching  an  engagement, 
would  have  felt  a  pang  of  dismay ;  now  he  experienced  not 
the  slightest  sensation  of  timidity.  He  was  devoid  of  all  fear, 
not  because  he  was  wonted  to  fire  —  it  is  impossible  to  become 
wonted  to  danger — but  rather  because  he  had  learned  to  con- 
trol  his  heart  in  the  presence  of  danger.  On  going  into  an 
engagement,  he  had  accustomed  himself  to  think  about  every- 
thing except  the  one  thing  which  would  have  been  most 
absorbing  of  all  —  the  impending  peril.  In  spite  of  all  his 
efforts,  in  spite  of  all  his  self-reproaches  for  his  cowardice, 
during  the  first  term  of  his  service,  he  had  not  been  able  to 
reach  this  point ;  but,  in  the  course  of  years,  it  had  come  of 
itself.  He  rode  now  with  Ilyin,  side  by  side,  between  the 
birch-trees,  occasionally  tearing  off  a  leaf  from  a  down-hanging 
branch,  occasionally  prodding  the  horse  in  the  groin,  occasion- 
ally, not  even  turning  round,  handing  his  exhausted  pipe  to  the 
hussar  just  behind  him,  with  such  a  calm  and  unconcerned  ap- 
pearance that  one  would  have  thought  he  was  riding  for  pleasure. 

He  felt  a  pang  of  pity  to  look  at  Ilyin's  excited  face,  as  he 
rode  along,  tialking  fast  and  nervously.  He  knew  from  expe* 
rience  that  painful  state  of  mind  at  the  expectation  of  danger 
and  death,  which  the  young  comet  was  now  experiencing,  and 
he  knew  that  nothing  but  time  could  cure  him. 


64  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

As  soon  as  the  sun  came  into  sight,  in  the  clear  strip  of  sky 
below  the  clouds,  the  wind  died  down,  ajs  though  it  dared  not 
mar  in  the  slightest  degree  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  summer 
morning  after  the  storm ;  the  drops  still  fell  from  the  trees, 
but  it  was  now  broad  daylight  —  and  all  was  calm  and  still. 

The  sun  came  up  full  and  round,  poised  on  the  horizon,  and 
then  mounted  and  disappeared  behind  a  long,  narrow  eloud. 
But,  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  it  burst  forth  brighter 
than  ever  on  the  upper  edge  of  the  cloud,  cutting  its  edge. 

The  world  was  full  of  light  and  brilliancy.  And  simulta- 
neously with  this  burst  of  light,  and  as  though  saluting  it, 
rang  out  the  heavy  booming  of  cannon  at  the  front. 

Bostof  had  no  time  to  ponder  and  make  up  his  mind  how 
far  distant  these  cannon-shots  were,  when  an  adjutant  from 
Count  Ostermann-Tolstoi  came  galloping  up  from  Vitebsk, 
with  the  order  to  advance  with  all  speed. 

The  squadron  outstripped  the  infantry  and  artillery,  which 
were  also  hurrying  forward,  plunged  down  a  hill,  and,  dashing 
through  a  village  deserted  of  its  inhabitants,  galloped  up  a 
slope  at  the  other  side.  The  horses  were  all  of  a  lather  with 
sweat,  the  men  flushed  and  breathless. 

'<  Halt !  Dress  ranks,"  rang  out  the  command  of  the  division 
leader,  at  the  front.  ^<  Guide  left !  Shagom  marsch  f  "  (that 
is,  forward  at  a  foot-pace)  again  rang  the  command.  And  the 
hussars  rode  along  the  line  of  the  troops  toward  the  left  ftank 
of  the  position,  and  drew  rein  just  behind  our  uhlans,  who 
were  in  the  front  rank.  At  the  right  stood  our  infantry,  in  a 
solid  mass :  they  were  the  reserves :  higher  up  on  the  slope 
could  be  seen  in  the  clear,  clear  atmosphere,  our  cannon  shin- 
ing in  the  slanting  rays  of  the  bright  morning  sun,  on  the  very 
horizon. 

Forward,  beyond  a  ravine,  were  heard  our  infantry,  already 
involved  in  the  action,  and  merrily  exchanging  shots  with  the 
enemy. 

Eostof  s  heart  beat  high  with  joy,  as  he  heard  these  sounds 
which  he  had  not  heard  for  many  a  long  day,  and  now  seemed 
like  the  notes  of  the  jolliest  music.  Trap4a^tartap^  several 
shots  cracked,  sometimes  together,  suddenly,  then  rapidly, 
one  after  another. 

The  hussars  stood  for  about  an  hour  in  one  place.  The  can- 
nonade had  also  begun.  Count  Ostermann  and  his  suite  came 
riding  up  behind  the  squadron,  and,  drawing  rein,  had  a  short 
conversation  with  the  commander  of  the  regiment,  and  then 
rode  off  toward  the  cannon  at  the  height. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  66 

Ab  soon  as  Ostermann  rode  away,  the  uhlans  heard  the  com- 
mand :  "  V  koldnnuy  k  atdkj/e  stroist/a  !  "  (In  column :  ready  to 
charge ! ) 

The  infantry  in  front  of  them  parted  their  ranks  to  let  the 
cavalry  through.  The  uhlans  started  away,  the  pennons  on 
their  lances  waving  gayly,  and  down  the  slope  they  dashed  at 
a  trot,  toward  the  Fi*ench  cavalry,  which  began  to  appear  at 
the  foot  of  the  slope  at  the  left. 

As  soon  as  the  uhlans  started  down  the  slope,  the  hussars 
were  ordered  to  move  forward  and  protect  the  battery  on  the 
height.  While  the  hussars  were  stationed  in  the  position 
before  occupied  by  the  uhlans,  bullets  flew  high  over  their 
heads,  buzzing  and  humming  through  the  air. 

These  sounds,  which  had  not  been  heard  by  Rostof  for  long 
years,  had  a  more  pleasing  and  stimulating  influence  than 
the  roar  of  musketry  before.  Straightening  himself  up  in  the 
saddle,  he  scrutinized  the  battle-fleld  spread  full  before  his 
eyes  from  the  height  wl.ere  he  was  stationed,  and  his  whole 
heart  followed  the  uhlans  into  the  charge. 

They  had  now  flown  almost  down  to  the  French  dragoons ; 
there  was  a  scene  of  confusion  and  collision  in  the  smoke,  and, 
at  the  end  of  Ave  minutes,  the  uhlans  were  being  pressed 
back ;  not  in  the  same  place,  indeed,  but  farther  to  the  left. 
Mixed  in  with  the  orange-uniformed  uhlans,  on  their  chestnut 
horses,  and  behind  them,  in  a  compact  mass,  could  be  seen  the 
blue  French  dragoons,  on  their  gray  horses. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

RosTOF,  with  his  keen  huntsman's  eye,  was  one  of  the  first 
to  notice  these  French  dragoons  in  blue  pressing  back  our 
uhlans.  Nearer,  nearer,  in  disorderly  masses,  came  the  uhlans, 
and  the  French  dragoons  in  pursuit  of  them. 

It  was  plain  to  all  how  these  men,  dwarfed  by  the  distance, 
were  jostling  each  other,  driving  each  other,  and  brandishing 
their  arms  and  their  sabres,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

Rostof  looked  on  at  the  fight,  as  though  he  were  present  at 
some  mighty  tournament.  His  instinct  told  him  that  if  the 
hussars  could  now  add  their  impetus  to  that  of  the  uhlans,  the 
French  dragoons  could  not  stand  it ;  but  if  the  blow  was  to  be 
struck,  it  was  to  be  done  immediately,  on  the  instant,  else  it 
would  be  too  late.  He  glanced  around :  a  captain  stationed 
VOL.  3.  —  6. 


66  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

near  him  had  likewise  his  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  on  the  cavalry 
contest  below. 

"  Andrei  Sevastyanuitch ! "  said  Rostof.  "We  might  crash 
them  down." 

"  'Twould  be  a  dashing  piece  of  work,  but  still " — 

Rostof,  not  waiting  to  hear  him  through,  gave  spurs  to  his 
horse,  dashed  along  in  front  of  his  squadron,  and  before  he 
had  even  given  the  word  for  the  advance,  the  whole  squadron 
to  a  man,  experiencing  exactly  what  he  had,  scoured  after  him. 

Rostof  himself  did  not  know  how  and  why  he  did  this  things 
The  whole  action  was  as  instinctive,  as  unpremeditated,  as 
though  he  were  out  hunting.  He  saw  that  the  dragoons 
were  near  at  hand,  that  they  were  galloping  forward,  in  dis- 
orderly i*anks.  He  knew  that  they  would  not  withstand  a 
sudden  attack ;  he  knew  that  it  was  the  matter  of  a  single 
moment,  which  would  not  return  if  he  let  it  have  the  go-by. 
The  bullets  whizzed  and  whistled  around  him  so  stimulatingly, 
his  horse  dashed  on  ahead  so  hotly,  that  he  could  not  but 
yield.  He  plunged  the  spurs  still  deeper  in  his  horse^s  side, 
shouted  his  command,  and,  at  that  same  instant,  hearing  behind 
him  the  hoof-<;latter  of  his  squadron,  breaking  into  the  charge, 
at  full  trot,  he  gave  his  horse  his  head  down  the  hill,  at  &e 
dragoons.  No  sooner  had  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
slope,  than  their  gait  changed  involuntarily  from  trot  to  gal- 
lop, growing  ever  swifter  and  swifter  in  proportion  as  they 
approached  the  uhlans  and  the  Fi'ench  dragoons  who  were 
driving  them  back. 

The  dragoons  were  close  to  them.  The  foremost,  seeing  the 
hussars,  started  to  turn;  those  in  the  rear  paused.  Feel- 
ing as  though  he  were  galloping  to  cut  off  an  escaping  wolf, 
Rostof,  urging  his  Don  pony  to  his  utmost,  dashed  on  toward 
the  disconcerted  French  dragoons.  One  of  the  uhlans  reined 
in  his  horse ;  one,  who  had  been  dismounted,  threw  himself 
on  the  ground  to  escape  being  crushed;  a  riderless  steed 
dashed  in  among  the  hussars.  Almost  all  the  French  dragoons 
were  now  in  full  retreat. 

Rostof,  selecting  one  of  them,  mounted  on  a  gray  steed, 
started  in  pui*suit  of  him.  On  the  way,  he  found  himself 
rushing  at  a  bush  ;  his  good  steed,  without  hesitating,  took  it 
at  a  leap ;  and,  almost  before  Rostof  had  settled  himself  in  his 
saddle  again,  he  saw  that  he  should  within  a  few  seconds 
have  overtaken  the  man  whom  he  had  selected  as  his  objective 
point.  This  Frenchman,  evidently  an  officer  by  his  uniform, 
oending  forward,  was  urging  on  his  gray  horse,  striking  him 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  67 

with  his  sabre.  A  second  later,  Rostof  s  horse  hit  the  other's 
rear  with  his  chest,  almost  knocking  him  over ;  and,  at  the 
same  instant,  Rostof,  not  knowing  why,  raised  his  sabre  and 
struck  at  the  Frenchman. 

The  instant  he  did  so,  all  Rostofs  eager  excitement  sud- 
denly vanished.  The  officer  fell,  not  so  much  from  the  effect 
of  the  sabre-stroke,  which  had  only  scratched  him  slightly 
above  the  elbow,  as  it  was  from  the  collision  of  the  horses,  and 
from  panic.  Rostof  pulled  up  to  look  for  his  enemy,  and  see 
whom  he  had  vanquished.  The  French  officer  of  dragoons  was 
hopping  along,  with  one  foot  on  the  ground  and  the  ether  en- 
tangled in  the  stirrup.  With  his  eyes  squinting  with  fear,  as 
though  he  expected  each  ins'tant  to  be  struck  down  again,  he  was 
looking  up  at  Rostof,  with  an  expression  of  horror.  His  pale 
face,  covered  with  mud,  fair  and  young,  w^ith  dimpled  chin  and 
bright  blue  eyes,  was  one  not  made  for  the  battle-lield,  not  the 
face  of  an  enemy,  but  a  simple  home  face. 

Even  before  Rostof  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do  with 
him,  the  officer  cried  :  "  Je  me  rendsP  In  spite  of  all  his 
efforts,  he  could  not  extricate  his  foot  from  the  stirrup ;  and 
still,  with  frightened  eyes,  he  kept  gazing  at  Rostof.  Some 
of  the  hussars,  who  had  come  galloping  up,  freed  his  foot  for 
him,  and  helped  him  to  mount.  The  hussars  were  connng 
back  in  all  directions  with  dragoons  as  prisoners :  oqc  was 
wounded ;  but,  with  his  face  all  covered  with  blood,  would  not 
surrender  his  horse ;  another  was  seated  on  the  crupper  of  a 
hussar^s  horse,  with  his  arm  around  the  man's  waist ;  a  third, 
assisted  by  a  hussar,  was  clambering  upon  the  horse's  back. 

In  front  the  French  infantry  were  in  full  retreat,  firing  as 
they  went. 

The  hussars  swiftly  returned  to  their  position  with  their 
prisoners.  Rostof  spurred  back  with  the  rest,  a  prey  to  a 
peculiarly  disagreeable  feeling  which  oppressed  his  heart.  A 
certain  vague  perplexity,  which  he  found  it  utterly  impossible 
to  account  for,  overcame  him  at  the  capture  of  that  young  offi- 
cer, and  the  blow  which  he  had  given  him. 

Count  Ostermann-Tolstoi  met  the  hussars  on  their  return, 
summoned  Rostof,  and  thanked  him,  saying  that  he  should 
report  to  the  sovereign  his  gallant  exploit,  and  recommend 
him  for  the  cross  of  the  George.  When  the  summons  to  Count 
Ostermann  came,  Rostof  remembered  that  the  charge  had  been 
made  without  orders ;  and  he  wa«  therefore  fully  persuaded 
that  the  commander  called  for  him  to  punish  him  for  his  pre- 
sumptuous action.   Consequently,  Ostermann's  flattering  words, 


/ 


68  VtTAR  AND  PEAOe. 

and  his  promise  of  a  reward,  ought  to  have  been  all  the  more 
agreeable  to  Rostof ;  but  that  same  vague,  disagreeable  feeling 
Still  tortured  his  mind. 

"  What  can  it  be  that  troubles  me  so,  I  wonder  ?  "  he  asked 
himself,  as  he  rode  away  from  the  interview.  "  Ilyin  ?  No, 
he  is  safe  and  sound.  Have  I  anything  to  be  ashamed 
of  ?  No,  nothing  of  the  sort  at  all."  —  It  was  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent feeling,  like  remorse. —  "  Yes,  yes,  that  French  officer 
with  the  dimple.  And  how  distinctly  I  remember  hesitating 
before  I  struck  him." 

Eostof  saw  the  prisoners  about  to  be  conducted  away,  and 
he  galloped  up  to  them,  in  order  to  have  another  look  at  the 
officer  with  the  dimpled  chin.  He  was  sitting,  in  his  foreign 
uniform,  on  a  hussar's  stallion,  and  was  glancing  around  un- 
easily. The  wound  on  his  arm  was  scarcely  deserving  of  the 
name.  He  gave  Eostof  a  hypocritical  smile,  and  waved  his 
hand  at  him,  as  a  sort  of  salute.  Eostof  had  still  the  same 
feeling  of  awkwardness,  and  something  seemed  to  weigh  on 
his  conscience. 

All  that  day,  and  the  day  following,  Eostof s  friends  and 
comrades  noticed  that  he  was  —  not  exactly  gloomy  or  surly, 
but  taciturn,  thoughtful,  and  concentrated.  He  drank,  as  it 
were,  under  protest,  tried  to  be  alone,  and  evidently  had  some- 
thing on  his  mind. 

Eostof  was,  all  the  time,  thinking  about  his  brilliant  exploit, 
which,  much  to  his  amazement,  had  given  him  the  ci-oss  of  the 
George,  and  had  even  given  him  the  reputation  of  being  a 
hero ;  and  he  found  it  utterly  incomprehensible. 

"  And  so  they  are  still  more  afraid  of  us  than  we  are  of 
them  !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  Is  this  all  there  is  of  what  is 
called  heroism  ?  Did  I  do  that  for  my  country's  sake  ?  And 
wherein  was  he  to  blame,  with  his  dimple  and  his  blue  eyes  ? 
And  how  frightened  he  was !  He  thought  I  was  going  to  kill 
him  !  My  hand  trembled ;  but  still  they  have  given  me  the 
Georgievsky  cross.     I  don't  understand  it  at  all,  not  at  all ! " 

But  while  Nikolai  was  working  over  these  questions  in  his 
own  mind,  and  still  failed  to  find  any  adequate  solution  of 
what  was  so  confusing  to  him,  the  wheel  of  fortune,  as  so 
often  happens  in  the  military  service,  had  been  given  a  turn 
in  his  favor.  He  was  promoted  after  the  engagement  at 
Ostrovno,  and  given  command  of  a  battalion ;  and  when 
there  was  any  necessity  of  employing  a  brave  officer,  he  was 
given  the  chance. 


WAS  AND  PBACS*  " "  69 


CHAPTER  XVI, 

Ok  learning  of  Natasha's  illness,  the  coUhtess,  still  very  &r 
herself  from  well,  and  suffering  from  weakness,  went  to  Mos- 
cow, taking  Petya  and  the  whole  household ;  and  all  the  Ros- 
tofs  left  Maiya  Dmitrievna's,  and  went  to  their  own  house, 
and  settled  down  in  the  city  for  good. 

Natasha's  illness  was  so  serious  that,  fortunately  for  her 
h^piness,  and  for  the  happiness  of  her  relations,  the  thought 
of  all  that  had  been  the  cause  of  her  illness,  —  her  misconduct, 
and  the  breach  with  her  betrothed,  were  relegated  to  the  back- 
ground. She  was  so  ill  that  it  was  impossible  to  take  up  the 
consideration  of  how  far  she  had  been  blameworthy  in  the 
matter ;  for  she  had  no  appetite,  and  she  could  not  sleep,  she 
lost  flesh,  and  had  a  cough,  and  was,  as  the  doctors  gave 
them  to  understand,  in  a  decidedly  critical  state. 

There  was  nothing  else  to  be  thought  of  than  to  give  her  all 
the  aid  they  could  devise :  the  doctors  came  to  see  her,  both 
singly  and  in  consultation ;  talked  abundantly  in  French,  in 
German,  and  Latin ;  criticised  one  another ;  prescribed  the 
most  varied  remedies  adapted  to  cure  all  the  diseases 
known  to  their  science;  but  it  did  not  occur  to  one  of 
them,  simple  as  it  might  seem,  that  the  disease  from  which 
Natasha  was  suffering  might  be  unknown  to  them,  just 
as  every  ailment  which  attacks  mortal  man  is  beyond  their 
power  of  understanding :  since  each  mortal  man  has  his  own 
distinguishing  characteristics,  and  whatever  disease  he  has 
must,  necessarily,  be  peculiar  and  new,  and  unknown  to  medi- 
cine ;  not  a  disease  of  the  lungs,  of  the  liver,  of  the  skin,  of 
the  heart,  of  the  nerves,  and  so  on,  as  described  in  works  on 
medicine,  but  an  ailment  produced  from  any  one  of  endless 
complications  connected  with  diseases  of  these  organs. 

This  simple  idea  could  not  occur  to  the  doctors  (any  more 
than  it  could  ever  occur  to  a  warlock  that  his  incantations  were 
idle)  ;  because  it  is  their  life  work  to  practise  medicine,  because 
it  is  their  way  of  earning  money ;  and  because  they  spend  the 
best  years  of  their  lives  at  this  business. 

But  the  chief  reason  why  this  thought  could  not  occur  to 
the  doctors  was  because  they  saw  that  they  were  unquestiona- 
bly of  service ;  and,  in  deed  and  truth,  they  were  of  service  to 
all  the  Rostof  household.  They  were  of  service  not  because 
they  made  the  sick  girl  swallow  drugs,  for  the  most  part  harm- 


70  WAR  AND  PSACfS. 

ful  —  though  the  harinf illness  was  of  little  moment,  becaase 
the  noxious  drugs  were  given  in  small  quantities,  —  but  thej 
were  of  service,  they  were  needful,  they  were  indispensable  — 
and  this  is  the  reason  that  there  are,  and  always  will  be^ 
alleged  **  curers  "  —  quacks,  homoeopaths  and  allopaths  — 
because  they  satisfied  the  moral  demands  of  the  sick  girl,  and 
those  who  loved  her.  They  satisfied  that  eternal  human 
demand  for  hope  and  consolation;  that  demand  for  sym- 
pathy and  activity  which  a  man  experiences  at  a  time  of 
Buffering. 

They  satisfied  that  eternal  human  demand — noticeable  in  a 
child  in  its  simplest  and  most  primitive  form  — to  have  the 
bruised  place  rubbed.  The  child  tumbles  down,  and  immedi- 
ately runs  to  its  mother  or  its  nurse  to  be  kissed,  and  have  the 
sore  place  rubbed,  and  its  pains  are  alleviated  as  soon  as  the 
sore  place  is  rubbed  or  kissed.  The  child  cannot  help  believ- 
ing that  those  who  are  stronger  and  wiser  than  he  must  have 
the  means  of  giving  him  aid  for  his  sufferings.  And  this  hope 
of  alleviation  and  expression  of  sympathy  at  the  time  when 
tliM  mother  rubs  the  bump  are  a  comfort. 

The  doctoi*s  in  Natasha's  case  were  of  service,  because  they 
kissed  and  rubbed  the  bobOf  assuring  her  that  it  would  go  away 
if  the  coachman  would  only  hurry  down  to  the  Arbatskaya 
apothecary  shop  and  get  a  ruble  and  seventy  kopeks'  worth  of 
powders  and  pellets  in  a  neat  little  box,  and  if  the  sick  girl 
would  take  these  powders,  dissolved  in  boiling  water,  regularly 
every  two  hours,  not  a  moment  more  or  a  moment  less. 

What  would  Sonya  and  the  count  and  the  countess  have 
done  if  they  had  merely  looked  on  without  taking  any  part ; 
if  there  had  been  no  little  pellets  every  two  hours,  no  tepid 
drinks,  no  chicken  cutlets  to  prepare,  and  none  of  all  those 
little  necessary  things  prescribed  by  the  doctor,  the  observance 
of  which  gave  oocuptation  and  consolation  to  the  friends  ? 

How  would  the  count  have  borne  his  beloved  daughter's 
illness  if  he  had  not  known  that  it  was  going  to  cost  him 
some  thousands  of  rubles,  and  that  he  would  not  grudge 
thousands  more  ti  do  her  any  good ;  if  he  had  not  known 
that  in  case  she  did  not  recover  si>eedily,  he  should  not 
grudge  still  other  thousands  in  taking  her  abroad,  and  then 
going  to  the  expense  of  consultations ;  if  he  had  not  been 
able  to  tell  in  all  its  details  how  Metivier  and  Teller  had  not 
understood  the  case,  while  Friese  had  and  Mudrof  had  still 
more  successfully  predicated  the  disease  ? 

What  would  the  countess  have  done  if  she  could  not  have 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  71 

oeeasionallj  scolded  Natasha  because  she  did  not  folly  con- 
form to  the  doctor's  orders  ? 

"  You  will  never  get  well,"  she  would  say,  "  if  you  don't 
obey  the  doctor,  and  if  you  don't  take  your  medicine  regularly. 
You  must  not  treat  it  lightly,  because,  if  you  do,  it  may  go 
into  pneumonia,"  the  countess  would  say ;  and  she  found  a 
great  consolation  in  repeating  this  one  word,  which  was  some- 
thing incomprehensible  for  her  and  others  beside. 

What  would  Sonya  have  done  if  she  had  not  had  the  joy- 
ful consciousness  that,  during  the  first  part  of  the  time,  she 
had  not  undressed  for  three  nights,  so  that  she  might  be 
ready  to  cany  out  to  the  least  detail  all  the  doctor's  prescrip- 
tions ;  and  that  even  now  she  lay  awake  all  night,  lest  she 
should  sleep  over  the  hours  when  it  was  necessary  to  adminis- 
ter the  not  very  hurtful  pellets  from  the  little  gilt  box  ? 

Even  Natasha  herself,  who,  although  she  declared  that  no 
medicine  could  cure  her,  and  that  this  was  all  nonsense,  could 
not  help  a  feeling  of  gratification  that  they  were  making  so 
many  sacrifices  for  her,  and  so  willingly  consented  to  take  the 
medicine  at  the  hours  prescribed.  And  likewise  she  felt  glad 
to  show  by  her  neglect  to  cany  out  the  doctor's  orders  that 
she  did  not  believe  in  medicine,  and  did  not  value  her  life. 

The  doctor  came  every  day,  felt  of  her  pulse,  looked  at  her 
tongue,  and,  paying  no  attention  to  her  dejected  face,  laughed 
and  joked  with  her.  But  then,  when  he  had  gone  into  the 
next  room,  and  the  countess  hastily  followed  him,  he  would 
pull  a  serious  face  and  shake  his  head  dubiously,  saying  that, 
though  the  pjitient  was  in  a  critical  state,  still  he  had  good 
hopes  for  the  efficacy  of  the  medicine  he  had  just  prescribed, 
and  that  they  must  wait  and  see ;  that  the  ailment  was  more 
mental  —  but  — 

The  countess,  who  tried  as  far  as  possible  to  shut  her  own 
eyes,  and  the  doctor's,  to  Natasha's  behavior,  thrust  the  gold 
piece  into  his  hand,  and  each  time,  with  a  relieved  heart,  went 
back  to  her  little  invalid. 

The  symptoms  of  Natasha's  illness  were  loss  of  appetite,  sleep- 
lessness, a  cough,  and  a  constant  state  of  apathy.  The  doctors 
declared  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  dispense  with  medi- 
cal treatment,  and,  consequently,  she  was  kept  a  prisoner  in 
the  sultry  air  of  the  city.  And,  during  the  summer  of  1812, 
the  Rostofs  did  not  go  to  their  country  place. 

In  spite  of  the  immense  quantity  of  pellets,  drops,  and  pow- 
ders swallowed  by  Natasha,  out  of  glass  jars  and  gilt  boxes,  of 
which  Madame  Bchoss,  who  was  a  great  lover  of  such  things^ 


f 


72  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

had  made  a  large  collection,  in  s})ite  of  being  deprived  of  her 
customary  life  in  the  country,  youth  at  last  got  the  upper 
hand:  Natasha's  sorrow  began  to  disappear  under  the  impres- 
sions of  every-day  life ;  it  ceased  to  lie  so  painfully  on  her 
hearty  it  began  to  appear  past  and  distant,  and  Natasha's  phy- 
sical health  showed  signs  of  improvement. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Natasha  was  more  calm,  but  not  more  cheerful.  She  not 
only  avoided  all  the  external  scenes  of  gayety,  —  balls,  driv- 
ing, concerts,  the  theatre  ;  but,  even  when  she  laughed,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  tears  were  audible  back  of  her  laughter. 
She  could  not  sing.  As  soon  as  she  started  to  laugh,  or 
essayed,  when  all  alone  by  herself,  to  sing,  the  tears  choked 
her:  tears  of  repentance,  tears  of  remembrance,  of  regret,  of 
the  irrevocable,  happy  days ;  tears  of  vexation  that  she  had 
thus  idly  wasted  her  young  life,  which  might  have  been  so 
happy.  Laughter  and  song  seemed  to  her  like  sacrilege 
toward  her  sorrow. 

She  never  once  thought  of  coquetry ;  and  that  she  kept 
from  such  a  thing  was  not  by  any  conscious  effort  of  the  will. 
She  declared,  and  she  felt,  that,  at  this  time,  all  men  were  for 
her  no  more  than  the  buffoon  Nastasya  Ivanovua.  An  inward 
monitor  strenuously  interdicted  every  pleasure.  Moreover, 
she  showed  no  interest,  as  of  old,  in  that  girlish  round  of  ex- 
istence, so  free  of  care  and  full  of  hope.  She  recalled  more 
frequently,  and  with  keener  pain  than  aught  else,  those 
autumn  months  with  the  hunting,  and  the  "little  uncle," 
and  the  holidays  with  Nikolai  at  Otradnoye.  What  would  she 
not  have  given  for  the  return  of  even  a  single  day  of  that  van- 
ished time !  But  it  was  past  forever  !  She  had  not  been  mis- 
taken in  that  presentiment  that  she  had  felt  at  that  time  that 
that  condition  of  careless  freedom  and  susceptibility  to  every 
pleasant  influence  would  never  more  return.  But  to  live  was 
a  necessity. 

It  was  a  consolation  for  her  to  think  not  that  she  vtbs 
better,  as  she  had  formerly  thought,  but  that  slie  was  worse, 
vastly  worse,  than  anybody  else  in  the  world.  But  this  was  a 
little  thing.  She  knew  it,  and  asked  herself :  "  What  more 
is  there  ? "  But  there  was  nothing  more  in  store  for  her. 
There  was  no  further  joy  in  life  ;  and  yet  life  went  on.  Na- 
tasha's sole  idea  evidently  was  not  to  be  a  burden  to  any  one, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  78 

and  not  to  interfere  with  any  one,  while,  for  her  own  personal 
gratification,  she  asked  for  nothing  at  all.  She  kept  aloof 
from  the  other  members  of  the  household,  and  only  with  her 
brother  Petya  did  she  feel  at  all  at  ease.  She  liked  to  be  with 
him  more  than  with  the  others,  and  sometimes,  when  they 
were  alone  together,  she  would  laugh.  She  scarcely  ever  went 
out  of  the  house,  and  of  those  who  came  to  call,  there  was  only 
one  man  whom  she  was  glsld  to  see,  and  that  was  Pierre. 

It  could  not  have  been  possible  for  any  one  to  have  shown  • 
more  tenderness  and  discretion,  and,  at  the  same  time,  more 
seriousness,  in  his  treatment  of  her,  than  did  Count  Bezukhoi. 
Natasha  unconsciously  fell  under  the  spell  of  this  affectionate 
tenderness,  and,  accordingly,  she  took  great  delight  in  his 
society.  But  she  was  not  even  thankful  to  him  for  the  way 
in  which  he  treated  her.  Nothing  that  Pierre  did  of  good 
seemed  to  her  other  than  spontaneous.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
it  was  so  perfectly  natural  for  Pierre  to  be  kind  to  every  one, 
that  he  deserved  no  credit  for  his  acts  of  kindness  to  her. 
Sometimes  Natasha  noticed  his  confusion  and  awkwardness  in 
her  presence,  especially  when  he  was  desirous  of  doing  her 
some  favor,  or  when  he  was  apprehensive  lest  something  in 
their  talk  might  suggest  disagreeable  recollections.  She 
noticed  this,  and  ascribed  it  to  his  natural  kindness  and  shy< 
nes8,  which,  in  her  opinion,  so  far  as  she  knew,  must  be  shown 
to  all,  just  as  it  was  to  her. 

Since  those  ambiguous  words,  "  if  he  were  free,  he  should, 
on  his  knees,  sue  for  her  heart  and  her  hand,"  spoken  at  a 
moment  of  such  painful  excitement  on  her  paii;,  Pierre  had 
never  made  any  allusion  whatever  to  his  feelings  for  Natasha ; 
and,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  it  Avas  evident  that  those 
words,  so  consoling  to  her  at  the  time,  had  had  no  more  mean- 
ing to  her  than  most  thoughtless,  unconsidered  words,  spoken 
for  the  consolation  of  a  heart-broken  child.  It  never  entered 
her  head  that  her  relations  with  Pierre  might  lead  to  love  on 
either  side  —  much  less  on  his  —  or  even  to  that  form  of  ten- 
der, self-acknowledged,  poetic  friendship  between  a  man  and  a 
woman,  of  which  she  had  known  several  examples ;  and  this, 
not  because  Pierre  was  a  married  man,  but  because  Natasha 
was  conscious  that  between  him  and  her,  in  all  its  reality, 
existed  that  barrier  of  moral  obstacles,  the  absence  of  which 
she  had  been  conscious  of  in  Kuragin. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  mid-summer's  fast  *  of  Saint  Peter, 
Agrafena  Ivanovna  Bielova,  one  of  the  Rostofs'  neighbors  at 

•  S«iat  Peter's  day  is  June  29,  O.  S.,  Joly  11,  N.  S. 


74  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Otradnoye,  came  to  Moscow  to  worship  at  the  shrines  of  the 
saints  there.  She  proposed  to  Natasha  to  join  in  her  devo> 
tions,  and  Natasha  gladly  entei-tained  the  suggestion.  Not- 
withstiiiiding  the  doctor's  prohibition  of  her  going  out  early  ia 
the  morning,  Natasha  insisted  on  preparing  for  the  sacrament^ 
and  doing  so  not  as  it  was  usually  managed  at  the  Bostofs', 
by  listening  to  three  services  in  the  house,  but  rather  to  prepare 
for  it  as  Agrafena  Ivanovna  did,  that  is,  taking  the  whole  week, 
without  missing  a  single  vespers,  mass,  or  matins. 

The  countess  was  pleased  with  this  zeal  of  Natasha's.  After 
all  the  failure  of  the  physicians'  remedies,  she  hoped  in  the 
depths  of  her  heart  that  prayer  might  prove  to  be  a  more  pow- 
erful medicament ;  and  though  she  did  it  with  some  apprehen- 
sion, and  concealed  it  from  the  knowledge  of  the  doctorsy 
she  yielded  to  Natasha's  desire,  and  let  her  go  with  Bielova. 

Agrafena  Ivanovna  came  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 
arouse  Natasha ;  and  yet  generally  she  found  her  already  wide 
awake.  Natasha  was  afraid  of  sleeping  over  the  hour  of  matins. 
Making  hasty  ablutions,  and  humbly  dressing  in  her  shabbiest 
gown  and  an  old  mantle,  shivering  with  the  chill  of  morning, 
Natasha  would  venture  out  into  the  empty  streets,  dimly 
lighted  by  the  diaphanous  light  of  early  dawn. 

In  accordance  with  the  pious  Agrafena  Ivanovna's  advice, 
Natasha  performed  her  devotions  not  in  her  own  parish,  but 
at  a  church  where,  according  to  her,  there  was  a  priest  of  very 
blameless  and  austere  life.  At  this  church  there  were  always 
very  few  people.  Natasha  would  take  her  usual  place  with 
Bielova  before  the  ikon  of  the  Mother  of  Grod,  enshrined  at 
the  back  of  the  choir,  at  the  left ;  and  a  new  feeling  of  calm- 
ness came  over  her  before  the  vast  and  incomprehensible  mys- 
tery, when,  at  that  unprecedentedly  early  hour  of  the  morning, 
she  gazed  at  the  darkened  face  of  the  Virgin's  picture,  lighted 
by  the  tapers  burning  before  it,  as  well  as  by  the  morning 
light  that  came  in  through  the  windows,  as  she  listened  to 
the  sounds  of  the  service,  which  she  tried  to  follow  under- 
standingly. 

When  she  understood  it,  her  personal  feeling  entered  into 
and  tinged  the  meaning  of  the  prayer ;  but  when  she  could  not 
understand  it,  it  was  all  the  more  delicious  for  her  to  think 
that  the  very  desire  to  comprehend  everything  was  in  itself  a 
form  of  pride,  that  it  is  impossible  to  comprehend,  and  that 
all  that  is  requisite  and  necessary  is  to  have  faith  and  trust  in 
God,  who  at  that  moment,  she  was  conscious,  reigned  in  her 
heart.    She  would  cross  herself  and  bow  low  \  and  when  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  75 

service  was  too  deep  for  her  comprehension,  then  only,  horror- 
stricken  at  her  own  baseness,  she  would  beseech  God  to  par- 
don her  for  everything,  for  everything,  and  have  mercy  upon 
her. 

The  prayers  which  she  followed  with  the  most  fervor  were 
those  expressing  remorse.  Returning  home  in  the  early  hours 
of  the  morning,  when  the  only  men  she  met  were  masons  going 
to  their  work,  and  dvorniks  sweeping  the  streets,  and  every- 
body in  all  the  houses  was  still  asleep,  Natasha  experienced 
a  new  sense  of  the  possibility  of  being  purged  of  her  sins,  and 
the  possibility  of  a  new,  pure  life  and  happiness. 

During  all  that  week,  while  she  was  leading  this  new  life, 
this  feeling  grew  stronger  every  day.  And  the  happy  thought 
of  taking  the  communion — or,  as  Agrafena,  playing  on  the  word, 
called  it,  the  communication  *  —  seemed  to  her  so  majestic  that 
it  seemed  to  her  she  should  never  live  till  that  blessed  Sunday. 

But  the  happy  day  came,  and  when  Natasha,  on  this  memo- 
rable Sunday,  returned  home  in  her  white  muslin  dress,  from 
communion,  she,  for  the  first  time  after  many  months,  felt 
tranquil-and  not  burdened  by  the  thought  of  living. 

When  the  doctor  came  that  day  to  see  Natasha,  he  ordered 
her  to  continue  taking  the  last  prescription  of  powders  which 
he  had  begun  a  fortnight  before. 

"  Don't  fail  to  take  them  morning  and  evening,"  said  he, 
evidently  feeling  honestly  satisfied  and  even  elated  at  the 
success  of  his  treatment.  "  Only  be  more  regular,  please. — Rest 
quite  easy,  countess,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  jovial  tone,  skil- 
fully clutching  the  gold  piece  in  his  plump  hands.  "  She  will 
soon  be  singing  and  enjoying  herself.  The  last  medicine  has 
been  very,  very  efficacious.     She  has  already  begun  to  gain." 

The  countess  looked  at  her  finger-nails,  and  spat  t  as  she 
returned  to  the  drawing-room  with  a  radiant  face. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

During  the  first  weeks  of  July,  more  and  more  disquieting 
rumoi*s  about  the  progress  of  the  war  began  to  be  circulated 
in  Moscow :  much  was  said  about  the  sovereign's  appeal  to  his 
people,  and  about  the  sovereign's  leaving  the  army  and  coming 
to  Moscow.  And  as  the  manifesto  and  summons  were  not 
received  in  Moscow  until  the  twenty-third  of  July,  exaggerated 
reports  about  them  and  about  the  position  of  Russia  were 

*  Sodbshchitta^  instead  otpridhihchiUa,       t  For  the  omen's  sake. 


76  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


canent.  It  was  said  that  the  sovereign  was  coming  because 
the  anny  was  in  a  critical  position ;  it  was  said  that  Smolensk 
iiad  soirendered,  that  Napoleon  had  a  million  men,  and  that 
only  a  miracle  could  save  Russia. 

The  manifesto  was  received  on  the  twenty-third  of  July,  on 
a  Saturday,  but  as  yet  it  had  not  been  published,  and  Pierre, 
who  was  at  the  Bostofs',  promised  to  come  to  dinner  the  next 
day,  Sunday,  and  bring  the  manifesto  and  the  proclamation, 
which  he  would  get  of  Count  Rostopchin. 

On  that  Sunday  the  Rostofs,  as  usual,  went  to  mass  at  the 
private  chapel  of  the  Razumovskys.  It  was  a  sultry  July  day. 
Even  at  ten  o'clock,  when  the  Rostofs'  carriage  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  chureh,  the  heated  atmosphere,  the  shouts  of  ped- 
lers,  the  bright,  light-colored,  summer  dresses  of  the  ladies,  the 
dust-covered  leaves  of  the  trees  along  the  boulevard,  the  sounds 
of  music,  and  the  white  trousers  of  a  regiment  marehing  by  on 
its  way  to  parade,  the  rattle  of  carriages  over  the  pavement,  and 
the  dazzling  radiance  of  the  July  sun,  all  spoke  of  that  sum- 
mer languor  and  content  as  well  as  discontent  with  the  present 
which  is  always  felt  with  especial  keenness  on  a  bright,  sultry 
day  in  the  city. 

The  chapel  of  the  Razumovskys  was  a  gathering-place  for 
all  the  elite  of  Moscow,  all  the  acquaintances  of  the  Rostofs 
—  for  that  year  very  many  of  the  wealthy  families  who  usually 
went  off  to  their  country  estates  had  remained  in  town. 

Preceded  by  a  liveried  lackey,  who  cleared  a  way  through 
the  throng,  Natasha,  as  she  walked  in  with  her  mother,  over- 
heard a  young  man  making  a  remark  about  her  in  a  whisper, 
that  was  too  loud. 

"  That  is  the  Rostova — the  very  one ! " 

"  How  thin  she  has  grown  !  but  still  she  is  pretty." 

She  heard  or  thought  she  heard  the  names  of  Kuragin  and 
Bolkonsky  mentioned.  This,  however,  was  a  common  experi- 
ence of  hers.  It  always  seemed  to  her  that  those  who  looked 
at  her  immediately  began  to  recall  what  had  happened. 

With  pain  and  sinking  at  heart,  as  always  was  the  case  in  a 
•  k"ui  -^^^^^^  walked  on  in  her  lilac  silk  dress  trimmed 
with  black  lace,  and  giving  the  appearance,  as  women  can  so 
easily  do,  of  being  calm  and  dignified,  for  the  very  reason 
that  her  heart  was  full  of  pain  and  shame.  She  knew  that 
she  was  pretty,  and  she  was  not  mistaken ;  but  the  knowledge 
did  not  now  give  her  the  same  pleasure  as  before.  On  the 
contrary,  it  annoyed  her  above  everything  of  late,  and  espe- 
cially on  that  bright  hot  day  in  the  city. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  77 

^  Still  another  Sunday,  still  another  week  gone/'  she  said  to 
herself,  as  she  remenibei*ed  for  what  purpose  she  was  there 
that  day.  '^  And  forever  the  same  life  that  is  not  life,  and 
the  same  conditions  in  which  it  used  to  be  so  easy  to  live  in 
<l&y8  gone  by.  I  am  pretty,  1  am  young,  and  1  know  that  now 
I  am  good  whereas  before  I  was  naughty  ;  but  now  I  am  good 
I  know  it,"  she  said  to  herself ;  ^^  but  it's  all  for  nothing  that 
the  best,  best  years  of  my  life  have  gone  and  are  going." 

She  took  her  place  with  her  mother,  and  exchanged  greet- 
ings with  the  acquaintances  around  her.  Out  of  old  habit  she 
noticed  the  toilets  of  the  ladies ;  she  criticised  the  tenue  of 
one  lady  who  happened  to  be  standing  near  her,  and  the 
indecorous  mannei  in  which  she  hastily  crossed  herself ;  then 
she  thought  with  inward  vexation  that  the  others  were  prob- 
ably criticising  her  just  as  she  was  criticising  them,  and  then 
suddenly,  as  she  heard  the  sounds  of  the  service,  she  was 
horror-struck  at  her  depravity ;  she  was  horror-struck  at  the 
thought  that  she  had  again  sullied  that  purity  with  which  she 
had  begun  the  service. 

A  lovely-looking,  clean,  and  venerable  priest  officiated  with 
that  honeyed  unction  which  has  such  a  majestic  and  sanctifying 
influence  upon  the  hearts  of  worshippers.  The  "  Holj^  Gate  " 
was  closed,  the  curtain  was  slowly  drawn,  a  mysterious,  sol- 
emn voice  murmured  undistinguishable  words.  Natasha's 
bosom  heaved  with  tears  too  deep  for  comprehension,  and  she 
was  agitated  by  a  feeling  of  joy  and  tormenting  pain. 

"  Teach  me  what  I  must  do,  how  to  direct  my  life,  how  to  do 
right  for  ever  and  ever,"  she  prayed  in  her  heart. 

The  deacon  came  out  to  the  ambon,  used  his  thumb  to  pull 
his  long  hair  out  from  under  his  surplice,  and,  pressing  his 
cross  to  his  heart,  began  to  read  in  a  loud  and  solemn  voice  the 
words  of  the  prayer. 

'*  Let  all  the  people  pray  unto  the  Lord ! " 

"Let  the  community,  all  united,  without  distinctions  of 
rank,  but  joined  together  in  brotherly  love  —  let  us  pray," 
was  Natasha's  thought. 

"  For  the  heavenly  peace  and  the  salvation  of  our  souls  !  " 

f*  For  all  the  angels  and  the  spirits  of  all  incorporeal  exist- 
ences, which  dwell  above  us,"  prayed  Natasha. 

During  the  prayer  for  the  army,  she  remembered  her 
brother  and  Denisof. 

During  the  prayer  for  those  who  were  travelling  on  sea  or 
on  land,  she  thought  of  Prince  Andrei,  and  prayed  for  him, 
and  prayed  that  God  would  pardon  the  wrong  that  she  had 

doQc  him. 


78  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Dunng  the  prayer  for  those  who  love  us,  she  prayed  for 
those  of  her  household :  her  father,  her  mother,  Sony  a,  and 
now,  for  the  first  time,  she  realized  all  the  wrong  that  she 
had  done  them,  and  felt  how  deep  and  strong  was  her  love 
toward  them. 

When  the  prayer  for  those  who  hate  us  was  read,  she  tried 
to  think  of  her  enemies,  and  those  who  hated  her,  in  order  to 
pray  for  them.  Among  her  enemies  she  reckoned  her  father's 
creditors,  and  all  those  who  had  dealings  with  him,  and  every 
time,  at  the  thoughts  of  her  enemies  and  those  who  hated  her, 
she  remembered  Anatol,  who  had  done  her  such  injury,  and, 
although  he  had  not  hated  her,  she  prayed  gladly  for  him  as 
for  an  enemy. 

It  was  only  during  the  prayer  that  she  was  able  to  think 
calmly  and  clearly  about  Prince  Andrei  and  about  Anatol,  as 
about  men  toward  whom  her  feelings  had  been  entirely  swal- 
lowed up  in  her  fear  and  worship  of  God. 

When  the  prayer  was  read  for  the  imperial  family,  and  for 
the  Synod,  she  made  a  very  low  bow  and  crossed  herself,  with 
the  thought  that  if  she  could  not  understand,  she  at  least  could 
not  doubt,  and  consequently  must  love,  the  directing  Synod, 
and  pray  for  it. 

Having  finished  the  liturgy,*  the  deacon  crossed  hipiself  on 
the  front  of  his  stole,  and  exclaimed  i  — 

"  Let  us  give  ourselves  and  our  bodies  to  Christ  our  God/' 

"  Let  us  give  ourselves  to  God,"  repeated  Natasha,  in  her 
own  heart.  "  My  God,  I  give  myself  up  to  thy  will,"  said  she 
to  herself.  *^  I  have  no  wishes,  I  have  no  desires !  Teach  me 
what  to  do,  how  to  fulfil  thy  will !  Yea,  take  me,  take  me  ! " 
cried  Natasha,  in  her  heart,  with  touching  impatience,  forget- 
ting to  cross  herself,  but  letting  her  slender  arms  drop  by  her 
side,  and  as  though  expecting  that  instantly  some  viewless 
Power  would  take  her  and  bear  her  up,  and  free  her  from  her 
sorrows,  desires,  short-comings,  hopes,  and  faults. 

The  countess  many  times  during  the  service  glanced  at  her 
daughter's  pathetic  face  and  glistening  eyes,  and  besought 
God  to  give  her  his  aid. 

Unexpectedly,  in  the  middle  of  the  service,  and  out  of  the 
usual  order  of  things,  which  Natasha  knew  so  well,  a  diachdk 
brought  out  the  wooden  stool  on  which  the  priest  kneels  when 
he  reads  the  prayers  on  Trinity  Sunday,  and  placed^  it  in  front 
of  the  "  Holy  Gates.'| 

The  priest  made  his  appearance  in  his  lilac  velvet  calotte, 
f  ll^e  yekteniyd^  or  Ifti^p^ipal  prayer  for  th^  Imperial  family. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  79 

rubbed  his  hand  over  his  hair,  and  with  some  effort  got  upon 
his  knees. 

All  followed  his  example,  looking  with  perplexity  at  each 
other.  This  was  the  prayer  which  had  only  just  been  received 
from  the  Synod,  the  prayer  for  the  salvation  of  Russia  from 
the  invasion  of  her  enemies. 

"  Lord  God  our  strength  /  God  our  salvation  !  "  began  the 
priest,  in  that  clear,  undemonstrative,  sweet  voice,  which  is 
characteristic  of  the  reading  of  no  other  clergy  except  the 
Slavonic,  and  which  has  such  an  irresistible  efiect  upon  the 
Bussian  heart. 


•< 


Lord  God  our  Strength  I  God  our  salvation !  Protect  in  thy  infinite 
mercy  and  bounty  thy  humble  people^  and  charitably  hear  us  and  spare 
us  and  have  mercy  upon  us.  The  enemy  are  bringing  destruction  upon 
thy  land,  and  would  fain  make  the  unicerae  a  wilderness.  Rise  thou  up 
<igainst  him.  This  lawless  multitude  hare  c/nthered  themselves  together 
tto  destroy  thy  inheritance,  to  lay  waste  thy  holy  Jerusalem,  thy  beloved 
Eassia :  to  desecrate  thy  temples,  to  overturn  tfiy  altars,  and  to  profane 
*our  sanctuary.  How  long,  oh.  Lord,  how  long  shall  sinners  triumph  f 
How  long  shall  they  be  permitted  to  transgress  thy  laws  f 

'*  Sovereign  Lord  !  hear  thou  us  that  cry  unto   thee  !    By  thy  might 

Mrengthen  thou  our  most  devout  autocrat  and  ruler j  our  great  sovereign 

Me  Emperor  Alexander  Pavlovitch  !  remember  his  equity  and  meekness  I 

Requite  him  for  his  virtues,  and  let  them   be  the  safeguard  of  us,  thy 

■beloved  Israel.     Bless  his  counsels,  his    undertakings,   and  his  deeds. 

Establish  by  thy  almighty  right  hand  his  realm,  and  grant  him  victory  over 

his  enemiesy  as  thou  didst  to  Moses  over  Amalek,  Gideon  over  Midian, 

•and  David  over  Goliath.    Protect  thou  his  armies.     Uphold  with  the 

-brazen  bow  the  arms  of  those  who  have  gone  forth  to  battle  in  thy  name, 

-and  gird  them  with  strength  for  the  war.     Take  thy  sword  and  thy  buck- 

der,  and  arise  and  help  u^,  and  put  to  shame  and  confusion  those  who 

.have  plotted  evil  against  us,  so  that  they  mayfly  before  the  faces  of  those 

who  trust  in  thee  as  chaff  is  driven  before  the  wind,  and  give  thy  angels 

power  to  confound  them  and  pursue  them.     May  the  net  come  upon  them 

without  their  knowing  it,  and  may  the  draught  of  fish  which  they  meant 

to  take  surround  them  on  all  sides,  and  may  they  fall  under  the  feet  of 

thy  slaves,  and  may  they  be  trampled  under  the  feet  qf  our  warriors. 

Oh,  Lord  I  thou  art  able  to  save  in  great  things  and  in  small.    Thou 

art  God,  and  no  man  can  do  aught  against  thee. 

**  God  of  our  fathers  I  Let  thy  bounty  and  thy  mercy  guard  us  as  from 
everlasting  to  everlasting.  Hide  not  thy  face  from  us ;  let  not  thy  wrath 
be  kindled  against  our  iniquities  ;  but  in  the  magnitude  qf  thy  mercy  and 
the  abundance  of  thy  grace  pardon  our  lawlessness  and  our  sin.  Create 
a  clean  heart  within  us,  and  renew  a  right  spirit  in  our  inner  parts  ; 
strengthen  thou  our  faith  in  thee  ;  inspire  hope  ;  kindle  true  love  among 
us  ;  arm  us  with  a  single  impulse  to  the  righteous  defence  of  the  inher^ 
itance  which  thou  hast  given  to  us  and  to  our  fathers,  and  let  not  the 
sceptre  of  the  ungodly  decide  the  destiny  qf  those  w?iom  thou  hast  conse* 
crated. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  our  God,  in  thee  do  we  put  our  trust,  and  our  hopes  are 
jet  on  thes»    Let  us  not  despair  of  thy  )nercy,  and  give  a  sign,  in  order 


80  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

thai  thMt  who  Kale  us  and  oiir  orthodox  faith  may  he  cov^ovnded  and 
destroyed,  and  that  all  nations  may  see  that  thy  name  is  the  Lordj 
and  we  are  thy  people.  Show  us  thy  mercy,  oh,  Lord,  this  day, 
and  vouchsafe  to  us  thy  salvation.  Rejoice  the  heart  of  thy  slaves  by  thy 
grace ;  strike  our  enemies^  and  crush  them  under  the  feet  of  tfiose  thnt 
believe  in  thee.  For  thou  art  the  defence,  the  succor,  and  the  victory  to 
them  that  trust  in  thee,  and  to  thee  be  the  glory  —  to  the  Father  and  to 
the  Son  and  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  it  wa^  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever 
shall  be,  world  without  end.    Amen.** 

In  that  condition  of  rapt  excitement  to  which  Natasha  had 
attained,  this  prayer  *  had  a  very  powerful  effect  upon  her. 
She  listened  to  every  word  about  "  the  victory  of  Moses  over 
Amalek,  of  Gideon  over  Midian,  and  David  over  Goliath,  and 
the  laying  waste  of  thy  Jerusalem/'  and  she  prayed  to  God 
with  that  tenderness  of  spirit  and  melting  of  the  heart  which 
she  now  felt.  But  she  was  somewhat  confused  in  her  mind  as 
to  what  she  should  pray  God  for.  With  all  her  heart  she 
could  join  in  the  petition  for  a  right  spirit,  for  fortifying  the 
zeal  with  faith  and  hope,  and  stimulating  their  love. 

But  she  could  not  pray  that  the  enemy  might  be  crushed 
under  their  feet,  because  only  a  few  moments  before  her  only 
regret  was  that  she  had  no  more  of  them,  so  that  she  might 
pray  for  them. 

But  at  the  same  time  she  could  not  doubt  the  rightfulness 
of  the  prayer  which  the  kneeling  priest  had  read.  She  felt  in 
her  heart  a  genuine  and  anxious  terror  at  the  thought  of  the 
punishment  which  must  befall  men  on  account  of  their  sins, 
and  especially  for  her  own  sins,  and  she  besought  God  to  forgive 
them  all,  and  her  as  well,  and  to  give  them  all  and  her  tran- 
quillity and  happiness  in  life. 

And  it  seemed  to  her  that  God  heard  her  prayer. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

From  the  day  when  Pierre,  as  he  left  the  Bostofs'  with 
Natasha's  grateful  looks  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  and  looked  at 
the  comet  stretched  across  the  sky,  and  felt  that  he  had  made 
a  new  discovery,  the  eternally  tormenting  question  as  to  the 
vanity  and  folly  of  all  things  earthly  had  ceased  to  occupy  liis 
thoughts.  This  terrible  question,  Whi/  ?  Wherefore  ?  which 
before  had  come  up  before  him  amid  every  occupation,  had 

*  The  effect  of  this  prayer  is  enhanced  in  the  original  by  the  dignified 
Blavonic,  the  church  langiia|;e,  in  which  it  is  coached. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  81 

now  merged  itself  for  him  not  into  another  problem,  and  not 
into  any  answer  to  his  question,  but  into  her  image. 

Whether  he  listened  or  took  the  lead  himself  in  trivial 
conversations)  whether  he  read  or  heard  about  the  baseness 
and  absurdity  of  men,  he  no  longer  felt  that  sense  of  horror 
as  before ;  he  did  not  ask  himself  what  caused  them  to  struj^- 
gle  so,  when  life  was  so  short  and  incomprehensible,  but  he 
recalled  how  she  looked  when  he  saw  her  the  last  time,  and  all 
his  doubts  vanished,  not  because  she  had  given  the  answer  to 
his  questions,  but  because  her  image  instantly  lifted  him  into 
another  world,  serene  and  full  of  spiritual  activity,  where 
there  could  be  no  question  of  right  or  wrong,  —  the  world  of 
beauty  and  love  which  alone  accounts  for  life.  Whatever 
baseness  in  life  might  be  brought  to  his  attention,  he  would 
say  to  himself  *.  — 

"  Well,  then,  let  N.  N.  plunder  the  government  and  the 
Tsar,  and  let  the  government  and  the  Tsar  load  him  with 
honors;  but  she  smiled  on  me  last  evening,  and  asked  me 
to  come  again,  and  I  love  her,  and  no  one  shsdl  ever  know  it ! '' 

And  his  soul  became  calm  and  clear. 

Pierre  continued  as  before  to  go  into  gay  society,  and  drank 
heavily,  and  led  the  same  idle  and  dissipated  life,  for  the 
reason  that  at  such  times  as  he  was  not  able  to  spend  at  the 
Kostofs',  there  were  still  many  hours  every  day  that  he  had  to 
spend  in  some  manner,  and  his  habits  and  acquaintances  at 
Moscow  invariably  allured  him  to  this  mode  of  existence,  which 
had  such  a  firm  hold  upon  him. 

But  of  late,  now  that  the  news  from  the  theatre  of  the  w<nr 
became  constantly  more  and  more  disquieting,  and  now  thnt 
Natasha's  health  had  fairly  begun  to  improve,  and  she  ceased 
to  arouse  in  him  that  former  feeling  of  anxiety  and  pity, 
he  began  to  become  the  prey  of  a  restlessness  that  was  wholly 
incomprehensible,  and  grew  more  and  more  so.  He  was  con- 
scious that  the  position  in  which  he  found  himself  could  not 
last  very  long,  that  some  catastrophe  was  at  hand,  which  was 
destined  to  change  his  whole  life,  and  he  impatiently  sought 
to  find  in  everything  the  presages  of  this  imminent  catas- 
trophe. 

One  of  the  brotherhood  of  Freemasons  had  called  his  atten- 
tion to  the  following  prophecy  concerning  Napoleon,  whic^li 
was  derived  from  the  revelation  of  Saint  John.  In  tlie 
eighteenth  verse  of  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  the  Apocalypso 
it  is  written,  "  Here  is  wisdom.  He  that  hath  understandivf/f 
let  him  count  the  number  of  the  beast ;  for  it  is  the  number  of  a 
vol..  3.-6. 


82  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

tnan  :  and  his  number  is  six  hundred  and  sixty  and  six."  And 
the  fifth  verse  of  the  same  chapter  says,  "  And  there  was  given 
unto  him  a  mouth  speaking  great  things  and  blasphemies.  AtuL 
there  was  given  unto  him  authority  to  do  his  works  during  forty 
and  two  months.^^ 

The  letters  of  the  French  alphabet  when  disposed  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  Hebrew  enumeration,  which  gives  the  first 
nine  letters  the  value  of  units,  and  the  rest  that  of  tens,  have 
the  fallowing  significance  :  — 

abcdefghlklmnopqrtt     uv    w    x     yz 
1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  20  80  40  50  60  70  80  90  100 110 120 130 140 150 IW 

If  the  words  PUmpereur  NapolSon  are  written  letter  for 
letter  with  this  cipher^  the  result  is  that  the  sum  of 
these  letters  amounts  to  six  hundred  and  sixty-six,  and  that 
therefore  Napoleon  is  the  beast  described  in  the  Apocalypse* 
Moreover,  if  you  apply  to  this  same  alphabetic  cipher  the 
words  Quarante  deux,  that  is  the  time,  forty-two  months, 
during  which  authority  was  given  to  the  beast  to  speak  great 
things  and  blaspheme,  the  sum  of  these  letters  according  to 
the  same  scheme  will  amount  to  six  hundred  and  sixty-six, 
whence  it  results  that  Napoleon's  power  was  to  be  allowed  to 
last  until  the  year  1812,  when  he  would  have  reached  the  s^ 
of  forty-two. 

Pierre  was  greatly  amazed  by  this  method  of  divination, 
and  he  frequently  asked  himself  what  could  possibly  put  an 
end  to  the  power  of  the  beast,  that  is  to  say,  Napoleon ;  and 
he  made  use  of  the  same  cipher  and  mode  of  reckoning,  in 
order  to  find  an  answer  to  the  question  that  he  had  propounded. 
Thus  he  wrote,  as  an  experiment,  VEmpereur  Alexandre,  and 
La  nation  russe,  but  the  sum  of  the  letters  came  out  either 
greater  or  less  than  six  hundred  and  sixty-six. 

One  time,  while  occupying  himself  with  this  enumeration,  he 
wrote  his  own  name,  Comte  Pierre  Besouhoff ;  ♦  the  sum  of 
the  figures  did  not  agree.  Then  changing  the  spelling,  substi- 
tuting z  for  Sy  he  added  the  particule  **  de,"  he  added  the  arti- 
cle ^4e,"  and  still  he  failed  to  attain  the  desired  result. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  if  the  answer  desired  for  the 

*  In  the  course  of  "  War  and  Peace,"  Pierre's  family  name  appean  under 
at  least  three  different  forms  of  spelling:  Beznkhoi,  —  which  the  translator 
has  retained  throoffhout,—  Bezukhi,  and  Bezukhof ;  the  Russian  cIiaracteril^A 
corresponds  to  ch  in  German,  and  is  often  represented  in  French  hy  h.  It 
mav  he  here  remarked  also  a  propoa  of  the  *'  particule  "  de  that  the  French 
and.  German  way  of  representmg  titled  Russians'  names  with  a  de  or  a  van  is 
incorrect ;  the  Russian  nohility  is  dependent  upon  neither  titles  nor  particles. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  gg 

Question  was  included  in  his  name,  it  would  certainly  have 
sdso  to  include  his  nationality.  He  wrote  Le  Russe  Be^uhof^ 
and,  reckoning  up  the  figures,  he  made  six  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-one. Only  five  too  much !  Five  corresponds  to  «,  the 
very  same  e  which  was  elided  in  the  article  before  the  word 
**  Empereur."  £liding  this  e,  though  it  was  contrary  to  the 
role,  Pierre  found  the  wished-for  answer,  VRusse  Besuhof, 
equal  to  six  hundred  and  sixty-six. 

This  discovery  excited  him.  How,  by  what  bond,  he  was 
united  to  this  mighty  event  foreshadowed  in  the  Apocalypse 
he  knew  not ;  but  not  for  an  instant  did  he  have  any  doubt  of 
the  bond.  His  love  for  Natasha,  the  Antichrist,  Napoleon's 
invasion,  the  comet,  six  hundred  and  sixty-six,  VEmpereur 
NapoleoUy  and  VRiisse  Besuhof —  all  taken  together,  could  not 
fail  to  ripen  and  burst  and  bring  him  forth  from  that  en- 
ehanted,  do-nothing  world  of  Moscovite  habits,  in  which  he 
felt  himself  a  prisoner,  and  carry  him  to  some  mighty  exploit 
and  some  mighty  happiness. 

Pierre,  on  the  evening  before  the  Sunday  when  the  prayer 
was  read,  had  promised  the  Bostofs  to  bring  them  from  Count 
Rostopchin,  whose  very  good  friend  he  was,  the  proclamation 
to  the  Russians  and  the  last  news  from  the  army.  That  morn- 
ing, on  his  arrival  at  Count  Rostopchin's,  Pierre  found  a 
courier,  who  had  just  come  from  the  army.  This  courier  was 
an  acquaintance  of  Pierre's,  a  regular  habitue  of  the  Moscow 
ballrooms. 

"  For  God's  sake,  couldn't  you  help  me  out  ?  "  asked  the 
courier.  <<I  have  a  whole  bagful  of  letters  for  friends  and 
relatives." 

Among  these  letters  was  one  from  Nikolai  Rostof  to  his 
father.  Pierre  took  charge  of  it.  Besides  this,  Count  Rostop- 
chin gave  Pierre  a  copy  of  the  sovereign's  appeal  to  Moscow, 
which  had  just  come  fi*om  the  press,  the  last  orders  to  the 
army,  and  his  own  "  placard."  Glancing  over .  the  army 
orders,  Pierre  found  in  one  of  them,  which  mentioned  the 
names  of  the  killed,  wounded,  or  rewarded,  that  Nikolai  Ros- 
tof had  been  decorated  with  a  "  George  "  of  the  fourth  class 
on  account  of  his  gallantly  in  the  affair  at  Ostrovno ;  and  in 
the  same  "  general  order,"  the  nomination  of  Prince  Andrei 
Bolkonsky  as  commander  of  a  regiment  of  Jagers.  Although 
he  had  no  wish  to  remind  the  Rostofs  of  Bolkonsky,  still 
he  could  not  restrain  the  desire  to  rejoice  their  hearts  by  the 
news  of  the  reward  granted  their  son,  and  so,  keeping  in  his 


84  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

own  possession  the  proclamation,  the  "placatd/*  and  the 
other  orders,  with  which  to  entertain  them  during  dinner,  he 
immediately  sent  them  the  printed  order  and  Nikolai's  letter. 

His  conversation  with  Count  Rostopehin,  whose  tone  of 
anxiety  and  nervousness  struck  him,  his  meeting  with  the 
courier,  who  had  some  careless  story  to  tell  of  things  going  ill 
in  the  army,  the  rumors  of  spies  found  in  Moscow,  and  of  a 
paper  circulating  in  the  city  which  declared  that  Napoleon  by 
autumn  had  promised  to  occupy  both  of  the  Russian  capitals, . 
the  talk  about  the  expected  arrival  of  the  sovereign  on  the 
morrow,  —  all  this  gave  new  strength  to  that  feeling  of  excite- 
ment and  expectation  which  had  not  left  him  since  the  night 
when  the  comet  had  first  appeared,  and  especially  since  the 
outbreak  of  the  war. 

The  notion  of  entering  the  active  military  service  had,  for 
some  time,  been  much  in  his  mind ;  and  he  would  assuredly 
have  done  so  if,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  not  been  deterred  by 
the  fact  that  he  belonged  to  that  Masonic  fraternity,  to  which 
he  had  bound  himself  by  a  solemn  pledge,  and  which  preached 
eternal  peace  and  the  cessation  of  war ;  and,  in  the  second 
place,  because,  as  he  beheld  the  great  numbei-s  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  Moscow  who  had  donned  uniforms  and  were  preach- 
ing patriotism,  it  would  have  seemed,  somehow,  ridiculous  for 
him  to  do  so.  But  the  chief  reason  which  deterred  him  from 
carrying  out  the  idea  of  entering  the  military  service  was  to 
be  found  in  that  obscure  conception  that  he,  VRusse  Besuliofj 
who  carried  with  him  the  number  of  the  Beast,  —  666,  —  was 
destined  to  take  some  great  part  in  putting  bounds  to  the 
power  of  the  Beast  that  spoke  great  things  and  blasphemies ; 
and  that,  therefore,  he  ought  not  to  undertake  anything,  but 
to  await  and  see  what  was  meant  for  him  to  accomplish. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Rostofs,  as  usual  on  Sundays,  had  some  of  their  inti- 
mate friends  to  dine  with  them. 

Pierre  went  early,  so  as  to  find  them  alone. 

Pierre  had  grown  so  stout  this  year  that  he  would  have 
seemed  monstrous  had  he  not  been  so  tall,  so  broad-shouldered, 
and  so  strong,  that  he  carried  his  weight  with  evident  ease. 

Panting,  and  muttering  something  to  himself,  he  hurried 
upstairs.  His  coachman  no  longer  thought  of  asking  him 
whether  he  should  wait  for  him.     He  knew,  by  this  time,  that 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  86 

when  the  connt  was  at  the  Rostofs',  he  would  stay  till  mid- 
night. The  Rostofs'  lackeys  cheerfully  hastened  forward  to 
take  his  cloak,  and  receive  his  hat  and  cane.  Pierre,  from 
club  habit,  left  his  cane  and  hat  in  the  ante-room. 

The  first  person  whom  he  saw  was  Natasha.  Even  before 
he  had  caught  sight  of  her,  and  while  he  JMras  taking  off  his 
cloak  in  the  ante-room,  he  heard  her  smging  solfeggios  in 
the  music-room. 

He  knew  that  she  had  not  sung  a  note  since  her  illness,  and, 
therefore,  the  sounds  of  her  voice  surprised  and  delighted  him. 
He  gently  opened  the  door,  and  saw  Natasha  in  the  lilac- 
oolored  dress,  in  which  she  had  been  to  mass,  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room  and  singing.  She  was  walking  with  her  back 
toward  him  when  he  opened  the  door,  but  when  she  turned 
short  about,  and  recognized  his  stout,  amazed  face,  she  blushed 
-and  came  swiftly  toward  him. 

'^  I  want  to  get  into  the  habit  of  singing  again,"  said  she. 
"  It  is  quite  an  undertaking,"  she  added,  as  though  to  excuse 
herself. 

'^  And  it  is  splendid  ! " 

<'  How  glad  I  am  that  you  have  come !  I  am  so  happy  to- 
day," she  cried  with  something  of  that  old  vivacity,  which 
Pierre  had  so  long  missed  in  her.  ^'  You  know  Nicolas  has 
received  the  Georgievsky  cross.     I  am  so  proud  of  him  !  " 

**  Certainly :  I  sent  you  the  *  order  of  the  day.'  Well,  I  will 
not  interrupt  you,"  he  added,  ^<  but  I'll  go  into  the  drawing- 
room." 

Natasha  called  him  back  :  — 

"  Count,  tell  me,  is  it  wrong  in  me  to  be  singing  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  blush,  but  looking  inquiringly  into  Pierre's  face, 
without  dropping  her  eyes. 

"  No  !  why  ?  —  On  the  contrary  —  But  why  did  you  ask 
me?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Natasha,  quickly ;  "  but 
I  did  not  wish  to  do  anything  that  you  would  not  approve.  I 
have  such  perfect  confidence  in  you !  You  don't  know  what 
you  are  to  me,  how  much  you  have  done  for  me ! "  She  spoke 
rapidly,  and  noticed  not  how  Pierre  reddened  at  these  words. 
"  I  saw  that  he  —  I  mean  Bolkonsky  "  —  she  spoke  this  name 
in  a  hurried  whisper  —  **  was  mentioned  in  the  same  order,  so 
then  he  is  serving  in  Kussia  again.  What  do  you  think  ?  "  she 
asked,  still  speaking  rapidly,  evidently  in  haste  to  finish  what 
she  had  to  say,  lest  she  should  not  have  the  strength  necessary 
to  do  so —  "Will  he  ever  forgive  me  ?    Will  he  not  always 


86  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

bear  me  ill  will  ?    What  do  you  think  about  it  ?    What  JU 
you  think  about  it  ?  " 

" I  think,"  Pierre  began,  —  "I  think  he  has  nothing  to  for- 
give.    If  I  were  in  his  place  "  — 

By  the  force  of  recollection,  Pierre  was,  in  an  instant,  carried 
back,  in  his  imagination,  to  that  moment  when,  in  order  to 
comfort  her,  he  had  said  that  if  he  were  the  best  man  in  the 
world,  and  free,  he  would,  on  his  knees,  ask  for  her  hand ;  and 
now  the  same  feeling  of  pity,  tenderness,  and  love,  seized 
upon  him,  and  the  same  words  were  on  his  lips.  But  she  did 
not  give  him  time  to  say  them. 

"  Yes,  you,  you,"  said  she  with  a  peculiar  solemnity,  repeat- 
ing and  dwelling  on  the  pronoun  —  '-you  —  that  is  another 
thing.  I  know  no  man  who  is  kinder,  nobler,  better;  and 
there  could  not  be.  If  it  had  not  been  for  you  then,  and 
now  too,  I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  me,  for  "  — 
the  tears  suddenly  filled  her  eyes;  she  turned  around,  hid 
her  face  behind  her  music,  and  began  to  sing  her  scales,  and 
walk  up  and  down  the  room  once  more. 

At  this  moment,  Petya  came  running  in  from  the  drawing- 
room.  Petya  was  now  a  handsome,  ruddy  lad  of  fifteen,  with 
thick,  red  lips,  and  the  image  of  Natasha.  He  was  preparing 
for  the  university,  but  lately  he  and  his  comrade,  Obolyensky, 
had  secretly  resolved  that  they  would  enter  the  hussars. 

He  sprang  forward  to  his  namesake,  in  order  to  speak  with 
him  about  a  matter  of  importance.  He  had  been  begging  him 
to  find  out  whether  he  could  be  admitted  to  the  hussars.  Pierre 
went  into  the  drawing-room,  not  heeding  the  lad.  Petya  gave 
his  arm  a  twitch,  in  order  to  attract  his  attention. 

"  Now  tell  me,  Piotr  Kiriluitch,  for  Heaven's  sake,  how  is 
my  business  getting  on  ?  Is  there  any  hope  for  us  ?  "  asked 
Petya. 

**  Oh,  yes,  your  business.  The  hussars,  is  it  ?  I  will  in- 
quire about  it;   I  will  inquire  about  it,  I  will  this  very  day." 

**  Well  now,  Tnon  cher,  have  you  brought  the  manifesto  ?  " 
asked  the  old  count.  "  The  '  little  countess '  was  at  mass  at 
the  Eazumovskys'  and  heard  the  new  prayer.  Very  fine,  they 
say ! " 

"  Yes,  I  have  brought  it,"  replied  Pierre.  "  The  sovereign 
will  be  here  to-morrow.  A  special  meeting  of  the  nobility  has 
been  called,  and  they  say  there  is  to  be  a  levy  of  ten  out  of 
every  thousand.     And  I  congratulate  you ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,  glory  to  God.  Now  tell  me  what  is  the  news 
from  the  army  ?  " 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  87 

'''Ours  are  still  retreating.  They  are  at  Smolensk  by  this 
•time,  so  they  say,"  replied  Pierre. 

"  My  Crod !  My  God ! "  exclaimed  the  count.  "  Where  is 
'the  manifesto?" 

"  The  proclamation  ?    Oh,  yes !  " 

^Pierre  began  to  search  iu  all  his  pockets  for  the  papers,  but 
'could  not  tind  them.  While  still  rummaging  through  his 
-^pockets,  he  kissed  the  countess's  hand,  who,  at  that  moment, 
'oame  in,  and  he  looked  around  uneasily,  evidently  expecting 

•  to  see  Natasha,  who  had  ceased  to  sing,  but  had  not  as  yet 
iirejomed  the  othera. 

^Mot parole,  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done  with  them!" 
he  exclaimed. 

*^  'Well,  you're  always  losing  things,"  exclaimed  the  countess. 

Niitiisha  came  in  with  a  softened,  agitated  expression  of 
vMuKtemQce,  and  sat  down,  looking  at  Pierre,  without  speak- 

•  i^.  i:^sfloon  as  she  appeared,  Pierre's  face,  till  then  dark- 
cmi^  with  a  frown,  grew  bright,  and  though  he  was  still 
'searching  for  the  papers,  he  kept  looking  at  her. 

<<  By  Heavens  !  *  I  must  have  left  them  at  home.  I  will  go 
after  them.    Most  certainly  "  — 

"  But  you  will  be  late  to  dinner." 

''  Akh !  and  my  coachman  has  gone,  too ! " 

Sonya,  however,  who  had  gone  into  the  ante-room  to  look 
for  the  missing  papers,  found  them  in  Pierre's  hat,  where  he 
had  carefully  stuck  them  under  the  lining.  Pierre  wanted  to 
xead  them  immediately. 

"  No,  not  till  after  dinner,"  said  the  old  count,  evidently 
anticipating  the  greatest  treat  in  this  reading. 

At  dinner,  during  which  they  di-ank  the  health  of  the  new 
knight  of  St.  Geoi^e  in  champagne,  Shinshin  related  all  the 
gossip  of  the  town :  about  the  illness  of  the  old  Princess  of 
Gmzia,  and  how  M6tivier  had  disappeared  from  Moscow,  and 
how  some  Grerman  had  been  aiTested  and  brought  to  Eostop- 
chin,  and  represented  to  be  a  shampinion,^  Count  Rostopcbin 
had  himself  told  the  story,  and  how  Eostopchin  had  com- 
manded them  to  let  the  shampinion  go,  assuring  the  people 
that  he  was  not  a  shampinion,  but  simply  a  German  toad- 
stool! 

«  They'll  catch  it !  they'll  catch  it !  "  said  the  count ;  « I 
have  been  telling  the  countess  that  she  mustn't  talk  French  so 
much.     It  is  not  the  time  to  do  it  now." 

•  Y€t  Bogu, 

t  French  champignon,  a  maflhroom. —  Slang  tenn»  meaning  a  Frenchman. 


88  ^AR  AND  PEACE. 

"And  have  you  Iieard  ?  "  proceeded  Shinshin.  " Prince  Ck>- 
litsuin  has  taken  a  Russian  tutor  —  to  teach  him  Russian  — 
U  commence  d  devenir  dangereiix  de  parler  fran^ais  dans  les 
rues" 

"  Well,  Count  Piotr  Kiriluitch,  if  they  are  going  to  mobilize 
the  landwehr,  you'll  have  to  get  on  horseback,  won't  you  ?  " 
asked  the  old  count,  addressing  Pierre. 

Pieri-e  was  taciturn  and  thoughtful  all  dinner-time.  As 
though  not  comprehending,  he  gazed  at  the  old  count  when 
thus  addressed. 

"  Yes,  yes,  about  the  war,"  said  he.  "  No !  what  kind  of  a 
soldier  should  I  be  ?  But,  after  all,  how  strange  everything 
is!  how  strange!  I  can't  understand  it  myself.  I  don't 
know;  my  tastes  are  so  far  from  being  military,  but  as  things 
are  now  no  one  can  tell  what  he  may  do." 

After  dinner  the  count  seated  himself  comfortably  in  his 
chair,  and,  with  a  grave  face,  asked  Sonya,  who  was  an  accom- 
plished reader,  to  read. 

"  To  Moscow  our  chief  capital : 

"  The  enemy  has  come  with  overwhelming  force  to  invade 
the  boundaries  of  Russia.  He  is  here  to  destroy  our  beloved 
fatherland,"  read  Sonya,  in  her  clear  voice.  The  count 
listened  with  his  eyes  shut,  sighing  heavily  at  certain  pas- 
sages. 

Natasha,  with  strained  attention,  sat  looking  inquiringly  now 
at  her  father  and  now  at  Pierre. 

Pierre  was  conscious  of  her  glance  fastened  upon  him,  and 
strove  not  to  look  round.  The  countess  shook  her  head 
sternly  and  disapprovingly  at  each  enthusiastic  expression 
contained  in  the  manifesto,  for  everything  made  her  see  that 
the  danger  threatening  her  son  would  not  soon  pass  by. 

Shinshin,  with  his  lips  formed  to  a  satiric  smile,  was  evi- 
dently making  ready  to  turn  into  ridicule  whatever  first  gave 
him  a  good  opportunity  :  whether  Sonya's  reading,  or  what  the 
count  should  say,  or  even  the  proclamation  itself,  if  that 
offered  him  a  suitable  pretext. 

Having  read  about  the  perils  threatening  Russia,  the  hopes 
which  the  sovereign  placed  in  Moscow,  and  especially  in  its 
illustrious  nobility,  Sonya,  with  a  trembling  voice,  which  was 
caused  principally  by  the  fact  that  they  were  following  her 
so  closely,  read  the  following  words :  — 

"  We  shall  not  be  slow  to  take  our  place  amidst  our  people 
in  this  capital,  and  in  other  cities  of  our  empire,  so  as  to  lead 
in  deliberations  and  to  take  the  direction  of  all  our  troops,  not 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  89 

only  those  which  are  at  the  present  time  blocking  the  way  of 
the  foe,  but  also  those  that  are  gathering  to  cause  his  defeat 
wherever  he  may  show  himself.  And  may  the  destruction  in 
which  he  thinks  to  involve  us  re- act  upon  his  own  head,  and 
may  Europe,  delivered  from  servitude,  magnify  the  name  of 
Kussia ! '' 

'^  Thafs  the  talk ! ''  cried  the  count,  opening  his  moist  eyes, 
and  several  times  catching  his  breath  with  a  noise  as  though 
a  bottle  of  strong-smelling  salts  had  been  put  to  his  nose :  he 
went  on  to  say,  **  Only  say  the  word,  sire,  and  we  will  sacri- 
fice everything  without  a  regret ! " 

Shinshin  had  no  time  to  utter  the  little  joke  which  he  had 
ready  at  the  expense  of  the  count's  patriotism  before  Kataisha 
sprang  up  from  her  place  and  ran  to  her  father. 

"  How  lovely  he  is  —  this  papa  of  mine !  "  she  exclaimed, 
giving  him  a  kiss  \  and  then  she  glanced  at  Pierre  again  with 
the  same  unconscious  coquetry  which  had  come  back  to  her 
together  with  her  animation. 

"  What  a  little  patriotka  *  she  is ! "  cried  Shinshin. 

"  Not  a  patriotka  at  all,  but  simply  "  —  began  Natasha, 
offended.  '<  You  turn  everything  into  ridicule,  but  this  is  no 
laughing  matter  "  — 

''  Laughing  matter ! "  exclaimed  the  count.  '^  Let  him 
only  say  the  word,  and  we  will  all  follow  —  we  are  not  Ger- 
mans or  "  — 

"And  did  you  notice,"  said  Pierre,  "that  it  spoke  about 
deliberations  ?  " 

"  Well,  whatever  he  is  here  for"  — 

At  that  moment  Petya,  to  whom  no  one  had  been  paying 
any  attention,  came  up  to  his  father,  and,  all  flushed,  said,  in 
that  voice  of  his,  which  was  now  breaking,  and  was  sometimes 
bass  and  sometimes  treble,  "  Now,  then,  papenka,  my  mind  is 
perfectly  made  up  —  and,  mamenka,  too,  if  you  please  —  I  tell 
you  both  my  mind  is  made  up :  you  must  let  me  go  into  the 
military  service,  because  I  cannot  —  and  that's  the  end  of 
it"  — 

The  countess  raised  her  eyes  in  dismay,  and  clasped  her 
hands,  and,  turning  severely  to  her  husband,  said,  "  Just  think 
what  he  has  said  !  " 

But  the  count  instantly  recovered  from  his  emotion. 

"  Well,  well ! "  said  he.  "  A  fine  soldier  you  are !  A  truce 
to  such  folly  !    You  must  study ! " 

"  It  is  not  folly,  papenka.    Fedya  Obolyensky  is  younger 

*  The  fexnioine  of  patriot. 


90  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

than  I  am,  and  he  is  going ;  but,  even  if  he  weren't,  I  could 
never  think  of  studying  now  when  "  — 

Petya  hesitated,  and  flushed  so  that  the  sweat  stood  out  on 
his  forehead,  but  still  finished,  —  "  When  the  country  is  in 
danger." 

"  There !  there  !  enough  of  this  nonsense !  "  — 

"  But  you  yourself  just  said  that  we  would  sacrifice  every- 
thing ! " 

"Petya!  I  tell  you  hold  your  tongue!"  cried  the  count, 
glancing  at  his  wife,  who  had  turned  white,  and  was  gazing 
with  fixed  eyes  at  her  youngest  son. 

"  But  I  tell  you  —  and  here  is  Piotr  Kirillovitch  will  speak 
about  it"  — 

"  And  I  tell  you  it  is  all  rubbish !  the  milk  isn't  dry  on 
your  lips  yet ;  and  here  you  are  wanting  to  go  into  the  army  ! 
iionsense,  I  tell  you  1 "  and  the  count,  gathering  up  the 
papers,  which  he  evidently  intended  to  read  over  again  in  his 
cabinet  before  going  to  bed,  started  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Piotr  Kirillovitch,  come  and  have  a  smoke." 

Pierre  was  in  a  state  of  confusion  and  uncertainty.  Na- 
tasha's unnaturally  brilliant  and  animated  eyes  fixed  upon 
him  steadily  rather  than  affectionately  had  brought  him  into 
this  state. 

"  No,  I  think  I  will  go  home." 

"  What  ?  Go  home  ?  I  thought  you  were  going  to  spend 
the  evening  with  us.  And,  besides,  we  don't  see  so  much  of 
you  as  we  did.  And  this  girl  of  mine,"  said  the  count,  gayly 
indicating  Natasha,  "  is  merry  only  when  you  are  here." 

"  Yes,  but  I  had  forgotten  something.  I  must  certainly  go 
home.  —  Some  business,"  said  Pierre,  hastily. 

"  Well,  then,  good-by,'^  *  said  the  count,  and  he  left  the 
room. 

"  Why  must  you  go  ?  Why  are  jrou  so  out  of  spirits  ? 
What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Natasha,  looking  inquiringly  into  Pierre's 
eyes. 

"  Because  I  love  thee ! "  was  what  was  on  his  lips  to  say, 
but  he  did  not  say  it ;  he  reddened  till  the  tears  came,  and 
dropped  his  eyes. 

"Because  it  is  better  for  me  not  to  be  here  so  much  — 
because  —  No,  simply  because  I  have  some  businegs," 

"  What  is  it  ?  No !  Tell  me,"  Natasha  began  resolutely, 
but  suddenly  stopped.  The  two  looked  at  each  other  in  dis- 
WAj  and  confusion.  He  tried  to  smile,  but  it  Tvas  a  vaint 
*  Do  svi^nyOf  like  au  revoipf  avf  wiecler^^h^i 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  91 

attempt :  bis  smile  expressed  his  suffering ;  and  he  kissed  her 
hand  without  speaking,  and  left  the  house. 

Pierre  solemnly  made  up  his  mind  not  to  visit  at  the  Kos- 
tofs'  any  more. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Petta,  after  the  decided  repulse  which  he  had  received, 
went  to  his  room  and  there,  apart  from  every  one,  wept  bitterly. 
All  pretended,  however,  not  to  remark  his  red  eyes,  when  he 
came  down  to  tea,  silent  and  gloomy. 

On  the  following  day,  the  sovereign  arrived.  Several  of 
the  Rostofs'  household  serfs  asked  permission  to  go  and  see 
the  tsar. 

That  morning  it  took  Petya  a  long  time  to  dress,  comb  his 
hair,  and  arrange  his  collar,  so  as  to  make  it  look  as  full-grown 
men  wore  theirs.  He  stood  scowling  before  the  mirror,  mak- 
ing gestures,  lifting  his  shoulders,  and,  at  last,  saying  nothing 
to  any  one,  he  put  on  his  cap  and  left  the  house  by  the  back 
door,  so  as  not  to  be  observed. 

Petya  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  straight  to  the  place 
where  the  sovereign  would  be,  and  to  give  a  perfectly 
straightforward  explanation  to  one  of  the  chamberlains  —  he 
supposed  the  sovereign  was  always  surrounded  by  chamber- 
lains —  and  tell  him  that  he,  Oount  Kostof ,  in  spite  of  his 
youth,  wished  to  serve  his  country,  that  his  youth  could  not 
be  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  devotion,  and  that  he  was  ready  — 

Petya,  by  the  time  he  was  all  dressed,  was  well  fortified  with 
fine  words  which  he  should  say  to  the  chamberlain. 

Petya  relied  for  the  success  of  his  application  to  the  sover- 
eign on  the  very  fact  that  he  was  a  mere  child  —  he  thought 
even  that  they  would  all  be  amazed  at  his  youth  —  and,  at  the 
same  time,  by  the  arrangement  of  his  nice  little  collar,  and 
the  combing  of  his  hair,  and  his  slow  and  dignified  gait,  he 
was  anxious  to  give  the  impression  of  being  a  full-grown  man, 

But  the  farther  he  went,  and  the  more  he  was  involved  in 
the  throngs  and  throngs  of  people  gathering  around  the  Kreml, 
the  more  he  forgot  to  keep  up  that  appearance  of  dignity  and 
moderation  which  marks  the  full-grown  man. 

As  he  approached  the  Kreml,  he  had  a  hard  struggle  to  keep 
from  being  jostled ;  and  this  he  did  by  putting  on  a  decidedly 
threatening  f^ce,  and  resolutely  applying  his  elbows  to  oppos-r 
ing  ribs.     But  at  THuity  Gate,  in  spite  of  all  his  resolution,  tb« 


92  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Ciople,  who  evidently  bad  no  idea  what  -patriotic  object  brought 
m  to  the  Kremly  crushed  him  up  against  the  wall  in  such  a  way 
that  he  had  to  make  a  virtue  of  the  necessity,  and  pause,  while 
through  the  gateway  rolled  the  equipages,  thundering  by  under 
the  vaulted  arch. 

Near  Petya  stood  a  peasant  woman  and  a  lackey,  two  mer- 
chants, and  a  retired  soldier.  After  waiting  some  time  at  the 
Gate,  Petya  determined  not  to  wait  until  all  the  carriages  had 
paBsed,  but  to  push  farther  on  in  advance  of  the  others  ;  and 
he  began  to  work  his  elbows  vigorously;  but  the  peasant 
woman,  who  stood  next  him,  and  was  the  iirst  to  feel  the  appli- 
cation of  his  elbows,  screamed  at  him  angrily,  — 

"  Here,  my  little  bdrchuk,*  what  are  you  poking  me  for  ? 
Don^t  you  see  every  one  is  standing  still  ?  Where  are  you 
trying  to  get  to  ?  " 

*'  That's  a  game  more  than  one  can  work,"  said  the  lackey, 
and  also  vigorously  plying  his  elbows,  he  sent  Petya  into  the 
ill-smelling  corner  of  the  gateway. 

Petya  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
tried  to  straighten  up  his  collar,  which  had  collapsed  with  the 
moisture  —  that  collar  which,  when  he  had  left  home,  so  well 
satisfied  him  with  the  effect  of  maturity  that  it  gave  him.  He 
felt  that  he  now  was  in  an  unpresentable  state,  and  he  was 
afraid  that  if  he  went  to  the  chamberlain  in  such  a 
plight,  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  approach  the  sovereign. 
But  to  put  himself  to  rights,  or  to  get  from  where  he  was  to 
another  place,  was  an  impossibility,  owing  to  the  throng.  A 
general,  who  happened  to  be  passing  at  that  moment,  was  an 
acquaintance  of  the  Rostofs.  It  occurred  to  Petya  to  shout 
to  him  for  help ;  but  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  that  would 
not  be  compatible  with  manliness. 

After  all  the  equipages  had  passed,  the  throng  burst  through, 
and  carried  Petya  along  with  it  into  the  square,  which  was 
also  full  of  the  populace.  Not  the  square  alone,  but  the  slopes 
and  the  housetops,  every  available  place,  was  full  of  people. 
As  soon  as  Petya  got  fairly  into  the  square,  the  sounds  of  the 
bells  filling  all  the  Kreml,  and  the  joyous  shouts  of  the  people, 
made  themselves  manifest  to  his  ears. 

At  one  time  there  was  more  room  on  the  square,  but  sud- 
denly every  head  was  bared,  and  the  whole  mass  of  people 
rushed  forward.  Petya  was  so  crushed  that  he  could  hardly 
breathe,  and  still  the  acclamations  rent  the  air :  Hurrah !  hur- 

•  Bdrchenolc,  hdrchuk,  is  the  popular  diminutive  of  bdritch,  t|ia^  1$  to  say, 
the  son  of  a  baritif  or  nobleman,  gentleman. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  98 

lah !  hurrali !    Petya  got  upon  Iiis  tiptoes,  pushed  and  pinched, 
but  still  he  could  see  nothing  except  the  people  around  him. 

All  faces  wore  one  and  the  same  expression  of  emotion  and 
enthusiasm.  One  woman,  a  merchant's  wife,  standing  near 
Petya,  sobbed,  and  the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes,  — 

^^  Father !  angel !  batyushka  I ''  she  cried,  rubbing  the  tears 
away  with  her  fingers. 

Tlie  huzzas  resounded  on  every  side. 

The  throng,  for  a  single  instant,  stood  still  in  one  place ; 
then  it  rushed  onward  again. 

Petya,  entirely  forgetting  himself,  set  his  teeth  together 
like  a  wild  beast,  and,  with  his  eyes  starting  from  his  head, 
plunged  forward,  using  his  elbows,  and  shouting  "Hurrah"  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  as  though  he  were  ready  and  willing  that 
moment  to  kill  himself  and  every  one  else ;  while  on  every 
side  of  him  there  were  ever  the  same  wild  faces  uttering  the 
same  huzzas. 

"  So,  then,  that's  the  kind  of  a  man  the  sovereign  is ! " 
thought  Petya.  "N'o,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to 
deliver  my  petition  in  person;  it  would  be  quite  too  auda- 
cious." 

Nevertheless,  he  still  struggled  desperately  forward,  and, 
just  beyond  the  backs  in  front  of  him,  he  could  see  an  empty 
space,  with  a  lane  covered  with  red  cloth  ;  but  at  this  instant 
the  throng  ebbed  back  ;  the  police  in  front  were  driving  them 
away  from  the  path  of  the  procession,  which  they  were  incom- 
moding ;  the  sovereign  was  on  his  way  from  the  palace  to  the 
Uspiensky  Cathedral,  and  Petya  unexpectedly  received  such  a 
blow  in  the  ribs,  and  was  so  crushed,  that  suddenly  every- 
thing grew  confused  before  his  eyes,  and  he  lost  conscious- 
ness. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  some  strange  priest,  —  appar- 
ently a  diachok,  —  in  a  well-worn,  blue  cassock,  and  with  a 
long  mane  of  gray  hair,  was  supporting  him  with  one  arm, 
and  with  the  other  defending  him  from  the  pressure  of  the 
throng. 

"  You  have  crushed  a  young  nobleman ! "  *  cried  the  diachdk. ' 
"  Look  out,  there  !    Easy  !  —  You  have  crushed  him  I    You 
have  crushed  him  ! " 

The  sovereign  entered  the  Uspiensky  Cathedral.  The  crowd 
again  thinned  out  a  little,  and  the  priest  took  Petya,  pale  and 
hardly  able  to  breathe,  to  the  Tsar-pitslika,  or  King  of  Guns. 
Several  individuals  had  pity  ou  Petya,  but  then  suddenly  the 

*  Bdrchenok,  nobleman's  son. 


94  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

throng  surged  up  againsfc  him  again,  and  he  was  already 
involved  in  the  billows  of  the  mob.  But  those  who  stood 
nearest  to  him  gave  him  a  helping  hand,  while  others  unbut- 
toned his  coat,  and  got  him  up  to  the  top  of  the  cannon,  and 
reviled  some  of  those  who  had  abused  him  so. 

"  Would  you  crush  him  to  death  that  way ! "  —  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  "  —  "  Why,  it^s  downright  murder ! "  —  "  See  the 
poor  fellow,  he's  as  white  as  a  sheet ! "  said  various  voices. 

Petya  quickly  recovered  himself,  the  color  returned  to  his 
cheek,  his  pain  passed  off,  and,  as  a  compensation  for  this 
momentary  discomfort,  he  had  his  place  on  the  cannon,  from 
which  he  hoped  to  see  the  sovereign  pass  by  on  his  way  back. 
Petya  no  longer  even  thought  of  preferring  his  request.  If  he 
could  only  see  him,  then  he  should  consider  himself  perfectly 
happy ! 

During  the  time  of  the  service  in  the  Uspiensky  Cathedral, 
which  consisted  of  a  Te  Deum  in  honor  of  the  sovereign's  arri- 
val, and  a  thanksgiving  for  the  conclusion  of  peace  with 
Turkey,  the  throng  thinned  out,  pedlers  of  kvas,  gingerbread, 
and  poppy  seeds  —  which  Petya  specially  affected  —  made 
their  appearance  proclaiming  their  wares,  and  the  ordinary 
chatter  of  a  crowd  was  heard. 

A  merchant's  wife  was  lamenting  her  torn  shawl,  and  tell- 
ing how  dear  it  had  cost  her.  Another  made  the  remark  that 
at  the  present  time  all  sorts  of  silk  stuffs  y^ere  costly.  The 
diachdk,  Petya's  rescuer,  was  disputing  with  an  official  as  to 
who  and  who  were  assisting  His  Eminence  in  the  service. 
The  priest  several  times  repeated  the  word  sobomyey*  which 
Petya  did  not  understand.  Two  young  fellows  were  jesting 
with  some  servant  girls,  who  were  munching  nuts. 

All  these  conversations,  especially  the  jokes  with  the  girls, 
which  ordinarily  would  have  been  extremely  fascinating  to 
Petya  at  his  age,  now  failed  entirely  to  attract  his  attention. 
He  sat  on  his  coign  of  vantage  —  the  cannon  —  just  as  much 
excited  as  ever  at  the  thought  of  his  sovereign  and  of  his  love 
for  him.  The  coincidence  of  his  feeling  of  pain  and  terror 
when  they  were  crushing  him,  and  his  feeling  of  enthusiasm 
still  more  strengthened  in  him  the  consciousness  of  the  im- 
portance of  this  moment.  Suddenly,  from  the  embankment 
were  heard  the  sounds  of  cannon-shots,  —  they  were  fired  in 
commemoration  of  the  peace  with  the  Turks,  —  and  the 
throng  rushed  eagerly  toward  the  embankment  to  see  them 
fire  the  cannon. 

*  A  Slavouic  word  signifying  that  all  the  clergy  of  the  cathedral  i§obor} 
assisted. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  95 

Petya  wanted  to  go,  too,  but  the  priest  who  had  taken  the 
young  nobleman  under  his  protection  would  not  permit  him. 
These  guns  were  still  firing  when  from  the  Uspiensky  Cathe- 
dral came  a  number  of  officers,  generals,  and  chamberlains ; 
then,  more  deliberately,  came  still  others ;  again  heads  were 
uncovered,  and  those  who  had  rushed  to  see  the  firing  came 
running  back.  Last  of  all  there  emerged  from  the  portal  of 
the  cathedral  four  men  in  uniforms  and  ribbons.  '^  Hurrah ! 
hurrah  ! "  shouted  the  throng. 

"  Which  is  he  ?  Which  one  ?  "  asked  Petya,  in  a  tearful 
voice,  of  those  around  him,  but  no  one  gave  him  any  answer ; 
all  were  too  much  pre-occupied :  and  Petya,  selecting  one  of 
these  four  personages,  which  he  had  some  difficulty  in  doing, 
owing  to  the  tears  of  joy  that  blinded  his  eyes,  concen- 
trated on  him  all  his  enthusiasm  —  although  it  happened  not 
to  be  the  monarch  !  —  and  shouted  "  Hurrah  "  in  a  frenzied 
voice,  and  made  up  his  mind  that,  the  very  nextday^  cost  what 
it  might,  he  would  become  a  soldier. 

The  throng  rushed  after  the  sovereign,  accompanied  him  to 
the  palace,  and  then  began  to  disperse.  It  was  already  late, 
and  Petya  had  eaten  nothing,  and  the  sweat  streamed  from 
him ;  still  he  had  no  idea  of  going  home  yet,  and  he  stood  in 
front  of  the  palace  with  the  diminished  but  still  enormous 
throng  all  through  the  time  that  the  sovereign  was  eating  his 
dinner,  gazing  at  the  windows  of  the  palace,  still  expecting 
something,  and  envying  the  dignitaries  who  came  up  to  the 
doorway  to  take  part  in  the  dinner,  and  even  the  footmen, 
who  were  serving  the  tables,  and  passing  swiftly  m  front  of 
the  windows. 

During  the  dinner  Valuyef,  glancing  out  of  the  window, 
remarked  to  the  sorereign,  "The  people  are  still  hoping  to 
have  another  glimpse  of  your  majesty." 

When  the  banquet  was  over,  the  sovereign  arose,  still  eating 
the  last  of  a  biscuit,  and  went  out  on  the  balcony.  The 
throng,  Petya  in  the  number,  rushed  toward  the  balcony, 
shouting,  "  Angel !  b&tyushka !  hurrah  !  " 

"  Father  ! "  cried  the  people,  and  Petya  also,  and  again  the 
women  and  some  of  the  men  of  weaker  mould  —  Petya  among 
the  number  —  we^t  for  joy. 

A  pretty  good'^ized  piece  of  the  biscuit,  which  the  sovereign 
held  in  his  hand,  crumbled  and  dropped  upon  the  railing  of 
the  balcony,  and  from  the  railing  to  the  ground.  A  coachman 
in  a  sleeveless  coat,  standing  nearer  than  any  one  else,  sprang 
forward  and  seized  this  crumb.     Several  of  the  throng  flung 


96  y^A^  AND  PEACE, 

themselTes  on  the  coachman.  The  sovereign,  perceiving  this, 
commanded  a  plate  of  biscuits  to  be  handed  to  him,  and  began 
to  toss  them  from  the  balcony. 

Petya's  eyes  were  bloodshot ;  the  danger  of  being  crashed 
to  death  again  threatened  him,  but  he  rushed  for  the  bis- 
cuits. He  knew  not  why,  but  his  happiness  depended  on 
having  one  of  those  biscuits  from  the  tsaPs  hand,  and  he  was 
bound  he  would  not  give  in.  He  sprang  forward  and  overset 
an  old  woman  who  was  just  grasping  a  biscuit.  But  the  old 
woman  had  no  idea  of  considering  herself  vanquished^  although 
she  was  flat  on  the  ground,  for  she  held  the  biscuit  clutched 
in  her  fist,  and  had  not  dropped  it.  Petya  knocked  it  out  of 
her  hand  with  his  knee,  and  seized  it,  and,  as  though  fearing 
that  he  should  be  too  late,  he  shouted  *'  Hurrah,"  with  his 
hoarse  voice. 

The  sovereign  retired,  and  after  this  the  larger  part  of  the 
orowd  began  to  separate.  *<  I  said  there'd  be  something  more 
to  see,  and  so  it  turned  out,"  said  various  voices,  joyously, 
amid  the  throng. 

Happy  as  Pet3ra  was,  it  was,  nevertheless,  a  gloomy  pros- 
pect for  him  to  go  home,  and  know  that  all  the  happiness  of 
the  day  was  done.  Instead,  therefore,  of  going  home,  he  left 
the  Kreml,  and  went  to  find  his  comrade,  Obolyensky,  who  was 
also  fifteen  years  old,  and  who  also  was  bent  upon  going  into 
the  army. 

When,  at  last,  he  reached  his  home,  he  clearly  and  definitely 
declared  that,  if  they  would  not  give  him  their  permission,  he 
would  run  away.  And,  on  the  next  day,  Count  Ilya  Andre- 
yitch,  though  not  fully  decided  to  give  his  assent,  went  to  learn 
in  what  way  some  place  jnight  be  found  for  Petya,  where  he 
would  be  least  exposed  to  danger. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

On  the  morning  of  the  27th,  three  days  later,  a  countless 
throng  of  equipages  were  drawn  up  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Slo- 
bodsky  palace. 

The  halls  were  all  crowded.  In  the  front  room  were  the 
nobles  in  their  uniforms ;  in  the  second  room  were  the  mer- 
chants, wearing  medals,  beards,  and  blue  kaftans. 

There  was  a  bustle  and  movement  in  the  room  where  the 
nobles  were  gathered.  Around  a  great  table,  over  which  hung 
a  portrait  of  the  sovereign,  sat  the  most  distinguished  digni- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  97 

t&ries^  in  high-backed  chairs ;  but  the  majority  of  the  nobles 
were  walking  up  and  down. 

All  the  nobles  —  the  very  men  whom  Pierre  was  accustomed 
to  see  every  day  at  the  club  or  at  their  own  homes  — were  in  uni- 
forms, some  dating  from  Catherine's  time,  some  from  Paul's, 
some  in  the  newer-fashioned  ones  that  had  come  in  with  Alex- 
ander, some  in  the  ordinary  uniform  of  the  Kussian  nobil- 
ity ;  and  this  universality  of  uniform  gave  a  certain  strange 
and  fantastic  character  to  these  individuals,  of  such  varying 
ages  and  types,  well  known  as  they  were  to  Pierre.  Especially 
noticeable  were  the  old  men,  dull-eyed,  toothless,  bald,  with 
flesh  turning  to  yellow  fat,  or  wrinkled  and  thin.  These,  for 
the  most  part,  sat  in  their  places  and  had  nothing  to  say ;  and, 
if  they  walked  about  and  talked,  they  addressed  themselves  to 
men  their  juniors.  Likewise,  as  in  the  faces  of  the  throng 
which  Petya  had  seen  on  the  Kreml  square,  so  here  these 
faces  wore  a  most  astounding  contrariety  of  expressions :  the 
general  expectation  of  some  solemn  event,  as  opposed  to  what 
usually  happened :  the  party  of  boston,  Petrusha  the  cook's 
dinner,  the  exchange  of  greetings  with  Zinaida  Dmitrievna, 
and  things  of  the  sort. 

Pierre,  who  since  early  morning '  had  been  pinched  into  a 
court  uniform  that  was  awkward  for  him,  because  it  was  too 
tight  in  its  fit,  was  present.  He  was  in  a  high  state  of  excite^ 
ment :  a  meeting  extraordinary,  not  only  of  the  nobility,  but 
also  of  the  merchant  class  —  a  legislative  assembly,  etats  ghie- 
raux  —  hstd  awakened  in  him  a  whole  throng  of  ideas  about 
the  Contrat  soelalj  and  the  French  Revolution  —  ideas  which 
he  had  long  ago  ceased  to  entertain,  but  were,  nevertheless, 
deejply  engraven  in  his  mind.  The  words  of  the  proclamation 
which  said  that  the  sovereign  was  coming  to  his  capital,  for 
the  purpose  of  deUberating  with  his  people,  confirmed  him  in 
this  opinion.  And  thus  supposing  that  the  important  reform 
which  he  had  been  long  waiting  to  see  introduced  would  now 
be  tried,  he  walked  about,  looked  on,  listened  to  the  conversa- 
tions, but  nowhere  found  any  one  expressing  the  ideas  that 
occupied  him. 

The  sovereign's  manifesto  was  read,  arousing  great  enthusi- 
asm ;  and  then  the  assembly  broke  up  into  groups,  discussing 
affairs.  Pierre  heard  men  talking  not  only  about  matters  of 
universal  interest,  but  also  about  such  things  as  where  the 
marshals  of  the  nobility  should  stand  when  the  sovereign 
came,  when  the  ball  should  be  given  to  his  majesty,  whether 
the  division  should  be  made  by  districts  or  taking  the  whole 
voi-S.— 7. 


98  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

government,  and  other  questions  of  the  sort.  Bat  ds  soon  as 
the  wax  became  a  topic  of  conversation,  or  the  object  of  calling 
the  meeting  of  the  nobility  was  mentioned,  the  discussions 
became  vague  and  irresolute*  All  preferred  to  listen  rather 
than  to  talk. 

One  middle-aged  man  of  strikingly  gallant  bearing,  and 
wearing  the  uniform  of  a  retired  officer  of  the  navy,  was  talk- 
ing in  one  room,  and  a  group  was  gathered  around  him.  Pierre 
joined  it,  and  began  to  listen.  Count  Ilya  Andreyitch,  in  his 
Voevode's  kaftan  of  Catherine's  time,  after  making  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  with  a  pleasant  greeting  for  every  one,  also 
approached  this  same  group,  and  began  to  listen,  as  he  always 
listened,  with  his  good-natured  smile,  and  nodding  his  head  to 
signify  that  his  sentiments  were  in  accord  with  the  speaker's. 

The  retired  naval  man  spoke  very  boldly  —  as  could  be 
judged  by  the  faces  of  his  listeners,  and  because  certain  of 
Pierre's  acquaintances,  well  known  for  their  submissive  and 
gentle  natures,  turned  away  from  him,  or  disagreed  with  what 
he  said.  Pierre  forced  his  way  into  the  centre  of  this  group, 
and  gave  good  heed,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  speaker 
was  genuinely  liberal,  but  in  a  very  different  sense  from  what 
Pierre  understood  by  liberality.  The  naval  man  spoke  in  that 
peculiar,  ringing,  singsong  baritone  characteristic  of  the  Rus- 
sian nobility,  with  an  agreeable  slurring  of  the  r's  and  short- 
ening of  consonants  — a  voice,  too,  fitted  to  issue  a  command. 

"  Suppose  the  people  of  Smolensk  have  offered  to  raise  mili- 
tia for  the  sov'e'n.  Can  the  Smolenskites  lay  down  the  law  for 
us  ?  If  the  ge'm'en  of  the  Muscovite  nobil'ty  find  it  neoes'y, 
they  can  show  their  devotion  to  their  sove'n  and  emp'r  in  some 
other  way.  We  haven't  forgotten  the  calling  out  of  the  land- 
wehr  in  1807,  have  we  ?  Only  rasc'ly  priests'  sons  and  plun- 
d'r's  got  any  good  from  it." 

Count  Ilya  Andreyitch,  with  a  shadow  of  a  smile,  nodded 
his  head  approvingly. 

"  And  I  should  like  to  know  if  our  militia  have  ever  done 
the  empire  any  good?  Not  the  least.  They  have  merely 
ruined  our  farming  int'rests.  A  levy  is  much  better  —  for 
the  militia  man  comes  back  to  you  neither  a  soldier  nor  a 
muzhik,  but  simply  spoiled  and  good  for  nothing.  The  nobles 
don't  grudge  their  lives  ;  we  are  perfectly  willing  to  take  the 
field  ourselves  and  bring  along  recruits  with  us;  the  sove'n  * 
has  only  to  speak  the  word  and  we  will  all  die  for  him,"  added 
the  orator,  growing  excited. 

•  "  He  pronounoed  Qotudar,  gmaX : "  parenthMiB  in  text. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  ^ 

liya  Andreyitch  swallowed  down  the  spittle  in  his  mouth 
with  gratification  at  hearing  such  sentiments,  and  nudged 
Pierre,  but  Pierre  also  had  a  strong  desire  to  speak.  He 
pushed  still  farther  forward  ;  he  felt  that  he  was  excited,  but 
he  had  no  idea  what  should  cause  him  to  speak,  and  as  yet  he 
had  still  less  idea  of  what  he  was  going  to  say.  He  had  just 
opened  his  mouth  to  speak  when  a  senator,  who  had  absolutely 
no  teeth  at  all,  but  who  had  a  stern,  intelligent  face,  sud- 
denly interrupted  Pierre.  He  had  been  standing  near  the 
naval  orator.  Evidently  used  to  leading  in  debate,  and  hold- 
ing his  own  in  argument,  he  spoke  in  a  low  but  audible 
voice !  — 

"I  suppose,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  senator  —  the  words 
sounding  thick,  owing  to  his  toothless  mouth  —  "1  suppose 
that  we  have  been  summoned  here  not  for  the  purpose  of 
deciding  whether  at  the  present  moment  enlistment  of  soldiers 
or  levies  of  militia  will  be  most  beneficial  for  the  empire,  but 
we  have  been  summoned  here  to  respond  to  the  proclamation 
which  the  emperor  our  sovereign  has  deigned  to  address  to 
us.  And  the  decision  of  the  question  which  is  the  more 
advantageous  —  recruits  or  militia  — we  may  safely  leave  to 
his  supreme  autho  "  — 

Pierre  suddenly  found  an  outlet  for  his  excitement.  He 
was  indignant  with  the  senator  for  taking  such  a  strict  and 
narrow  view  of  the  functions  of  the  nobility.  Pierre  took  a 
step  forward  and  interrupted  the  senator.  He  himself  knew 
not  what  he  was  going  to  say,  but  he  began  hotly,  occasionally 
breaking  out  into  French  expressions,  and  when  he  spoke  in 
Russian  '^  talking  like  a  book." 

"  Excuse  me,  your  excellency,"  he  began.  Pierre  was  well 
acquainted  with  this  senator,  but  now  he  felt  that  it  was  in- 
cumbent upon  him  to  address  him  with  perfunctory  formality. 
"Although  I  cannot  agree  with  the  gentleman" — Pierre  hesi- 
tated. He  wanted  to  say  Mon  tr^s-h  onorahle  prSopinant — *  *  with 
the  gentleman  —  que  je  n^ai  pas  Vhonnenr  de  connaitre  —  still 
I  suppose  that  the  nobility  have  been  called  together  now  not 
alone  to  express  their  sympathy  and  enthusiasm,  but  likewise 
to  decide  on  the  measures  by  which  we  may  aid  the  father- 
land. I  suppose,"  said  he,  growing  still  more  animated,  "I 
suppose  that  the  sovereign  himself  would  have  been  sorry  if 
he  saw  in  us  nothing  but  owners  of  peasants  whom  we  should 
give  him  as  meat  for  —  as  c?iair  a  canon  —  but  rather  as  co- 
co—counsellors ''  — 

Several  moved  away  from  this  group  as  they  noticed  the 


100  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

senator's  scornful  smile  and  the  excitement  under  which 
Pierre  was  laboring ;  only  Ilya  Andreyitch  was  content  with 
Pierre's  deliverance,  just  as  he  had  been  with  the  naval  man's 
speech  and  the  senator's,  and,  as  a  general  rule,  with  the  last 
one  which  he  ever  happened  to  hear. 

*'  I  suppose  that  before  we  decide  these  questions,"  pursued 
Pierre,  "  we  ought  to  ask  the  sovereign,  we  ought  most  re- 
spectfully to  ask  his  majesty  to  give  us  a  full  and  definite 
account  of  how  many  troops  we  have,  in  what  condition  they 
are,  and  then  "  — 

But  Pierre  was  not  allowed  to  finish  his  sentence ;  he  was 
attacked  from  three  sides  at  once.  More  violently  than  by 
any  one  else  he  was  assailed  by  an  acquaintance  of  his  of  very 
long  standing,  always  well  disposed  to  him  and  frequently  his 
partner  at  boston,  Stepdn  Stepdnovitch  Adraksin.  Stepan 
Stepanovitch  was  in  uniform,  and  either  it  was  the  uniform  or 
some  other  reason  that  made  Pierre  see  himself  opposed  by 
an  entirely  different  man  from  what  he  had  ever  known. 
Stepin  Step&novitch,  with  an  expression  of  senile  wrath  sud- 
denly flushing  his  face,  screamed  out  at  Pierre  :  — 

"  In  the  first  place  I  would  have  you  understand  that  we 
have  no  right  to  ask  the  sovereign  any  such  thing,  and  in  the 
second  place  even  if  the  Russian  nobility  had  such  a  right, 
even  then  the  sovereign  could  not  answer  us.  The  movem,entat 
of  our  troops  depend  upon  those  of  the  enemy — ^^the  troopS; 
increase  and  decrease  "  — 

Another  man,  of  medium  height,  forty  years  old,  whpn\ 
Pierre  had  seen  in  days  goixe  by  at  the  Gypsies'  and  knew  as 
a  wretched  card  player,  and  whp  now  like  the  rest  had  a 
wholly  changed  aspect  in  his  uniform,  interrupted  Adraksin : 
—  "  Yes,  and  besides  it  is  not  the  time  to  criticise,"  said  the. 
voice  of  this  noble,  "  but  we  must  act ;  the  war  is  in  Bussia., 
The  enemy,  are  coming  to  destroy  Russia,  to  desecrate  the, 
tombs  of  our  sires,  to  lead  into  captivity  our  wives  and  our 
children-"  —  The  nobleman  struck  his  chest  a  ringing  blow.  — 
'*  Let  us  all  arise,  let  us  all  go  as  one  man  in  defence  of  our 
b4tyushka,  the  tsar.! "  he  cried,  wildly  rolling  his  bloodshot 
eyes. 

Several  approving  voices  were  heard  in  the  throng. 

"We  Russians  will  never  begrudge  our  lives  for  thjB  defence 
of  the  faith,  the  throne,  and  the  fatherland ;  but  we  must  re- 
nounce day  dreams  if  we  are  the  true  sons  of  the  country. 
Let  us  show  Europe  how  Russia  can  defend  Russia ! "  cried  a 
nobleman. 


WAR  AND  PEACEL  101 

Pierre  wanted  to  make  a  reply,  but  he  could  not  say  a  word. 
He   was  conscious  that  even  the  sound  of  his  voice — inde- 
pendent of  the  meaning  of  what  he  would  say — was   less 
,  audible  than  the  sound  of  the  nobleman's  voice; 

Ilya  Andreyitch  stood  just  behind  the  circle,  looking  on* 
approvingly ;  several  applauded  the  speaker  when  he  finished^ 
and  shouted,  — 

"  Hear !    Hear ! " 

Pierre  was  anxious  to  say  that  while  he  would  be  ready  to' 
sacrifice  himself  to  any  extent,  either  in  money  or  in  his: 
peasants,  still  he  should  like  to  know  how  affairs  were  situated^ 
before  he  could  help,  but  he  found  it  impossible  to  get  a  word, 
in.  Many  voices  spoke  and  shouted  all  at  once,  so  that  Ilya*. 
Andreyitch  had  no  chance  even  to  nod  his  head  in  assent  to- 
everything,  and  the  group  grew  in  size,  broke  asunder,  andl 
then  formed  again  swaying  and  tumultuous,  and  moved  across^ 
the  room  toward  the  great  table. 

Not  only  was  Pierre  prevented  from  speaking,  but  he  was- 
rudely  interrupted,  assailed,  and  pushed  aside,  and  treated  as- 
though  he  were  a  common  foe.  This  was  not  because  they 
were  dissatisfied  with  the  sentiments  which  he  expressed,  for 
they  had  already  forgotten  what  he  had  said  after  the  multi- 
tude of  other  things  spoken  since,  but  what  was  necessary  to 
excite  the  throng  was  some  palpable  object  of  love  and  some- 
palpable  object  of  hatred.  Pierre  had  made  himself  the  lat- 
ter. Many  orators  followed  the  excited  nobleman,  and  all 
spoke  in  the  same  tone.  Many  spoke  eloquently  and  with* 
origiuality. 

The  editor  of  the  Bttssky  Vi/estniky  Glinka,*  who  was  well, 
known,  and  was  greeted  with  shouts  of  "  The  writer !  the- 
vriter!"  declared  that  hell  must  contend  with  hell;  that  he* 
had  seen  a  child  smiling  at  the  flashing  of  lightning  and  at  the* 
clashing  of  thunder,  but  that  we  should  not  be  like  such  a 
child  as  that. 

"  No !  no  r  we  must  not ! "  was  heard  approvingly  spoken  im 
the  most  distant  circles. 

The  throng  drifted  up  to  the  great  table  where  sat  the  sep- 
tuagenarian notables,  old  and  gray  and  bald,  in  uniforms  and' 
ribbons^  veterans  whom  Pierre  had  seen,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, at.  home  under  jolly  circumstances  or  at  the  club-house- 

*  Sergv^  Kikol^veyiteh  Qlinka,  bom  at  Smolensk  1776,  founded  the* 
Buttian  Sfe$t€nger,  1808,  which,  in  1812,  was  the  very  pillar  of  nationalism ;. 

}ie  also,  at  his  own  cost,  famished  twenty  men  for  the  militia ;  died,  1817>> 
earing  one  hundred  and  fifty  volumes  of  works. 


102  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

or  playing  boston.  The  throng  drew  near  the  table,  and  still 
the  roar  of  shouting  and  talk  went  on.  One  after  the  other, 
and  sometimes  two  at  once,  pressing  up  against  the  high-backed 
chairs,  the  orators  spoke  their  thoughts.  Those  who  stood  in 
the  rear  finished  saying  what  any  omtor  had  no  time  to  say  to 
the  end,  and  filled  out  the  omitted  passages.  Others,  in  spite 
of  the  heat  and  closeness,  racked  their  brains  trying  to  find 
some  new  idea  and  to  give  it  utterance.  Pierre's  friends,  the 
aged  notables,  sat  and  gazed,  now  at  one,  now  at  the  other,  and 
the  expression  of  the  majority  of  their  faces  merely  said  that 
it  was  very  hot. 

Pierre,  however,  felt  intensely  excited,  and  a  great  desire 
came  over  him  to  have  the  meeting  understand  that  he  was  as 
ready  as  the  rest  to  be  moved  and  stirred  by  that  which  was 
expressed  more  in  the  sounds  of  their  voices  and  their  looks 
than  in  the  sense  of  the  words  they  spoke.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  renouncing  his  convictions,  but  he  somehow  felt  as 
though  he  were  in  the  wrong,  and  he  wanted  to  set  himself 
right. 

"  I  merely  said  that  it  would  be  easier  for  us  to  make  sacri- 
fices if  we  could  know  what  was  needed,"  he  began  to  say,  try- 
ing to  outshout  the  rest. 

A  little  old  man  who  happened  to  be  standing  near  him 
looked  at  him,  but  was  immediately  attracted  by  a  shout  raised 
at  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

"  Yes,  Moscow  shall  be  delivered  I  She  shall  be  the  deliv- 
erer ! "  some  one  was  shouting. 

"  He  is  the  enemy  of  the  human  race  ! "  cried  another. 

*^  Allow  me  to  speak  "  — 

"  Gentlemen,  you  are  crushing  me  1 ''  — 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

At  this  moment,  Count  Eostopchin,  in  a  general's  uniform 
and  with  a  broad  ribbon  across  his  shoulder,  with  his  promi- 
nent chin  and  keen  eyes,  came  into  the  room,  and  swiftly 
passed  through  the  throng  of  nobles,  who  made  way  before 
him. 

"Our  sovereign,  the  emperor,  will  be  here  immediately," 
said  Rostopchin.  "I  have  just  come  from  there.  I  think 
that  in  the  position  in  which  we  find  ourselves  there  is  very 
little  room  for  debate.  The  sovereign  has  done  us  the  honor 
of  calling  us  together,  and  the  merchant  class,"  said  Count 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  108 

Sostopchin.  ^' They  in  there  control  millions/'-^ he  poi&ted 
to  the  hail  wliere  the  merchants  were,  —  ^*  and  it  is  our  busi- 
ness to  furnish  the  landwehr,  and  not  to  spare  ourselves.  That 
is  the  least  that  we  can  do  ! " 

The  notables,  sitting  by  themselves  at  the  table,  held  a  con- 
sultation. The  consultation  could  hardly  be  described  as  sub- 
dued. There  was  even  a  melancholy  effect  produced  when, 
after  all  the  noise  and  enthusiasm,  these  senile  voices  were 
heard,  one  after  the  other,  saying,  "  I  am  content,"  or,  for  the 
sake  of  variety,  **That  is  my  opinion,"  and  the  like. 

The  secretary  of  the  meeting  was  bidden  to  write  that  the 
Moscovites,  in  a  meeting  of  the  nobility,  had  unanimously 
resolved  to  follow  the  example  of  Smolensk,  and  offer  a  levy 
of  ten  men  out  of  every  thousand,  completely  armed  and 
equipped. 

The  gentlemen  who  had  been  sitting  arose,  as  though  freed 
from  a  heavy  task,  noisily  pushed  back  their  chairs,  and  stinted 
about  the  hall  so  as  to  stretch  their  legs,  perchance  taking  the 
arm  of  some  acquaintance,  and  talking  matters  over. 

"  The  sovereign !  the  sovereign ! "  was  the  cry  suddenly 
shouted  through  the  halls,  and  the  whole  throng  rushed  to 
the  entrance. 

Through  a  broad  lane,  between  a  wall  of  nobles,  the  sover- 
eign entered  the  hall.  All  faces  expressed  a  reverent  and 
awesome  curiosity.  Pierre  was  standing  at  some  little  dis- 
tance, and  could  not  fully  catch  all  that  the  sovereign  said  in 
his  address. 

He  comprehended  only  from  what  he  heard  that  the  sover- 
eign spoke  about  the  peril  in  which  the  countiy  stood,  and  the 
hopes  which  he  placed  upon  the  Muscovite  nobility.  Some 
one  spoke  in  response  to  the  sovereign's  address,  and  merely 
confirmed  the  resolution  which  had  just  before  been  engrossed. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  sovereign's  trembling  voice ;  a  ripple 
of  excitement  ran  through  the  throng,  and  then  dead  silence 
reigned  again,  and  this  time  Pierre  distinctly  heard  the  sover- 
eign's extremely  agreeable  voice,  affected  with  genuine  emo- 
tion, saying,  — 

**  I  have  never  doubted  the  devotion  of  the  Russian  nobility. 
But  this  day  it  has  exceeded  my  expectations.  I  thank  you 
in  the  name  of  the  fatherland.  Gentlemen,  let  us  act  —  time 
is  precious"  — 

The  sovereign  ceased  speaking ;  the  throng  gathered  round 
him,  and  on  every  side  were  heard  enthusiastic  exclamations. 

"  Yes,  precious  indeed  —  the  tsar's  word  I "   said  Ilya  An- 


104  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

dreyitch,  with  a  sob ;  he  had  heard  nothing,  but  put  his  own 
interpretation  on  everything. 

The  sovereign  passed  from  the  hall  where  the  nobles  were 
into  that  where  the  merchants  were  gathered.  He  remained 
there  about  ten  minutes.  Pierre  and  several  others  saw  him 
on  his  way  from  their  hall  with  tears  of  emotion  in  his  eyes. 
As  was  learned  afterwards,  the  sovereign  had  hardly  begun 
his  speech  to  the  merchants  before  the  tears  had  streamed 
from  his  eyes,  and  he  had  ended  it  in  a  voice  broken  with 
emotion.  When  Pierre  saw  him,  he  was  coming  out  accom- 
panied by  two  merchants.  One  was  an  acquaintance  of  Pierre's 
•^-a  stout  brandy  farmer;  the  other  was  the  city  provost,  a 
man  with  a  thin  yellow  face  and  a  peaked  beard.  Both  of 
them  were  in  tears.  The  thin  man  wept,  but  the  stout  brandy 
farmer  was  sobbing  like  a  child,  and  kept  saying,  — 

"  Take  our  lives  and  our  all,  your  majesty ! " 

Pierre  at  this  moment  felt  no  other  desire  than  to  prove 
how  little  he  treasured  anything,  and  that  he  was  ready  to 
make  any  sacrifice.  He  reproached  himself  for  his  speech 
with  its  constitutional  tendency ;  he  tried  to  think  of  some 
means  to  efface  the  impression  which  it  had  made.  Learning 
that  Count  Mamonof  had  offered  a  regiment,  Bezukhoi  imme- 
diately announced  to  Count  Rostopchin  that  he  would  give  a 
thousand  men  and  their  maintenance. 

Old  Rostof  could  not  refrain  from  tears  when  he  told  his 
wife  what  had  been  done,  and  he  then  and  there  granted 
Petya's  request,  and  went  himself  to  see  that  his  name  was 
enrolled. 

The  next  day  the  sovereign  took  his  departure.  All  the 
nobles  who  had  assembled  took  off  their  uniforms,  once 
more  resumed  their  ordinary  avocations  at  home  and  in  their 
clubs,  and,  groaning,  gave  orders  to  their  overseers  in  regard  to 
the  landwehr  levy,  and  marvelled  at  what  they  had  done. 


PART   SECOND. 
CHAPTER  L 

Napoleon  entered  upon  the  war  with  Russia  because  he 
had  to  go  to  Dresden,  had  to  lose  his  judgment  from  excess  of 
honors,  had  to  put  on  a  Polish  uniform,  had  to  feel  the  stimu- 
lating impression  of  a  July  morning,  and  had  to  give  way  to 
an  outburst  of  fury  in  the  presence  of  Kurakin  and  afterwards 
of  Balashof  . 

Alexander  refused  to  hear  to  any  negotiations,  because  he 
felt  that  he  had  been  personally  insulted. 

Barclay  de  Tolly  strove  to  direct  the  troops  in  the  very  best 
way,  so  that  he  might  do  his  duty  and  win  the  renown  of 
being  a  great  commander. 

Rostof  charged  the  French  because  he  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  make  a  dash  across  an  open  field. 

Ajid  thus  acted  in  exactly  the  same  way,  in  accordance  with 
their  own  natural  characteristics,  habits,  dispositions,  and 
aims,  all  the  innumerable  individuals  who  took  part  in  this 
war.  They  had  their  fears  and  their  vanities,  they  had  their 
enjoyments  and  their  Hts  of  indignation,  and  they  all  supposed 
that  they  knew  what  they  were  doing,  and  that  they  were 
doing  it  for  themselves;  but  they  were  in  reality  the  irre- 
sponsible tools  of  history,  and  they  brought  about  a  work 
which  they  themselves  could  not  realize,  but  which  is  plain 
for  us  to  see. 

Such  is  the  inevitable  fate  of  all  who  take  an  active  part  in 
life,  and  the  higher  they  stand  in  the  social  hierarchy  tne  less 
free  are  they.  Now,  those  who  took  part  in  the  events  of  the 
year  1812  have  long  ago  passed  from  the  scene ;  their  personal 
interests  have  vanished  without  leaving  a  trace,  and  only  the 
historical  results  of  that  time  are  before  us. 

Let  us  now  once  admit  that  the  armies  of  Europe,  under  the 
leadership  of  Napoleon,  had  to  plunge  into  the  depths  of  Rus- 
sia, and  there  to  perish,  and  all  the  self-contradictory,  sense- 
less, atrocious  deeds  of  those  who  took  part  in  this  war  be- 
come comprehensible  for  us. 

106 


106  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Providence  obliged  all  these  men,  who  were  each  striying 
to  attain  his  own  ends,  to  work  together  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  ofie  tremendous  result,  of  which  no  man — neither 
Napoleon  nor  Alexander  any  more  than  the  most  insignificant 
participant  —  had  the  slightest  anticipation. 

It  is  now  plain  to  us  what  caused  the  destruction  of  the 
French  army  in  the  year  1812.  No  one  will  attempt  to  dis- 
pute that  the  cause  of  the  destruction  of  Napoleon's  French 
troops  was,  on  the  one  hand,  their  plunging  into  the  depths  of 
Russia  too  late  in  the  season,  and  without  sufficient  prepara- 
tion ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  character  given  to  the  war 
by  the  burning  of  the  Russian  cities,  and  the  consequent  awak- 
ening in  the  Russian  people  of  hatred  against  the  foe. 

But  at  that  time  not  only  had  no  one  any  idea  of  such  a 
thing,  —  though  now  it  seems  so  evident,  —  that  an  army  of 
eight  hundred  thousand  men,  the  best  that  the  world  had  ever 
seen,  and  conducted  by  the  greatest  of  leaders,  could  only  in 
this  way  have  met  with  its  destruction  in  a  collision  with  an 
army  of  half  its  size,  inexperienced,  and  under  the  lead  of  in- 
experienced generals ;  not  only  no  one  had  any  idea  of  stieh  a 
thing,  but,  moreover,  all  the  exertions  of  the  Russians  were 
systematically  directed  toward  preventing  the  only  thing  that 
could  save  Russia,  and  all  the  exertions  of  the  French^  in  spite 
of  Napoleon's  experience  and  his  so-called  military  genius, 
were  directed  toward  reaching  Moscow  by  the  end  of  the 
summer:  in  other  words,  doing  the  very  thing  which  was 
bound  to  prove  his  ruin. 

French  authors,  in  their  accounts  of  the  vear  1812,  are  very 
fond  of  declaring  that  Napoleon  felt  the  risk  he  ran  in  extend- 
ing his  line,  that  he  sought  to  give  battle,  that  his  marshals 
advised  him  to  halt  at  Smolensk.  And  they  bring  forward 
other  arguments  of  the  sort,  to  prove  that  even  then  the  peril 
of  the  Russian  campaign  was  foreseen. 

On  the  other  hand,  Russian  authors  are  even  more  fond  of 
declaring  that,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  campaign,  the 
scheme  was  already  conceived  of  decoying  Napoleon  into  the 
depths  of  Russia,  —  after  the  manner  of  the  Scythians,  —  and 
some  ascribe  this  scheme  to  Pfuhl,  others  to  some  Frenchman, 
others  again  to  Toll,  and  still  others  to  the  Emperor  Alexan- 
der himself.  For  their  proof,  they  cite  certain  memoirs,  sug- 
gestions, and  letters,  in  which  it  really  happens  that  allusions 
to  some  such  mode  of  action  can  be  found. 

But  all  these  allusions,  suggesting  that  what  was  done 
either  by  the  French  or  the  Russians  was  the  result  of  calcu- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  107 

lation,  are  made  to  look  so  at  the  present  day  simply  because 
what  actually  took  place  has  justified  them. 

If  the  event  had  not  taken  place,  then  these  allusions  would 
have  been  neglected,  just  as  thousands  and  millions  of  hints 
and  suggestions  of  entirely  opposite  character  are  now  forgot- 
ten, though  they  were  all  the  vogue  at  that  time,  but,  having 
been  found  to  be  incorrect,  were  therefore  relegated  to  the 
limbo  of  forgetfulness. 

The  issue  of  any  event  whatever  is  always  involved  in  so 
many  hypotheses,  that  no  matter  how  it  really  turns  some  one 
will  be  found  to  say,  "I  told  you  it  would  happen  so,"  entirely 
forgetting  that  among  the  numberless  hypotheses  othera  were 
made  which  proved  to  be  perfectly  erroneous. 

To  suppose  that  Napoleon  foresaw  the  peril  of  extending 
his  line  and  that  the  Russians  thought  of  alluring  the  enemy 
into  the  depths  of  their  country,  evidently  belongs  to  this 
category,  and  it  is  only  by  very  forced  reasoning  that  his- 
torians can  ascribe  such  divination  to  Napoleon  and  such 
schemes  to  the  Kussian  generals. 

All  the  facts  are  absolutely  opposed  to  such  hypotheses. 

The  Bussians  throughout  the  war  not  only  had  no  thought  or 
desire  to  decoy  the  French  into  the  depths  of  the  country,  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  everything  was  done  to  prevent  them  from 
making  the  first  advance  beyond  their  borders,  and  Napoleon 
not  only  had  no  fear  of  extending  his  line,  but  he  felt  a  joy 
amounting  to  enthusiasm  at  every  onward  movement,  and  he 
showed  no  such  eagerness  as  in  his  earlier  campaigns  to  give 
battle. 

At  the  very  beginning  of  the  campaign  our  armies  are 
8ex)arated,  and  our  single  aim,  in  which  we  employ  all  our 
energies,  is  to  unite  them,  whereas  if  it  had  been  our  intention 
to  retreat  and  decoy  the  enemy  into  following  us,  there  would 
not  have  been  the  slightest  advantage  in  making  a  junction 
of  the  forces. 

The  emperor  is  with  the  army  in  order  to  inspire  the  troops 
to  defend  the  Kussian  land  and  not  to  yield  an  inch  of  ground. 
The  enormous  fortified  camp  of  the  Drissa  is  established 
according  to  Pfxihl's  design,  and  there  is  no  thought  of  retreat- 
ing. The  sovereign  reproaches  the  commander-in-chief  for 
every  backward  step.  The  emperor  could  never  have  dreamed 
either  of  the  burning  of  Moscow  or  the  presence  of  the  enemy 
at  Smolensk,  and  when  the  armies  are  united  the  sovereign  is 
exasperated  because  Smolensk  is  taken  and  burned,  and  be- 
cause a  general  engagement  is  not  delivered  under  its  walls. 


1©8  ^AR  ^ND  PEACE. 

.Such  are  the  sovereign's  views,  but  the  Russian  generals 
and  all  the  Russian  people  are  still  more  exasperated  at  the 
jnere  suggestion  of  retreating  before  the  enemy. 

Napoleon,  having  cut  our  armies  asunder,  moves  on  into  the 
interior  of  the  country,  and  allows  to  pass  several  opportuni- 
ties for  giving  battle.  In  August  he  is  at  Smolensk,  and  his 
sole  thought  is  how  to  advance  into  Russia,  although,  as  we 
see  now,  this  forward  movement  was  certainly  to  be  destruc- 
^ve  to  him. 

The  facts  prove  that  Napoleon  did  not  foresee  the  risk  of 
an  advance  upon  Moscow,  and  that  Alexander  and  the  Rus- 
sian generals  had  no  idea  at  that  time  of  decoying  Napoleon, 
but  quite  the  contrary. 

Napoleon's  army  was  enticed  into  the  heart  of  the  countiy 
not  in  accordance  with  any  plan, — for  no  one  had  seen  even  the 
possibility  of  such  a  plan,  —  but  in  consequence  of  the  compli- 
cated play  of  intrigues,  desires,  and  ambitions  of  the  men  who 
took  part  in  this  war  and  had  no  conception  of  what  was 
destined  to  be,  or  that  it  would  result  in  the  only  salvation 
of  Russia 

Everything  proceeds  in  the  most  unexpected  way.  Our 
armies  are  divided  at  the  opening  of  the  campaign.  We  try 
to  unite  them  with  the  evident  aim  of  giving  battle  and  check- 
ing the  invasion  of  the  enemy,  but  in  trying  to  effect  this 
union  our  troops  avoid  battle,  because  the  enemy  are  stronger, 
and  in  our  involuntary  avoidance  of  them  we  form  an  acute 
angle,  and  draw  the  French  as  far  as  Smolensk.  But  it  is  not 
enough  to  say  that  we  give  way  at  an  acute  angle  because  the 
French  are  moving  between  our  two  armies  ;  the  angle  grows 
still  more  acute  and  we  retreat  still  farther  because  Bagration 
hates  Barclay  de  Tolly,"*  an  unpopular  German.  Bagration, 
who  is  his  superior  officer  and  the  commander  of  the  other 
army,  endeavors  as  far  as  possible  to  delay  the  conjunction,  in 
order  not  to  be  under  Barclay's  orders. 

Bagration  long  delays  the  union  of  the  two  armies — though 
this  has  been  the  chief  object  of  all  the  Russian  generals, 
and  he  does  so  because  he  imagines  that  to  make  this  march 
would  endanger  his  troops  and  that  it  is  better  for  him  to 
draw  off  farther  to  the  left  and  toward  the  south  and  harass 
the  enemy  on  the  flank  and  in  the  rear,  and  recruit  his  army 
in  the  Ukraina 

•  Barclay  de  Tolly  (1759-1818)  was  not  German,  but  of  the  old  Scotch 
family  of  Barclay,  a  branch  of  which  settled  in  Russia  in  the  teveiiteenlli 
century. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  109 

But  this  was  a  mere  pretext.  He  conceived  this  plan  be- 
cause he  is  anxious  not  to  put  himself  under  the  command  of 
Barclay,  the  hated  German,  whose  rank  is  inferior  to  his  own. 

The  emperor  is  with  the  army  to  inspire  it,  but  his  presence, 
and  his  tergiversation,  the  tremendous  throng  of  advisers  and 
plans  pd,ralyze  the  energy  of  the  army,  and  it  beats  a  retreat. 

The  plan  then  is  to  make  a  stand  in  the  camp  at  Drissa,  but 
suddenly  Paulucci,  who  aims  to  be  commander-in-chief,  makes 
such  an  impression  upon  Alexander  by  his  energy,  that 
Pfuhl's  whole  plan  is  abandoned,  and  the  task  is  contided  to 
Barclay.  But,  as  Barclay  is  not  able  to  instil  confidence,  his 
power  is  limited. 

The  armies  are  separated ;  there  is  no  unity,  no  head :  Bar- 
clay is  impopular;  but  all  this  confusion,  division,  and  the 
unpopularity  of  the  German  commander-in-chief  produce 
irresolution  and  the  evasion  of  an  encounter  with  the  enemy, 
which  would  liave  been  inevitable  if  the  union  of  the  armies 
had  been  accomplished,  and  if  Barclay  had  not  been  designated 
as  commander-in-chief,  while  on  the  other  hand  the  same  cir- 
cumstances continually  increase  the  feeling  against  the  Ger- 
mans, and  more  and  more  arouse  the  spirit  of  patriotism. 

Finally,  the  sovereign  leaves  the  army  under  the  sole  and 
most  reasonable  pretext  that  he  is  needed  at  Moscow  and 
Petersburg  to  stir  up  the  people  and  incite  a  national  defence. 
And  the  sovereign's  journey  to  Moscow  triples  the  strength  of 
the  Russian  troops. 

The  truth  is,  the  sovereign  leaves  the  army  in  order  that  he 
may  not  interfere  with  the  power  of  the  commander-in-chief, 
and  hopes  that  more  decisive  measures  will  be  taken.  But 
the  position  of  the  chief  of  the  army  grows  more  and  more 
confused  and  helpless.  Benigsen,  the  Grand  Duke,  and  a 
whole  swarm  of  general-adjutants  remain  in  the  army  to 
watch  the  actions  of  the  commander-in-chief  and  to  stimulate 
him  to  energetic  action ;  and  Barclay,  feeling  himself  still  less 
free  under  the  eyes  of  all  these  imperial  censors^  grows  still 
more  cautious  about  undertaking  any  decided  operation,  and 
carefully  avoids  a  battle. 

Barclay  stands  on  his  guard.  The  tsesarevitch  hints  at 
treason  and  demands  a  general  attack.  Liubomirsky,  Bran- 
nitsky.  Vlotzky,  and  others  of  their  ilk,  add  so  much  to  all 
this  tumult  that  Barclay,  to  rid  himself  of  them,  sends  the 
Polish  general-adjutants  to  Petersburg  with  pretended  mes- 
sages for  the  tsar,  and  enters  into  an  open  dispute  with 
Benigsen  and  the  Grand  Duke. 


110  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

At  last,  against,  the  wishes  of  Bagration,  the  union  of  the 
two  armies  is  effected  at  Smolensk. 

Bagration  drives  in  his  carriage  to  Barclay's  headquarters. 
Barclay  puts  on  his  scarf,  comes  out  to  meet  him,  and  salutes 
him  as  his  superior  in  rank.  Bagration,  not  to  be  oi;tdone  in 
magnanimity,  places  himself  under  Barclay's  command,  in 
spite  of  his  superiority  of  rank,  but  though  he  takes  a  sub- 
ordinate position  he  is  still  more  opposed  to  him.  Bagration 
by  the  sovereign's  express  order  makes  direct  reports.  He 
writes  to  Arakcheyef :  — 

"  My  sovereign's  will  be  done,  but  I  can  never  work  with  the  minister 
[Barclay].  For  God's  sake  send  me  where  you  will,  give  me  only  a  single 
regiment  to  command,  but  I  cannot  stay  here.  ^  Headquarters  are  full  of 
Germans,  so  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  Russian  to  breathe  here,  and  there 
is  no  sense  in  anything.  I  thought  that  I  was  serving  the  sovei*eign  and 
my  country,  bat  1  am  really  serving  Barclay.  I  confess  this  does  not 
suit  mc." 

The  swarm  of  Brannitskys,  of  Winzengerodes,  and  others 
like  them,  still  further  poisons  the  relations  between  the  two 
chiefs,  and  united  action  becomes  more  and  itiore  impossible. 

They  get  ready  to  attack  the  French  at  Smolensk.  A  gen- 
eral is  sent  to  inspect  the  position.  This  general,  hating  Bar- 
clay, instead  of  obeying  orders,  goes  to  one  of  his  friends,  a 
corps  commander,  remains  with  him  all  day,  and  returns  at 
night  to  Barclay,  to  criticise  a  field  of  battle  which  he  has 
not  even  seen. 

While  quarrels  and  intrigues  concerning  the  battle-field  are 
in  progress,  while  we  are  trying  to  find  the  French,  because 
we  are  ignorant  of  their  whereabouts,  the  French  encounter 
Nevyerovsky's  division,  and  approach  the  very  walls  of  Smo- 
lensk. 

It  is  necessary  to  accept  an  unexpected  battle  at  Smolensk 
in  order  to  save  our  communications.  The  battle  takes  place, 
thousands  of  men  on  both  sides  are  killed. 

Contrary  to  the  wishes  of  the  sovereign  and  the  people, 
Smolensk  is  abandoned.  But  the  inhabitants  of  Smolensk, 
betrayed  by  their  governor,  set  fire  to  the  city,  and,  offering 
this  example  to  other  Russian  towns,  take  refuge  in  Moscow, 
only  deploring  their  losses  and  kindling  hatred  against  the 
enemy. 

Napoleon  advances ;  we  retreat,  and  the  result  is  that  the 
very  measure  necessary  for  defeating  Napoleon  is  employed. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  HI 


CHAPTER  IL 

On  the  day  following  his  son's  departure,  Prince  Nikolai 
Andreyitch  summoned  the  Princess  Mariya. 

"There,  now,  are  you  satisfied?'*  he  demanded.  "You 
have  involved  me  in  a  quarrel  with  my  son !  Satisfied  ?  That 
was  what  you  wanted !  Satisfied  ?  This  has  been  painful, 
painful,  to  me.  I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  this  was  what  you 
wished.  Well,  take  your  pleasure  in  it,  take  your  pleasure  in 
it!" 

And  after  that  the  Princess  Mariya  saw  no  more  of  her  father 
for  a  whole  week.     He  was  ill  and  did  not  leave  his  cabinet. 

To  her  amazement,  the  princess  noticed  that  during  this  ill- 
ness the  old  prince  did  not  permit  even  Mademoiselle  Bourienne 
to  come  near  him.    Only  Tikhon  was  admitted. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  the  prince  came  out  and  began  to 
lead  his  former  life  again,  occupying  himself  with  special  zeal 
in  his  buildings  and  garden,  but  discontinuing  all  his  former 
relations  with  Mademoiselle  Bourienne.  His  looks  and  his 
coolness  toward  the  Princess  Mariya  seemed  to  say  to  her,  — 

"  Here,  you  see,  you  have  lied  about  me,  you  have  slandered 
me  to  Prince  Andrei  in  regard  to  my  relations  with  this 
Frenchwoman,  and  you  have  made  me  quarrel  with  him ;  but, 
you  see,  I  can  get  along  without  you  or  the  Frenchwoman 
either." 

One-half  of  the  day  the  Princess  Mariya  spent  with  Niko-r 
lushka,  attending  to  his  lessons ;  she  herself  taught  him  Rus- 
sian and  music,  and  talked  with  Dessalles ;  the  remainder  of 
the  day  she  spent  with  her  books,  her  old  nyanya^  and  her 
^^  God's  people,"  who  sometimes  came  to  see  her  claudestinely 
by  the  l^k  stairs. 

The  Princess  Mariya  had  such  thoughts  about  the  war  as 
women  generally  have  regarding  war.  She  trembled  for  her 
brother,  who  was  in  it ;  she  was  horror-struck  at  the  cruelty 
which  led  men  to  slaughter  each  other,  though  she  had  little 
comprehension  of  its  reality ;  but  she  did  not  appreciate  the 
significance  of  this  particular  war,  which  seemed  to  her  ex- 
actly like  the  wara  that  had  preceded  it. 

She  did  not  realize  it,  although  Dessalles,  with  whom  she 
was  constantly  associated,  followed  its  course  with  passionate 
interest,  and  tried  to  explain  what  he  felt  about  it;  and 
^though  the  "  God's  people  "  who  came  to  see  her  brought  to 


112  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

her  the  popular  rumors  about  the  invasion  of  Antichrist ;  and 
although  Julie,  now  the  Princess  Drubetskaya,  who  had  again 
commenced  to  correspond  with  her,  wrote  her  patriotic  letters 
from  Moscow. 

"I  am  going  to  write  to  you  in  Russian,  — pa  Russki,  — my  dear 
friend,"  wrote  Julie,  "  because  I  hate  all  the  French,  and  their  language 
likewise.  I  cannot  even  bear  to  hear  it  spoken.  Here  in  Moscow  we  are 
all  carried  away  by  our  enthusiasm  for  our  idolized  emperor. 

*'  My  poor  husband  is  enduring  hunger  and  privations  at  Jewish  taverns; 
but  the  tidings  which  I  get  from  liim  still  further  excite  me. 

**  Ton  have  undoubtedly  heard  of  the  heroic  action  of  Rayevsky,  who 
embraced  his  two  sons,  saying,  *  I  will  perish  with  them,  bat  we  will 
never  yield.'  And,  indeed,  though  the  enemy  was  twice  as  strong  as  we 
were,  we  did  not  yield. 

'*  We  spend  our  time  as  best  we  can :  during  war,  it  must  be  as  during 
war.  The  Princess  Alina  and  Sophie  spend  whole  days  with  me,  and  we 
wretched  widows  of  living  husbands,  while  ravelling  lint,  have  good  long 
talks;  only  you,  my  dear,  are  absent."     And  so  on. 

The  principal  reason  why  the  Princess  Mariya  did  not  real- 
ize the  whole  significance  of  this  war,  was  that  the  old  prince 
never  said  a  word  about  it,  never  mentioned  it,  and,  at  dinner, 
often  laughed  at  Dessalles,  who  would  grow  eloquent  over  it. 
The  prince's  tone  was  so  calm  and  firm  that  the  Princess 
Mariya  believed  in  him  without  question. 

All  through  the  month  of  July,  the  old  prince  was  extraor- 
dinarily active  and  energetic.  He  set  out  another  new  orchard, 
and  built  a  new  building  for  the  use  of  his  household  serfs. 
The  only  thing  that  disquieted  the  Princess  Mariya  was  that 
he  slept  very  little,  and,  relinquishing  his  ordinary  habit  of 
sleeping  in  his  cabinet,  he  each  day  changed  his  sleeping^rooni. 
One  time  he  gave  orders  to  have  his  camp  bedstead  set  up  in 
the  gallery  j  then  he  would  try  the  sofa,  or  the  Voltaire  easy- 
chair  in  the  drawing-room,  and  doze  without  undressing,  while 
the  lad  Petrusha — and  not  Mademoiselle  Bourienne — read 
aloud  to  him :  then,  again,  he  would  spend  the  night  in  the 
dining-room.* 

Early  in  August,  he  received  a  second  letter  from  Prince 
Andrei.  In  the  first,  which  came  soon  after  his  departure  for 
the  army.  Prince  Andrei  humbly  begged  his  father's  pardon 
for  what  he  had  permitted  himself  to  say  to  him,  and  besought 
him  to  restore  him  to  favor.  The  old  prince  had  replied  to 
this  in  an  affectionate  letter,  and  it  was  shortly  after  that  he 
gave  up  his  intimacy  with  the  Frenchwoman. 

Prince  Andrei's  second  letter,  written  from  near  Vitebsk, 

*  This  was  a  characteristic  of  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena* 


WAB  AKD  PEACE.  113 

after  it  had  been  captared  by  the  French^  contained  a  brief 
account  of  the  campaign,  with  the  plan  of  it  sketched  out,  and 
also  his  id^as  as  to  the  ultimate  issue  of  it.  In  the  same  let- 
ter Prince  Andrei  represented  to  his  father  the  inconvenience 
of  his  position  so  near  to  the  theatre  of  the  war,  in  the  very  line 
of  march  of  the  annies,  and  urged  him  to  go  to  Moscow. 

At  dinner  that  day^  hearing  Dessalles  mentioning  the  rumor 
that  the  French  had  already  reached  Vitebsk,  the  old  prince 
remembered  his  letter  from  Prince  Andrei. 

'^Had  a  letter  from  Prince  Andrei  to-day/'  said  he. 
"  Haven't  you  read  it  ?  " 

"  No,  mon  ^p^e,"  replied  the  princess  timidly.  She  could 
not  possibly  have  read  the  letter,  as  she  did  not  even  know 
that  one  had  been  received. 

'<  He  writes  me  about  this  campaign,"  said  the  old  prince, 
with  that  scornful  smile  which  had  become  habitual  with  him, 
and  which  always  accompanied  any  mention  of  the  war  then 
in  progress. 

"  It  must  be  very  interesting,"  said  Dessalles.  "  The  prince 
is  in  a  position  to  know  "  — 

"Ah,  very  interesting,"  interrupted  Mademoiselle  Bourienne. 

"  Go  and  fetch  it  to  me,^^  said  the  old  prince  to  Mademoi- 
selle Bourienne.  "  It's  on  the  little  table,  you  know,  under 
the  paper-weight.'* 

Mademoiselle  Bourienne  sprang  away  with  eager  haste. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  cried,  scowling;  "do  you  go,  Mikhail  Ivan- 
uitch." 

Mikhail  Ivanuitch  got  up  and  went  into  the  cabinet.  But, 
as  he  did  not  immediately  return  with  it,  the  old  prince,  un- 
easily glancing  around,  threw  down  his  napkin  and  went  him- 
self. 

"  He  won't  be  able  to  find  it ;  he'll  upset  everything." 

While  he  was  gone,  the  Princess  Mariya,  Dessalles,  Mile. 
Bourienne,  and  even  Nikolushka  silently  exchanged  glances. 
The  old  prince  came  hurrying  back,  accompanied  by  Mikhail 
Ivanuitch,  and  bringing  the  letter  and  a  plan ;  but  instead  of 
letting  them  be  read  during  the  dinner  time  he  placed  them  by 
his  side. 

Passing  into  the  drawing-room,  he  handed  the  letter  to  the 
Princess  Mariya  and,  spreading  out  the  plan  of  the  new  build- 
ing, he  began  to  study  it,  but  at  the  same  time  commanded  the 
Princess  Mariya  to  read  the  letter  aloud.  After  she  had  read 
it,  she  looked  inquiringly  at  her  father.  He  was  studying  the 
plan,  apparently  immersed  in  his  thoughts. 
VOL.  3.  —  8. 


114  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

'^  Wliat  do  you  think  about  this,  prince  ?  "  asked  DessaUefl, 
hazarding  the  question. 

"I  —  I  ?''  exclaimed  the  prince,  as  though  being  aroused  to 
some  disagreeable  reality,  but  still  not  taking  his  eyes  from 
the  plan. 

''It  is  quite  possible  that  the  theatre  of  the  war  may  be 
approaching  us  "  — 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  the  theatre  of  war ! ''  exclaimed  the  prince. 
''  I  have  said,  and  I  still  say,  that  the  theatre  of  the  war  is 
in  Poland,  and  the  enemy  will  never  venture  ta  csosa  the 
Niemen." 

Dessalles  looked  in  amazement  at  the  prince,  who  spoke  of 
the  Kiemen  when  the  enemy  was  already  at  the  Dnieper ;  but 
the  Princess  Mariya,  who  had  forgotten  the  geographical  posi- 
tion of  the  Kiemen,  supposed  that  what  her  father  said  was 
correct. 

''  As  soon  as  the  snow  begins  to  thaw  they  will  be  swallowed 
up  in  the  swamps  of  Poland.  Only  they  cannot  see  it,^'  pur- 
sued the  old  prince,  evidently  thinking  of  the  campaign  of 
1807,  which,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  had  not  been  so  long  ago* 
''  Benigsen  ought  to  have  marched  into  Prussia  before  this ; 
then  the  affair  would  have  taken  another  direction  "  — 

"But,  prince,"  timidly  suggested  Dessalles,  "Vitebsk  is 
mentioned  in  the  letter"  — 

"Ah !  in  the  letter !  —  Yes  "  —  involuntarily  exclaimed  the 
prince.  "Yes  —  yes" —  His  face  had  suddenly  assumed  a 
sour  expression.  He  paused  for  a  moment.  "  Yes,  he  writes 
that  the  French  were  beaten  —  near  some  river — what  was 
it?" 

Dessalles  dropped  his  eyes.  "The  prince  wrote  nothing 
about  that,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Didn't  he,  indeed  !    Well,  I  certainly  did  not  imagine  it !" 

A  long  silence  ensued. 

"Yea  —  yes —  Well,  Mikhail  Ivanuitch!"  he  suddenly 
exclaimed,  raising  his  head  and  pointing  at  the  plan  of  the 
new  building.  "  Tell  me  how  you  propose  to  change  this  "  — 
Mikhail  Ivanuitch  drew  up  to  the  table,  and  the  prince,  after 
discussing  the  plan  of  the  new  edifice,  left  the  room,  casting 
an  angry  glance  on  the  Princess  Mariya  and  Dessalles. 

The  princess  noticed  Dessalles's  confused  and  wondering 
look  fastened  on  her  father,  remarked  his  silence,  and  was 
dumfounded  at  her  father  having  forgotten  to  take  his  son's 
letter  from  the  drawing-room  table ;  but  she  was  afraid 
to  speak  or  to  ask  Dessalles  the  cause  of   his  confusion 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  116 

and  silence,  and  she  was  afraid  even  to  think  what  it 
might  be. 

In  the  evening,  Mikhail  Ivanuitch  was  sent  by  the  prince 
for  his  son's  letter,  which  had  been  forgotten  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  Princess  Mariya  handed  him  the  letter.  And, 
although  it  was  a  trying  thing  for  her  to  do,  she  permitted 
herself  to  ask  him  what  her  father  was  doing. 

"He  is  always  busy,"  replied  Mikhail  Ivanuitch,  with  a 
polite  but  sarcastic  smile  that  made  the  Princess  Mariya  turn 
pale.  "  He  is  very  much  interested  in  the  new  building.  He 
has  been  reading  a  little,  but  just  now,"  continued  Mikhail 
Ivanuitch,  lowering  his  voice,  **  he  is  at  his  desk ;  he  must  be 
working  over  his  *  will.' " 

Latterly,  one  of  the  prince's  favorite  occupations  had  been 
to  arrange  the  papers  which  were  to  be  left  after  his  death,- 
and  which  he  called  his  "  will." 

"And  is  he  sending  Alpatuitch  to  Smolensk?"  asked  the 
Princess  Mariya. 

"He  is  \  he  has  been  waiting  for  some  time." 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  Mikhail  Ivanuitch  returned  to  the  cabinet,  he  found 
the  prince  sitting  at  his  open  bureau,  with  his  spectacles  on 
and  his  eyes  shaded  by  an  abat-jour.  He  was  reading  by  the 
light  of  a  shaded  candle  and  with  a  peculiarly  solemn  expres- 
sion, holding  very  far  from  his  eyes  the  manuscript  —  his 
Eemarki,  he  called  it  —  which  he  wished  to  have  presented  to 
the  sovereign  after  his  death. 

When  Mikhail  Ivanuitch  came  in,  the  old  prince's  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears  started  by  the  recollection  of  the  time  when 
he  had  written  what  he  was  now  reading.  He  snatched  the 
letter  from  Mikhail  Ivanuitch's  hand,  thrust  it  in  his  pocket, 
replaced  the  manuscript,  and  summoned  the  long-waiting 
Alpatuitch. 

He  held  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  was  jotted  down  what  he 
wished  to  be  done  at  Smolensk,  and  as  he  paced  back  and 
forth  through  the  room  past  the  servant  standing  at  the  door, 
he  delivered  his  instructions. 

"First, — do  you  hear?  —  letter-paper  like  this  specimen, 
gilt-edged — here's  the  pattern  so  as  not  to  make  any  mis- 
take;— varnish;  —  sealing-wax"  —  following  Mikhail  Ivan- 
uitch's memorandum. 


116  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  and  kept  glancing  at  the 
memorandum  of  purchases.  ' 

"Then  be  sure  to  give  this  letter  about  the  deed  to  the 
governor  in  person." 

Then  he  laid  special  stress  on  getting  the  bolts  for  his  new 
edifice,  which  must  be  of  a  special  pattern  invented  by  him- 
self. Then  a  folio  was  wanted  for  holding  his  "will."  It 
took  more  than  two  hours  to  charge  Alpatuitch  with  all  the 
commissions,  and  still  the  prince  did  not  let  him  go.  He  sat . 
down,  tried  to  think,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  fell  into  a  doze. 
Alpatuitch  stirred  uneasily. 

"  Well,  get  you  gone !  get  you  gone  f  if  I  need  anything 
more  I  will  send  for  you." 

Alpatuitch  left  the  room.  The  prince  went  to  the  bureisiu 
again,  glanced  into  it,  touched  the  papers  with  his  hand, 
closed  it  again,  and,  going  to  his  table,  sat  down  to  write  his 
note  to  the  governor. 

It  was  already  late  when,  having  sealed  the  letter,  he  got  up. 
He  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  but  he  knew  that  he  should  not 
sleep,  and  that  the  most  miserable  thoughts  would  haunt  him 
as  soon  as  he  lay  down.  He  rang  for  Tikhon,  and  went  with 
him  through  the  rooms,  so  as  to  select  the  place  where  to  set 
the  bed  for  the  night.    He  went  about  measuring  every  comer. 

There  was  no  place  that  seemed  to  please  him,  but  anything 
was  better  than  his  usual  sofa  in  his  cabinet.  This  divan  was 
terrible  to  him,  apparently  on  account  of  the  trying  thoughts 
which  passed  through  his  mind  as  he  lay  upon  it.  There  was 
no  place  that  satisfied  him,  but  he  was  best  of  all  pleased  with 
the  corner  in  the  divan-room  behind  the  piano-forte ;  he  had 
never  before  slept  there. 

Tikhon  and  a  man  servant  brought  in  the  bedstead,  and 
began  to  make  the  bed. 

"Not  that  way!  Not  that  way!"  cried  the  prince,  and 
with  his  own  hand  he  pushed  it  an  inch  or  two  farther  away 
from  the  corner,  and  then  nearer  again. 

"  Well,  at  last,  I  have  done  everything ;  let  me  rest," 
thought  the  prince,  and  he  commanded  Tikhon  to  undress  him. 

Painfully  scowling  at  the  effort  required  to  take  off  his 
kaftan  and  pantaloons,  the  prince  at  last  got  undressed,  and 
let  himself  drop  heavily  on  his  bed,  and  then  seemed  lost  in 
thought  as  he  gazed  scornfully  at  his  yellow,  shrivelled  legs. 
Thought,  however,  was  absent ;  he  was  merely  sluggish  about 
undertaking  the  labor  of  lifting  those  same  legs  and  getting 
them  into  bed.     "  Okh  !  what  a  trial !    Okh  I  why  must  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  117 

end  be  so  slow  in  coming !  Why  can't  you  leave  me  in 
peace  ?  "  he  said  to  himself.  Screwing  up  his  lips,  he,  for  the 
twenty-thousandth  time,  made  the  effort,  and  then  lay  down. 
But  he  was  scarcely  on  his  back  before  the  whole  bed  sud- 
denly began,  with  slow  and  regular  motion,  to  rock  backward 
and  forward,  as  though  it  were  heavily  breathing  and  tossing. 
This  thing  happened  to  him  almost  every  night.  He  opened 
his  eyes,  which  he  had  just  closed. 

"  No  repose  !  Curse  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  full  of  fury  against 
something.  "  Yes,  yes  !  there  must  have  been  something  else 
of  importance,  of  very  great  importance,  which  I  kept  till  I 
should  go  to  bed.  Was  it  the  bolts  ?  No,  I  told  him  about 
that.  No,  it  was  something  that  happened  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  Princess  Mariya  had  some  nonsense  to  repeat. 
Dessalles — that  idiot!  —  made  some  remark.  There  was* 
something  in  my  pocket !  I  can't  remember.  Tishkal  what 
were  we  talking  about  at  dinner  time  ?  " 

**  About  Prince  Mikhail "  — 

**  Hold  your  tongue  ! " 

The  prince  thumped  his  hand  on  the  table.  '^  Now,  I  know — 
it  was  Prince  Andrei's  letter.  The  Princess  Mariya  read  it 
aloud.  Dessalles  said  something  about  Vitebsk.  Now,  I  will 
read  it." 

He  bade  Tikhon  fetch  him  the  letter  from  his  pocket,  and 
place  a  small  table  near  the  bed,  with  his  lemonade  and  a  wax 
taper,  and,  putting  on  his  spectacles,  he  began  to  read.  There 
only,  as  he  read  the  letter,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  by  the 
feeble  light  of  the  candle  under  the  green  shade,  he  for  the 
first  time  for  a  moment  took  in  its  full  signiiicance. 

**The  French  at  Vitebsk!  in  four  marches  they  can  reach 
Smolensk;  maybe  they  are  there  now.  Tishka!"  Tikhon 
sprang  forward.  "  No  matter !  Nothing  !  nothing  !  "  he 
cried. 

He  slipped  the  letter  under  the  candle-stick,  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

And  there  arose  before  him  the  Danube,  —  a  brilliant  noon- 
day,—  the  rushes,  —  the  Russian  camp  and  himself,  a  young 
general  with  not  a  single  wrinkle  on  his  face  :  hale  and  hearty, 
gay  and  ruddy,  going  into  Potemkin*s  bright-colored  tent,  and 
the  burning  feeling  of  hatred  against  the  ^'  favorite  "  stirs  in  him 
now  as  violently  as  it  did  even  then.  And  he  recalls  all  the 
words  which  were  spoken  at  his  first  interview  with  Potem- 
kin.  And  his  fancy  brings  up  before  him  again  a  stout,  short 
woman,  with  a  fat,  sallow  laee;  —  mdtushka-imperatritsa, — 


118  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  little  mother  empress,  —  her  smile,  her  words  of  flattetyf 
when  she  for  the  first  time  gave  him  audience,  and  he  remem- 
bers her  face  as  it  appeared  on  the  catafalque,  and  then  the 
quarrel  with  Zubof,  which  took  place  over  her  coffin,  over  the 
right  to  approach  her  hand. 

<<  Akh !  would  that  those  old  times  could  return,  and  that 
the  present  would  all  come  to  an  end  —  soon  —  soon  —  that  I 
might  at  last  find  rest ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LuisiYA  GoRUi,  Prince  Nikolai  Andreyitch  Bolkonsky's 
estate,  was  situated  about  sixty  versts  from  Smolensk  and 
three  versts  from  the  Moscow  highway. 

That  evening,  while  the  prince  was  giving  Alpatuitch  his 
commissions,  Dessalles  asked  for  a  few  moments'  talk  with  the 
Princess  Mariya,  and  told  her  that  as  the  prince,  her  father, 
was  not  very  well,  and  refused  to  adopt  any  measures  for  their 
safety,  while  from  Prince  Andrei's  letter  it  was  evident  that 
to  remain  at  Luisiya  Grorui  was  not  unattended  with  danger, 
he  respectfully  advised  her  to  send  a  letter  by  Alpatuitch  to 
the  nachalnik  of  the  government  at  Smolensk,  asking  him 
to  let  her  know  the  real  state  of  affairs,  and  the  measure  oi 
danger  to  which  Luisiya  Gorui  was  exposed. 

Dessalles  wrote  the  letter  for  her  to  the  governor,  and  she 
signed  it,  and  it  was  put  into  Alpatuitch's  hands  with  strict 
injunctions  to  hand  it  to  the  governor,  and  in  case  the  danger 
were  urgent  to  return  as  soon  as  possible. 

Having  received  all  his  instructions,  Alpatuitch,  in  a  white 
beaver  hat,  — a  gift  of  the  prince's,  — with  a  cudgel,  exactly 
like  that  carried  by  the  prince,  went,  escorted  by  all  the  ser- 
vants, to  get  into  the  leather-covered  kibitka,  to  which  a 
troika  of  fat,  roan  steeds  had  been  attached. 

The  duga-bell  was  tied  up,  and  the  little  harness  bells  were 
stuffed  with  paper.  The  prince  would  not  allow  bells  to  be 
used  at  Luisiya  Gorui.  But  Alpatuitch  liked  the  sounds  of 
them  on  a  long  journey.  His  fellow  servants,  the  zemsky 
or  communal  scribe,  the  house  clerk,  the  pastry  cook,  and 
the  scullery  maid,  two  old  women,  a  young  groom,  the  coach- 
man, and  a  number  of  other  household  serfs,  accompanied 
him. 

His  daughter  stuffed  back  of  the  seat  and  under  it  some 
down  cusliious  covered  with  chintz.    His  wife's  sister,  an  old 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  119 

woman,  stealthily  thrust  in  a  small  bunfUe.  One  of  the 
•coachmen  helped  him  to  get  to  his  place. 

"  Well,  well !  woman's  fussiness !  Oh !  women,  women !  " 
he  exclaimed,  puffing  and  speaking  in  the  same  short,  hurried 
way  as  the  old  prince  did;  and  he  took  his  place  in  the 
kibitka.  Having  given  his  last  orders  to  the  zemsky  in  regard 
to  the  work,  Alpatuitch  removed  his  hat  from  his  bald  head 
•and  crossed  himself  thrice  —  and  in  this  respect  he  certainly 
'did  not  imitate  the  prince. 

**If  anything  should — you  —  you  will  hurry  back,  Yakof 
Alpatuitch ;  for  Christ's  sake,  have  pity  on  us  ! "  screamed  his 
wife,  with  a  covert  reference  to  the  rumors  of  the  war  and  the 
«nemy. 

**  Oh,  women,  women !  women's  fussiness  ! "  growled  Alpa- 
tuitch to  himself,  and  he  rode  away,  glancing  around  him  at 
the  fields,  some  of  which  were  covered  with  yellowing  rye, 
"Others  with  thick  crops  of  oats  still  green,  others  where  the  men 
were  just  beginning  to  do  the  second  ploughing.  He  rode  on, 
admiring  the  summer  wheat,  which  gave  an  unusually  abun- 
dant crop  that  year ;  then  he  gazed  with  delight  at  the  rye- 
£elds,  where  the  reapers  were  ^ready  beginning  to  work,  and 
he  made  mental  calculations  as  to  future  sowing  and  gathering 
of  crops,  and  wondered  if  he  had  forgotten  any  of  the  prince's 
commissions. 

Having  stopped  twice  on  the  road  to  bait  his  horses,  Alpa- 
tuitch, on  the  sixteenth  of  August,  reached  the  city. 

On  the  way  he  met  and  passed  wagon  trains  and  detach- 
ments of  troops.  As  he  approached  Smolensk,  he  heard  the 
sounds  of  distant  firing,  but  these  reports  did  not  surprise 
him.  He  was  more  surprised  than  at  anything  else  to  see,  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  city,  tents  pitched  in  the  midst  of  a  mag- 
nificent field  of  oats,  which  some  soldiers  were  mowing  appar- 
ently for  the  sake  of  fodder;  this  circumstance  surprised 
Alpatuitch,  but  it  quickly  slipped  his  mind,  which  was  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  business. 

All  the  interests  of  Alpatuitch's  life  had  been  for  more  than 
thirty  years  confined  to  fulfilling  the  prince's  wishes,  and  he 
had  never  taken  a  step  outside  of  this  narrow  circle.  Every- 
thing that  did  not  appertain  to  carrying  out  the  prince's 
directions  did  not  interest  him,  and  might  be  said  not  even  to 
exist  for  Alpatuitch. 

Arriving  on  the  evening  of  August  sixteenth  at  Smolensk, 
Alpatuitch  put  up  at  an  inn,  kept  by  the  dvornik  Ferapontof, 
across  the  Dnieper,  in  the  Gachensky  suburb,  where  he  had 


120  WAR  AND  'PEACE. 

been  in  the  habit  of  making  his  headquarters  for  the  part 
thirty  years.  Ferapontof,  thirty  years  before,  had,  with  the 
connivance  of  Alpatuitch,  bought  a  piece  of  woodland  of  the 
prince,  and  begun  to  trade,  and  now  he  had  a  home  of  his 
own,  a  tavern,  and  a  grain  shop.  Ferapontof  was  a  stout,  dark- 
complexioned,  good-looking  muzhik  of  middle  age,  with  thick 
lips,  with  a  thick  nobbed  nose,  and  with  knobs  over  his  black, 
scowling  brows,  ajid  with  a  portly  belly. 

Ferapontof  was  standing  at  the  street  door  of  his  shop,  in 
his  colored  chintz  shirt  and  waistcoat.  Catching  sight  of 
Alpatuitch,  he  came  out  to  meet  him. 

"Welcome,  Yakof  Alpatuitch.  The  people  are  leaving 
town,  and  here  you  ate  coming  to  town  !  "  exclaimed  the  land- 
lord. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     Leaving  town  ?  "  asked  Alpatuitch. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say.  The  people  are  fools.  They're  all 
afraid  of  a  Frenchman ! " 

"Woman's  chatter!  woman's  chatter!"  grumbled  Alpa> 
tuitch. 

"  That's  my  opinion,  Yakof  Alpatuitch.  I  tell  'em  there's 
orders  not  to  let  him  in  5  so,  of  course,  he  won't  get  in.  And 
yet  those  muzhiks  ask  three  rubles  for  a  horse  and  cart. 
That  isn't  Christian  of  'em  !  " 

Yakof  Alpatuitch  paid  little  attention  to  what  he  said.  He 
asked  for  a  samovar  and  some  hay  for  his  horses,  and,  after 
he  had  sipped  his  tea,  he  went  to  bed. 

All  night  long  the  troops  went  tramping  by  the  tavern 
along  the  street.  The  next  morning  Alpatuitch  put  on  his 
kamzoly  which  he  always  wore  only  in  town,  and  set  forth  to 
do  his  eiTands.  The  morning  was  sunny,  and  at  eight  o'clock 
it  was  already  hot.  "A  fine  day  for  the  wheat  harvest," 
Alpatuitch  said  to  himself.  Beyond  the  city  the  sounds  of 
firing  had  been  audible  since  early  morning.  About  eight 
o'clock  a  heavy  cannonading  made  itself  heard  in  addition  to 
the  musketry. 

The  streets  were  crowded  with  people  hurrying  to  and  fro  ; 
there  were  throngs  of  soldiery ;  but,  just  as  usuad,  izvoshchiks 
were  driving  about,  merchants  were  standing  at  their  shop 
doors,  and  the  morning  service  was  going  on  in  the  churches. 

Alpatuitch  did  his  errands  at  the  shops,  at  the  government 
offices,  at  the  post-office,  and  at  the  governor's.  At  the  gov- 
ernment offices,  at  the  shops,  at  the  post-office,  everywhere, 
every  one  was  talking  of  the  war  and  the  enemy,  who  was 
even  now  making  his  descent  upon  the  city.    Every  one  was 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  121 

asking  every  one  else  what  was  to  be  done,  and  eveiy  one 
was  trying  to  re-assure  every  one  else. 

At  the  governor's  house,  Alpatuitch  found  a  great  throng  of 
people,  Cossacks,  and  a  travelling  carriage  belonging  to  the 
governor.  On  the  doorstep  Yakof  Alpatuitch  met  two  of  the 
local  gentry,  one  of  whom  he  knew.  The  nobleman  whom  he 
knew,  a  former  ispravnik,  or  district  captain  of  police,  was 
talking  with  some  heat. 

"  But  I  tell  you  this  is  no  joke  !  "  he  was  saying.  "  It's  very 
well  for  a  man  who  is  alone.  One  can  endure  to  be  single  and 
poor ;  but  to  have  thirteen  in  your  family,  and  your  whole 
property  at  stake!  —  What  do  the  authorities  amount  to  if 
they  let  such  things  come  on  us  ?  £kh !  they  ought  to  hang 
such  cut-throats  "  — 

"  There,  there  !  calm  youi-self  ! "  said  the  other. 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  to  me ;  let  them  hear ! 
Why,  we  are  not  dogs  ! "  said  the  ex-ispravnik,  and,  looking 
round,  he  caught  sight  of  Alpatuitch.  '<Ah!  Yakof  Alpa- 
tuitch, what  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"On  an  errand  from  his  illustriousness  to  the  governor," 
replied  Alpatuitch,  proudly  lifting  his  head,  and  placing  his 
hand  in  the  breast  of  his  coat  —  which  he  always  did  when  he 
remembered  the  prince.  "  He  sent  me  to  ascertain  the  posi- 
tion  of  affairs,"  said  he. 

"Well,  then,  ascertain  it,"  cried  the  proprietor.  "Not  a 
cart  to  be  had  —  nothing !  There,  do  you  hear  that  ?  "  he 
exclaimed,  calling  their  attention  to  the  direction  in  which  the 
firing  could  be  heard.  "  That's  the  pass  they've  brought  us 
to !  ruining  us  all  —  the  cut-throats  ! "  he  muttered  again,  and 
turned  down  the  steps. 

Alpatuitch  shook  his  head,  and  went  upstairs.  In  the 
reception  room  were  merchants,  women,  chinovniks,  silently 
exchanging  glances.  The  door  into  the  governor's  cabinet  was 
opened,  and  ail  stood  up  and  crowded  forward.  Out  of  the 
room  hurried  a  chinovnik,  exchanged  some  words  with  a  mer- 
chant, beckoned  to  a  stout  chinovnik,  with  a  cross  around  his 
neck,  to  follow  him,  and  again  disappeared  behind  the  door, 
evidently  avoiding  all  the  glances  and  questions  that  followed 
him. 

Alpatuitch  pressed  forward,  and,  when  the  chinovnik  came 
out  again,  placing  his  hand  under  the  breast  of  his  overcoat,  he 
addressed  the  official,  and  handed  him  the  two  letters. 

"  For  the  Baron  Asche,  from  General-in-Chief  Prince  Bolkon- 
sky/'  he  said,  so  solemnly  and  significantly  that  the  chinovnik 


122  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

turned  round  to  him  and  took  the  letters.  At  the  end  of  a. 
few  moments  the  governor  summoned  Alpatuitch,  and  said  to 
him  hurriedly :  — 

*^  Inform  the  prince  and  the  princess  that  I  know  nothing 
about  it  at  all.  I  have  been  acting  in  accordance  with  supe- 
rior instructions.  —  Here  !  " 

He  gave  a  paper  to  Alpatuitch. 

"  However,  as  the  prince  is  ailing,  my  advice  to  him  is  to- 
go  to  Moscow.  I  am  going  there  myself  —  immediately.  Tell 
him." 

But  the  governor  did  not  finish  his  sentence;  an  officer, 
breathless  and  covered  with  sweat  came  rushing  in,  and  hur- 
riedly said  something  in  French.  An  expression  of  horror 
crossed  the  governor's  face. 

"  Go,"  said  he,  nodding  to  Alpatuitch ;  and  then  he  began 
to  ply  the  officer  with  questions.  Pitiful,  frightened,  helpless 
glances  followed  Alpatuitch  as  he  came  out  of  the  governor's 
cabinet.  Involuntarily  listening  now  to  the  cannonading,  con- 
stantly growing  nearer  and  more  violent,  Alpatuitch  hastened 
back  to  the  inn. 

The  paper  which  the  governor  had  given  him  was  as  fol- 
lows •  — 

"  I  assure  you  that  the  city  of  Smolensk  is  not  in  the  slightest  danger, 
and  it  is  entirely  unlikely  that  it  will  be  exposed  to  any.  1,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  Prince  Bagration,  on  the  other*  shall  effect  a  junction  before 
Smolensk;  and  this  will  take  place  on  the  22d  instant,  and  the  two. 
armies,  with  united  forces,  will  defend  their  fellow-countrymen  of  the 
government  committed  to  yoiu*  charge,  until  their  efforts  shall  have 
driven  away  the  foes  of  the  fatherland,  or  until  the  last  warrior  shall 
have  perished  from  their  gallant  ranks.  You  will  see  from  this  that  you 
have  a  perfect  right  to  calm  the  inhabitants  of  Smolensk,  since  any  one 
defended  by  two  such  brave  armies  may  well  be  confident  that  victory 
will  be  theirs."  (Order  of  the  day,  from  Barclay  de  Tolly  to  Baroa 
Asche,  the  civil  governor  of  Smolensk,  1812.) 

The  inhabitants  were  roaming  anxiously  about  the  streets. 

Teams,  loaded  to  repletion  with  domestic  utensils,  chairs, 
clothes-presses,  and  furniture  of  every  description,  were  com- 
ing out  of  the  courtyard-gates  of  the  houses  and  proceeding 
along  the  streets.  At  the  house  next  Ferapontof's  stood  a. 
number  of  teams,  and  the  women  were  bidding  each  other 
good-by,  and  exchanging  parting  gossip.  The  house-dog  was 
barking  and  frisking  around  the  heads  of  the  horses. 

Alpatuitch,  with  a  brisker  gait  than  he  usually  took,  went 
into  the  courtyard  and  proceeded  directly  to  the  barn  where  his 
team  and  horses  were.    The  co^hman  wa9  asleep :  he  aroused 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  123 

him,  told  him  to  hitch  up,  and  went  into  the  house.  In  the 
landlord's  room  were  hesund  the  wailing  of  a  child,  the  broken 
sobs  of  a  woman,  and  FerapontoFs  furious,  harsh  tones.  The 
cook,  fluttering  about  the  bar-room  like  a  frightened  hen,  cried 
as  soon  as  she  saw  Alpatuitch :  ^'  He*s  been  beating  her  to 
death  —  been  beating  the  missis !  He  just  beat  her,  and 
dragged  her  round ! " 

"  What  made  him  do  it  ?  "  asked  Alpatuitch. 

"  She  begged  him  to  go  !  Just  like  a  woman  !  *  Take  us 
away,'  says  she,  '  don't  let  'em  kill  me  and  the  little  ones ; 
everybody,'  says  she,  *  's  going,  and  why,'  says  she,  *  shouldn't 
we  go  too  ? '  And  so  he  began  to  beat  her.  He  just  threshed 
her  and  dragged  her  round ! " 

Alpatuitch  nodded  his  head  as  though  he  approved,  and, 
not  caring  to  hear  any  more  about  it,  went  to  the  room  where 
his  purchases  had  been  left.  It  was  opposite  the  landlord's 
family  room. 

"  You  villain,  you  wretch ! "  at  this  moment  cried  a  thin, 
pale  woman,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  with  a  torn  ker- 
chief on  her  head,  who  came  rushing  out  of  that  room,  and 
flew  downstairs  into  the  court. 

Ferapontof  came  out  behind  her,  and  when  he  saw  Alpa- 
tuitch, ne  pulled  down  his  waistcoat,  smoothed  his  hair,  and 
followed  Alpatuitch  into  the  room. 

"  And  so  you  are  going  so  soon  ?  "  he  asked. 

Not  paying  any  attention  to  this  question,  and  not  looking 
at  the  landlord,  Alpatuitch,  after  making  a  bundle  of  his  pur- 
chases, asked  how  much  he  should  pay  for  the  accommodation. 

•'  We  will  settle  that  by  and  by.  How  was  it  at  the  gov- 
ernor's ?  • '  asked  Ferapontof.     "  What  was  the  talk  there  ?  " 

Alpatuitch  replied  that  the  governor  had  not  said  anything 
very  decisive  to  him. 

"  How  can  we  possibly  get  away  with  our  things  ?  Why, 
they  ask  seven  rubles  to  go  to  Dorogobuzh !  And  I  tell  you 
there's  mighty  little  Christianity  about  them ! "  said  he. 
"  Selivanof  made  a  good  thing  Thursday,  sold  some  flour  to  the 
army  at  nine  rubles  a  sack.  Say,  will  you  have  some  tea?  " 
he  added. 

While  the  horses  were  being  put  to,  Alpatuitch  and  Fera- 
pontof sipped  their  tea  and  talked  about  the  price  of  wheat, 
about  the  crops,  and  the  splendid  weather  for  harvest. 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  be  calming  down  a  little,"  said  Ferapon- 
tof, getting  up  after  his  three  cups  of  tea.  "  Ours  must  have 
had  the  best  of  it.     They  told  us  they  would  not  let  'em  in* 


124  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

Of  course  we're  strong  enough.  They  say  Matvyei  Ivanuitch 
Platof  drove  eighteen  thousand  of  'em  into  the  Marina  t'other 
day  and  drowned  'em  all." 

Alpatuitch  picked  up  his  purchases  and  gave  them  to  the 
•coachman,  who  came  in  ;  then  he  settled  his  account  with  the 
landlord.  The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard  outside  the 
door,  the  trampling  of  the  horses,  and  the  jingling  of  bells,  as 
the  kibitka  drove  up.  It  was  by  this  time  long  into  the  after- 
noon. One  side  of  the  street  was  in  shadow  ^  the  other  was 
brightly  lighted  by  the  sun.  Alpatuitch  glanced  out  of 
the  window,  and  went  to  the  door.  Suddenly  he  heard  the 
strange  sound  of  a  distant  whizzing,  and  a  dull  thud,  immedi- 
ately followed  by  the  long  reverberating  roar  of  a  cannon 
which  made  the  windows  rattle. 

Alpatuitch  went  out  into  the  street ;  a  couple  of  men  were 
running  down  toward  the  bridge.  In  various  directions  could 
be  heard  the  whistling  and  crashing  of  round  shot,  and  the 
bursting  of  bomb-shells  falling  into  tne  city.  But  these  sounds 
attracted  little  attention  among  the  citizens  compared  with 
the  roar  of  the  cannonading  heard  beyond  the  city.  This  was 
the  bombardment  which  Napoleon  commanded  to  be  opened 
;at  five  o'clock,  from  one  hundred  and  thirty  cannon.  The 
people  at  first  did  not  realize  the  significance  of  this  bombard- 
ment. The  crash  of  falling  shells  and  cannon-balls  at  first 
wakened  only  a  sort  of  curiosity.  Ferapontof's  wife,  who  had 
been  steadily  wailing  and  weeping  in  the  barn,  dried  her  tears 
and  came  out  to  the  gates  with  her  baby  in  her  arms,  and 
gazed  silently  at  the  people  and  listened  to  the  noise. 

The  cook  and  the  shojvtender  came  down  to  the  gates.  All 
looked  with  eager  curiosity  at  the  projectiles  flying  over  their 
heads.  Around  the  comer  came  several  men,  talking  with 
great  animation. 

"  What  force  there  was  ! "  one  was  saying.  "  Smashed  the 
roof  and  the  ceiling  all  into  kindling-wood." 

"And  it  ploughed  up  the  ground  just  like  a  hog!"  said 
another. 

"It  was  a  good  shot!  Lively  work!"  said  he,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  You  had  to  look  out  mighty  sharp  and  jump,  else  'twould 
have  smeared  you ! " 

The  people  gathered  round  the  new-comers.  They  stopped 
and  told  how  shots  had  been  falling  into  a  house  near  them. 
Meantime,  other  projectiles,  round  shot,  with  a  not  disagreeable 
whistling,  and  shells,  with  a  swift,  melancholy  hissing,  kept  fly- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  125 

ing  over  the  heads  of  the  people.  But  not  a  single  projectile 
feU  near  them ;  all  flew  over  and  beyond.  Alpatuitch  took 
his  seat  in  his  kibitka.  The  landlord  was  standing  at  his 
gate-s.  "  You  are  showing  too  much ! "  he  cried  to  the  cook, 
who,  with  sleeves  rolled  up  above  her  bare  elbows,  had  gone, 
holcQng  up  her  red  petticoat,  down  to  the  corner  to  hear  the 
news.  '^But  it  was  miraculous,''  she  was  just  saying,  but 
when  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  landlord's  voice  she  turned 
round  and  let  her  petticoat  drop. 

Once  more,  but  veiy  near  this  time,  came  something  with 
a  whistling  sound,  like  a  bird  flying  toward  the  ground ;  there 
was  a  flash  of  Are  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  a  loud,  stunning 
crash,  and  the  street  was  filled  with  smoke. 

**  You  rascal,  what  did  you  do  that  for  ?  "  cried  the  land- 
lord, rushing  down  to  the  cook.  At  the  same  instant,  the 
pitiful  screaming  of  women  was  heard  on  various  sides;  a 
child  wailed  in  terror,  and  the  people  gathered  in  silence  with 
pale  faces  round  the  cook.  Above  all  other  sounds  were  heard 
the  groans  and  exclamations  of  the  cook. 

'<  Oi-o^kh !  my  darlings !  my  poor  darlings  I  Don't  let  them 
kill  me  !    My  poor  darlings ! " 

Five  minutes  later,  not  a  soul  was  left  in  the  street.  The 
cook,  whose  thigh  had  been  broken  by  a  fragment  of  the 
bomb,  was  carried  into  the  kitchen.  Alpatuitch,  his  coach- 
man, and  Ferapontof  s  wife  and  children  and  the  hostler,  were 
cowering  in  the  cellar,  with  ears  alert.  The  roar  of  cannon, 
the  whistle  of  projectiles,  and  the  pitiful  groans  of  the  cook, 
which  overmastered  all  else,  ceased  not  for  a  single  instant. 
The  landlord's  wife  rocked  and  crooned  her  infant  at  one 
moment,  and  at  the  next  she  would  ask  in  a  terrified  whisper 
of  all  who  came  down  into  the  cellar  where  her  husband,  who 
had  remained  in  the  street,  was. 

The  shop-tender  came  down  into  the  cellar,  and  reported 
that  her  husband  had  gone  with  the  crowd  to  the  cathedral  to 
get  the  wonder-working  ikon  of  Smolensk. 

Toward  twilight,  the  cannonade  began  to  grow  less  violent. 
Alpatuitch  went  out  of  the  cellar  and  stood  in  the  doorway. 
The  evening -sky,  which  before  had  been  cloudless,  was  now 
shrouded  in  smoke.  And  through  this  smoke  strangely  shone 
the  sickle  of  the  young  moon  high  in  the  west.  After  the 
cessation  of  the  terrible  roar  of  the  cannon,  silence  fell  upon 
the  city,  broken  only  by  what  seemed  to  be  a  constantly  in- 
creasing rumble  of  hurrying  steps,  groans,  distant  shouts,  and 
the  crackling  of  flames.    The  cook's  groaning  had  ceased.     In 


126  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

two  different  directions,  volumes  of  black  smoke  arose  from 
the  conflagrations  and  spread  over  the  city.  Soldiers  in  vari- 
ous uniforms,  mixed  all  in  together,  no  longer  in  orderly  ranks, 
but  like  ants  from  a  demolished  ant-hill,  came  running  and 
walking  from  various  directions  down  the  street.  It  seemed 
to  Alpatuitch  that  some  of  them  were  making  for  FerapontoFs 
tavern.  Alpatuitch  went  down  to  the  gates.  A  regiment 
marching  in  serried  ranks  and  hurrying  along  blocked  the 
street  from  side  to  side. 

"  The  city  is  surrendered !  Off  with  you  !  off  with  you  ! " 
cried  an  officer  who  noticed  him,  and  then  he  turned  to  his 
soldiers  :  "  I  tell  you,  keep  out  of  the  yards,"  he  cried. 

Alpatuitch  went  back  to  the  tavern,  and,  summoning  the 
coachman,  bade  him  start  away.  Alpatuitch  and  the  coach* 
man  were  followed  by  all  Ferapontof's  household.  When 
they  saw  the  smoke  and  the  yellow  tongues  of  the  fire,  which 
now  began  to  shine  out  in  the  gathering  gloom,  the  women,  till 
now  perfectly  silent,  suddenly  unloosed  their  tongues  as  they 
looked  toward  the  city,  and  broke  out  into  what  seemed  like 
an  echo  of  the  lamentations  that  were  to  be  heard  at  the  other 
end  of  the  street.  Alpatuitch  and  the  coachman,  with  trem- 
bling hands,  straightened  the  entangled  reins  and  traces  under 
the  shed. 

As  Alpatuitch  drove  out  of  the  gates,  he  saw  half  a  score  of 
soldiers  in  Ferapontof's  open  shop,  with  loud  discussion,  en- 
gaged in  filling  bags  and  knapsacks  with  wheaten  flour  and 
sunflower  seeds.  Just  at  that  time,  Ferapontof  himself  hap- 
pened to  come  into  his  shop  from  the  street.  When  he  saw 
the  soldiers,  he  started  to  give  them  some  abuse,  but  suddenly 
paused,  and,  clutching  his  hair,  he  broke  out  into  laughter  that 
was  like  a  lamentation. 

"  Take  it  all,  boys.  Don't  leave  any  for  those  devils,"  he 
cried,  grasping  the  bags  himself,  and  helping  to  fling  them  out 
into  the  street.  Some  of  the  soldiers,  frightened,  ran  away ; 
others  still  continued  to  fill  their  sacks.  Seeing  Alpatuitch, 
Ferapontof  called  to  him,  — 

.   "It's  all  up  with  Roosha," *  he  shouted.     "Alpatuitch,  it's 
all  up  with  us !     I  myself  helped  set  the  fires.     All  ruined ! " 

Ferapontof  started  into  the  courtyard.  The  passing  regi- 
ments so  completely  blocked  the  street  that  Alpatuitch  could 
not  make  his  way  along,  and  he  had  to  wait.  Ferapontof s 
wife  and  family  were  also  seated  in  their  telyega,  waiting  aUo 
for  a  chance  to  get  away. 

*  He  oaHs  it  JUasteya,  instead  ol  Bowiya^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  127 

It  was  now  well  into  the  evening.  The  sky  was  studded 
with  stars,  and  occasionally  the  young  moon  gleamed  out  from 
behind  the  billows  of  smoke.  On  the  slope  down  toward  the 
Dnieper,  the  teams  of  Alpatiiitch  and  the  landlord,  which  had 
at  last  been  slowly  advancing  amid  the  ranks  of  soldiery  and 
other  equipages,  were  obliged  to  halt.  A  short  distance  from  the 
cross-roads  where  the  teams  had  halted,  a  house  and  some  shops 
were  burning  on  the  side  street.  The  fire  was  burning  itself 
out.  The  flame  would  die  down  and  lose  itself  in  black  smoke, 
thcR  snd^tealy  flash  forth  brilliantly  again,  bringing  out  with 
strange  di&ta.Bdt!Dess  the  faces  of  the  spectators  standing  on 
the  eros^soads.  In  front  of  the  fire,  the  dark  forms  of  men 
were  dartiag  to  and  fro,  and  above  the  still  audible  crackling 
of  the  fire  were  heard  shouts  and  cries.  Alpatuitch,  dismount- 
ing fiooL  his  kibitka,  as  he  saw  that  he  should  not  be  able  to 
proceed  for  some  time  yet,  walked  down  the  cross-street  to 
look  at  the  conflagration.  Soldiers  were  constantly  busying 
themselyes  with  the  fire,  passing  back  and  forth,  and  Alpa- 
tviteh  saw  two  soldiers,  in  company  with  another  man  in  a 
frieze  coat,  dragging  from  the  fire  some  burning  lumber  across 
the  street  into  the  next  dvor ;  others  were  adding  fagots  of 
straw. 

Alpatuitch  joined  the  great  throng  of  people  who  were  stand- 
ing in  front  of  a  tall  warehouse  that  was  one  mass  of  roaring 
&unes.  The  walls  were  all  on  fire,  the  rear  had  fallen  in,  the 
timbered  roof  was  giving  way,  the  girders  were  blazing.  The 
throng  were  evidently  waiting  for  the  roof  to  cave  in.  At  all 
events,  that  was  what  Alpatuitch  was  waiting  for. 

"Alpatuitch!"  A  well-known  voice  suddenly  called  the 
old  man  by  name.  "  Batyushka !  your  Illustriousness ! "  re- 
plied Alpatuitch,  instantly  recognizing  the  voice  of  his  young 
prince. 

Prince  Andrei,  in  a  riding-oloak,  and  mounted  on  a  black 
horse,  was  stationed  beyond  the  crowd  and  looking  straight  at 
Alpatuitch. 

"  How  come  you  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Your  —  your  Illustriousness,"  stammered  Alpatuitch,  and 
he  sobbed.  "  Your — your — I — I — is — are  we  lost  ?  Your 
father  "  — 

"  How  come  you  here  ?  "  demanded  Prince  Andrei  a  second 
time. 

The  flame  blazed  out  again  at  that  moment  and  revealed  to 
Alpatuitch  his  young  barin's  pale,  weary  face.  Alpatuitch 
told  how  he  had  been  sent  and  what  difliculty  he  had  met  with 


^ 


128  WAR  AyD  PEACE. 

ID  getting  oat  of  town.  —  ^'But  tell  me,  your  lUustrioiisness, 
are  we  really  lost  ?  "  he  asked  once  more. 

Prince  Andrei,  without  replying,  drew  out  a  note-book,  and, 
spreading  it  on  his  knee,  hastily  i)encilled  a  few  lines  on  a 
torn  leaf.    He  wrote  his  sister :  — 

''Smolensk  is  abandoned;  Loisiya  Goroi  will  be  occnpied  by  the 
enemy  inside  of  a  ^veek.  Gro  immediately  to  Moscow.  Send  me  word  as 
soon  as  you  start,  by  an  express  to  Usviazh." 

Having  written  this  note  and  handed  it  to  Alpatoitch,  he 
was  giving  him  some  verbal  instructions  about  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  journey  of  the  prince  and  princess  and  his  son 
and  the  tutor,  and  how  and  where  to  communicate  with  him 
immediately.  He  had  not  had  time  to  finish  these  instructions 
when  a  mounted  staff  nachalnik  accompanied  by  a  suite  came 
galloping  up  to  him. 

<^  You,  a  colonel  ?  "  cried  the  staff  nachalnik  in  a  Germ9.n 
accent  and  a  voice  that  Prince  Andrei  instantly  recognized. 
"  In  your  very  presence  they  are  setting  houses  on  fire,  and 
you  allow  it?  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  You  shall 
answer  for  it ! " 

This  was  Berg,  who  now  had  the  position  of  deputy  chief 
of  staff  to  the  deputy  chief  of  staff  of  the  nachalnik  of  the 
infantry  corps  of  the  left  flank  of  the  first  division  of  the 
army — a  place  that  was  very  agreeable  and  "in  sight"  as 
Berg  expressed  it. 

Prince  Andrei  glanced  at  him,  and,  without  replying,  went 
on  with  his  instructions  to  Alpatuitch :  — 

"  Tell  them  that  I  shall  expect  an  answer  by  the  twenty- 
second,  and  that  if  by  that  time  I  do  not  get  word  that  they 
have  all  gone,  I  myself  shall  be  obliged  to  throw  up  every- 
thing and  go  to  Luisiya  Gorui." 

"I — prince,  I  only  spoke  as  I  did,"  explained  Berg, as  soon 
as  he  recognized  Prince  Andrei,  "because,  because  it  is  my 
duty  to  carry  out  my  orders,  and  I  am  always  very  scrupulous 
in  carrying  them  out.  —  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me,"  said  Berg, 
trying  to  apologize. 

There  was  a  crash  in  the  burning  building.  The  fire  for  an 
instant  died  down;  volumes  of  black  smoke  rolled  up  from 
the  roof.  Again  there  was  a  strange  crashing  sound,  and  the 
huge  building  fell  in. 

"Urroorooroo! "  yelled  the  throng,  with  a  roar  rivalling  that 
of  the  fallen  grain-house,  from  which  now  came  an  odor  like 
hot  cakes,  caused  by  the  burning  flour.    The  flames  darted  up 


War  ANt>  PEACE,  129 

a&d  sent  a  bright  reflection  over  the  throng  standing  around 
the  fire  with  gleefully  excited  or  exhausted  faces. 

The  man  in  the  frieze  coat  waved  his  arm  and  cried,  **  Well 
done !  she  draws  well  now !     Well  done,  boys !  " 

"That's  the  owner  himself,"  various  voices  were  heard 
saying. 

"  So  then,"  said  Prince  Andrei,  addressing  Alpatuitch,  "give 
the  message  just  as  I  have  told  you,"  and,  not  vouchsafing  a 
single  word  to  Berg,  who  still  stood  near  dumb  with  amaze- 
ment, he  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rode  down  the  side  street. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  armies  continued  to  retreat  from  Smolensk.  The 
enemy  followed.  On  the  twenty-second  of  August  the  regi- 
ment which  Prince  Andrei  commanded  was  moving  along  the 
high-road  past  the  "prospekt"  which  led  to  Luisiya  Gorui. 

For  more  than  three  weeks  there  had  been  a  hot  spell  and 
drought.  Each  day  cirrous  clouds  moved  across  the  sky  and 
occasionally  veiled  the  sun ;  but  by  evening  the  heavens  were 
elear  again,  and  the  sun  set  in  brownish  purple  haze.  The  only 
refreshing  that  the  earth  got  was  from  the  heavy  dew  at  night. 
The  standing  crops  of  wheat  were  parched,  and  wasted  their 
seed.  The  marshes  shrunk  away.  The  cattle  bellowed  from 
hunger,  finding  no  grass  along  the  ponds,  which  were  dried 
away  in  the  sun.  Only  at  night  and  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
while  still  the  dew  lay  cool  and  wet,  was  there  any  freshness. 

Bat  on  the  roads,  on  the  high-road  where  the  troops  were 
marching,  even  at  night,  even  in  the  shelter  of  the  forests,  this 
coolness  was  not  to  be  found.  The  dew  was  imperceptible  on 
the  sandy  dust,  which  was  more  than  four  inches  deep. 

At  the  first  i-ay  of  dawn  the  troops  were  set  in  motion.  The 
baggage  train  and  the  field-pieces  ploughed  along  noiselessly, 
sinking  almost  up  to  the  hubs  of  the  wheels,  and  the  infantry 
struggled  through  the  soft,  stifling,  heated  dust  that  settled 
not  even  at  night.  One  part  of  this  sandy  dust  impeded  feet 
and  wheels;  the  other  arose  in  the  air  and  hovered  like  a 
clond  over  the  troops,  filling  eyes,  hair,  ears,  and  nostrils,  and 
above  all  the  lungs,  of  men  and  beasts  alike  as  they  moved 
slowly  along  this  highway.  The  higher  the  sun  rose,  the  higher 
rose  this  cloud  of  dust ;  and  though  the  sky  was  cloudless,  the 
naiked  eye  could  endure  to  look  at  the  sun  through  this  curtain 
of  fine  hot  dust. 
voi*.  8,  —  0. 


ISO  VSTAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  sun  looked  like  a  purple  ball.  There  W^as  not  a  breath 
of  air  stirring;  and  the  men  suffocated  in  the  motionless  atmos- 
phere. They  tramped  along,  covering  their  noses  and  mouths 
with  handkerchiefs.  If  they  reached  a  village,  they  rushed 
pell-mell  for  the  wells.  They  fought  for  water,  and  drank  it 
every  drop  till  nothing  but  mud  was  left. 

Prince  Andrei  was  the  commander  of  the  regiment,  and  he 
was  deeply  concerned  in  its  organization  and  the  well-being 
of  the  men,  and  the  carryiugout  of  the  indispensable  orders 
which  had  to  be  given  and  received.  The  burning  of  Smo- 
lensk and  its  abandonment  marked  an  epoch  in  his  life.  The 
tirst  feeling  of  hatred  against  the  enemy  made  him  forget  his 
own  personal  sorrow.  He  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  the 
affairs  of  his  command;  he  was  indefatigable  in  the  service 
of  his  men  and  his  subordinate  officers,  and  treated  them  more 
than  courteously.  In  the  regiment  they  all  called  him  '^  our 
prince,^^  they  were  proud  of  him  and  loved  him. 

But  his  kindness  and  affability  were  only  for  his  own  men — 
Timokhin  and  the  like,  men  who  were  perfect  strangers  to  him 
and  his  life,  men  who  could  not  know  him  or  recall  his  past ; 
the  moment  he  fell  in  with  any  one  of  his  former  acquaintances, 
his  fellow  staff  officers,  he  immediately  became  all  bristles;  he 
grew  fierce,  sarcastic,  and  scornful.  Everything  that  served 
as  a  connection  with  the  past  revolted  him,  and  consequently 
all  he  did  so  far  as  this  former  life  was  concerned  was  simply 
to  try  not  to  be  unjust  and  to  do  his  duty. 

It  is  true,  everything  appeared  to  Prince  Andrei  gloomy  and 
even  desperate,  especially  after  the  eighteenth  of  August,  and 
the  abandonment  of  Smolensk,  — which  in  his  opinion  might 
and  should  have  been  defended,  —  and  after  his  ailing  father 
had  been  forced  to  fiy  to  Moscow,  and  consign  to  spoliation 
his  too  well  beloved  Luisiya  Gorui,  which  he  had  taken  such 
infinite  pains  to  cultivate  and  settle ;  but,  in  spite  of  this, 
thanks  to  Prince  Andrei's  occupation  with  his  regiment,  he 
could  let  his  mind  be  engrossed  with  other  thoughts,  entirely 
disconnected  with  the  general  course  of  events ;  namely,  his 
regiment. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  August  the  column  of  which  his 
regiment  formed  a  part  was  opposite  Luisiya  Gorui.  Prince 
Andrei,  two  days  before,  had  i-eceived  woi-d  that  his  father, 
his  little  son,  and  his  sister  had  gone  to  Moscow.  Although 
there  was  nothing  to  call  him  to  Luisiya  Grorui,  he  determined 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  go  there,  feeling  a  peculiar  morbid 
desire  to  enjoy  the  bitterness  of  his  grief. 


WAR  AND  PMACB.  131 

fie  oMei^d  his  horse  to  be  saddled,  and  started  off  to  ride 
to  the  estate  where  he  had  been  born  and  had  spent  his  child- 
hood. 

As  he  rode  by  the  pond,  where  generally  there  were  a  dozen 
chattering  women  beating  and  rinsing  their  linens,  Prince 
Andrei  noticed  that  it  was  deserted,  and  the  little  float  had 
drifted  out  into  the  middle  of  the  pond,  and  was  tipped  over 
and  half  fuU  of  water*  Prince  Andrei  rode  up  to  the  gate- 
keeper's lodge  ;  but  there  was  no  one  near  the  stone  gate-way, 
and  the  door  was  unlocked.  The  garden  paths  were  already 
overgrown,  and  calves  and  horses  were  wandering  about  the 
"English  park."  Prince  Andrei  went  up  to  the  orangery ;  the 
panes  of  glass  were  broken ;  some  of  the  tubs  were  overturned ; 
some  of  the  trees  were  dried  up. 

He  shouted  to  Taras,  the  gardener.  No  one  replied.  Passing 
around  the  orangery,  he  saw  that  the  carved  deal  fence  was 
broken  down,  and  the  plum-trees  were  stripped  of  their  fruit. 
An  old  muzhik  —  Prince  Andrei  remembered  as  a  boy  having 
seen  him  years  before  at  the  gates  —  was  plaiting  bast  shoes 
as  he  sat  on  the  green-painted  bench. 

He  was  deaf,  and  did  not  hear  Prince  Andrei  approach.  He 
was  sitting  on  the  bench,  which  had  been  the  old  prince's 
favorite  seat,  and  near  him,  on  the  branches  of  a  broken  and 
dried-up  magnolia,  hung  his  strips  of  bast. 

Prince  Andrei  went  to  the  house.  Some  of  the  linden-trees 
in  the  old  park  had  been  felled ;  a  piebald  mare,  with  her 
colt,  was  browsing  in  front  of  the  house  itself,  among  the  rose 
beds.  The  window  shutters  were  closed.  One  window  alone 
on  the  ground  floor  was  open.  A  little  peasant  lad,  catching 
sight  of  Prince  Andrei,  i*an  into  the  house. 

Alpatuitch,  having  got  the  household  away,  was  the  only 
one  left  at  Luisiya  Gorui.  He  was  sitting  in  the  house,  and 
reading  "The  Lives  of  the  Saints."  When  he  heard  that 
Prince  Andrei  had  come,  he  came  out,  with  his  spectacles  on 
his  nose,  buttoning  up  his  clothes,  and  hurried  up  to  the. 
prince,  and,  before  he  said  a  word,  burst  into  tears,  kissing 
Prince  Andrei's  knee. 

Then  he  turned  away,  angry  at  his  own  weakness,  and 
began  to  give  him  an  account  of  the  state  of  affairs.  Every- 
thing of  any  value  and  worth  had  been  despatched  to  Bogu- 
charovo.  One  hundred  chetverts  *  of  wheat  had  also  been 
sent ;  the  crops  of  hay  and  com,  which,  according  to  Alpa- 
tuitch, had  been  wonderful  that  year,  had  been  taken  standing 

*  A  chetvert  is  5.77  bushelB. 


182  }VAR  AND  PEACE. 

and  carried  off  by  the  troops.     The  peasantry  were  all  rained : 
some  had  gone  to  Bogucharovo  ;  a  very  few  were  left. 

Prince  Andrei,  without  heeding  what  he  said,  asked  when 
his  father  and  sister  had  left,  meaning  when  had  they  gone  to 
Moscow.  Alpatuitch,  supposing  he  knew  that  they  had  gone 
to  Bogucharovo,  replied  that  they  had  started  on  the  nine- 
teenth, and  then  again  began  to  enlarge  on  the  condition  of 
the  estate,  and  ask  what  arrangements  he  should  make. 

**  Do  you  order  to  let  them  have  the  oats  in  return  for  a 
receipt  ?  "We  have  still  six  hundred  chetverts  left,'*  asked 
Alpatuitch. 

"  What  answer  shall  I  give  him  ?  "  queried  Prince  Andrei, 
looking  down  at  the  bald  head  gleaming  in  the  sun,  and  read- 
ing in  the  expression  of  his  face  a  consciousness  that  the  old 
man  himself  realized  the  incongruity  of  such  questions,  but 
asked  them  simply  for  the  sake  of  drowning  his  own  sorrow. 

"  Yes,  do  so,"  said  he. 

"  If  you  will  deign  to  notice  the  disorder  in  the  garden,'* 
pursued  Alpatuitch ;  "  but  it  was  impossible  to  prevent  it : 
three  regiments  came  and  camped  here  for  the  night.  The 
dragoons  especially  —  I  took  down  the  rank  and  the  name  of 
the  commander,  so  as  to  lodge  a  complaint." 

"  Well,  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Shall  you  remain  if 
the  enemy  come  ?  "  asked  Prince  Andrei. 

Alpatuitch,  turning  his  face  full  on  Prince  Andrei,  looked  at 
him.  And  then  suddenly,  with  a  solemn  gesture,  he  raised  his 
hands  to  heaven.  "  He  is  my  protector ;  His  will  be  done ! " 
he  exclaimed. 

A  throng  of  muzhiks  and  household  serfs  came  trooping 
across  the  meadow,  and  approached  Prince  Andrei  with  un- 
Kjovered  heads. 

"  Well,  prashchcCi  —  good-by,"  said  Prince  Andrei,  bending 
down  to  Alpatuftch.     "  Escape  yourself,  take  what  you  can, 
and  tell  the  people  to  go  to  the  Eiazan  property,  or  our  pod- 
/Moskovnaya." 

Alpatuitch  pressed  up  against  his  leg,  and  sobbed.  Prince 
Andrei  gently  pushed  him  away,  and,  giving  spurs  to  his 
horse,  rode  at  a  gallop  down  the  driveway. 

To  all  appearance  as  impassive  as  a  fly  on  the  face  of  a  dear 
dead  friend,  still  sat  the  old  man,  and  thumped  on  his  shoe 
last.  Two  young  girls,  with  their  skirts  full  of  plums,  which 
they  had  gathered  from  the  trees,  were  coming  away  from  the 
orangery,  and  met  Prince  Andrei.  When  they  saw  their 
young  barin,  the  older  of  the  two  girls,  with  an  expression  of 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  133 

terror  on  her  face,  seized  her  companion  by  the  arm,  and  the 
two  hid  behind  a  birch-tree,  without  having  time  to  gather  up 
the  green  fruit  that  had  fallen  from  their  skirts. 
,  Prince  Andrei,  with  a  feeling  of  compunction,  hastened  to 
■  look  the  other  way,  so  that  they  might  think  he  had  not  seen 
them.  He  felt  sorry  to  have  frightened  the  pretty  little  girls. 
lie  was  afraid  to  look  at  them,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  had 
an  overwhelming  desire  to  do  so.  A  new,  joyful,  and  tran- 
quillizing sense  took  possession  of  him  at  the  sight  of  these 
little  girls :  he  recognized  that  there  existed  other  human  in- 
terests entirely  apart  from  his  own  existence,  and  yet  just  as 
lawful  as  those  with  which  he  was  occupied.  These  two 
young  girls  had  evidently  only  one  passionate  desire  —  to 
carry  o$  and  eat  those  green  plums,  and  not  be  found  out  \, 
and  Prince  Andrei  sympathized  with  them,  and  hoped  for  the 
success  of  their  enterprise.  He  could  not  refrain  from  looking 
back  at  them  once  more. 

Supposing  that  their  peril  was  happily  past,  they  had  sprung 
out  from  their  hiding-place,  and,  shouting  something  in  shrill 
voices,  they  were  running  gayly  across  the  meadow  as  fast  as 
their  bare,  sun-burned  little  legs  would  take  them. 

Prince  Andrei  felt  somewhat  refreshed  by  his  digression 
from  the  dusty  high-road,  where  the  troops  had  been  marching. 
But  not  very  far  from  Luisiya  Grorui,  he  again  struck  the  main 
thoroughfare,  and  found  his  own  regiment  halting  on  the  em- 
bankment of  a  small  pond. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  sun,  shining 
through  the  dust  like  a  red  ball,  was  unendurably  liot,  and 
burned  his  back  under  his  black  coat.  The  dust  still  hung 
like  a  cloud  over  the  companies  while  they  halted  amid  a  hum 
of  voices.  There  was  no  wind.  As  Prince  Andrei  rode  along 
.  the  embankment,  he  caught  the  faint  scent  of  the  mud  and 
'  fresh  coolness  of  the  pond.  He  felt  an  inclination  to  take  a 
plunge  into  the  water,  muddy  as  it  was.  He  gazed  at  the 
pond,  from  which  rose  the  sounds  of  shouts  and  laughter^ 
The  little  sheet,  muddy,  and  green  with  slime,  had  evidently 
risen  and  was  now  washing  up  against  the  embankment,  sim- 
ply because  it  was  full  of  human  bodies,  —  the  bare  bodies  of 
soldiers  floundering  about  in  it,  their  white  skins  making  vivid 
contrast  to  their  brick-red  arms,  faces,  and  necks.  All  this 
mass  of  bare  human  flesh  was  wriggling  about,  with  shouts 
and  laughter,  in  that  filthy  water,  like  carps  flopping  in  a 
scoop.  This  wriggling  carried  the  name  of  enjoyment,  and  for 
that  very  reason  it  was  particularly  ^melancholy. 


134  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

One  blond  young  soldier  —  Prince  Andrei  had  already 
noticed  him  —  of  the  third  company,  with  a  leather  string 
around  his  calf,  crossed  himself,  stepped  back  a  little  so  as 
to  get  a  good  start,  and  dived  into  the  water;  another  man,  a 
dark-complexioned  non-commissioned  officer,  with  rumpled 
hair,  was  up  to  his  middle  in  the  water,  ducking  his  mus- 
cular form,  and,  snorting  joyfully,  was  pouring  the  water  over 
his  head  from  hands  black  even  to  the  wrists.  There  was  a 
sound  of  splashing  and  yelling  and  plunging. 

On  the  shores,  on  the  embankment,  in  the  pond  itself^  every- 
where was  the  spectacle  of  white,  healthy,  muscular  human 
flesh.  The  officer,  Timokhin,  with  his  short,  red  nose,  was 
rubbing  himself  down  with  a  towel  on  the  embankment,  and 
was  rather  ashamed  at  seeing  the  prince ;  however,  he  addressed 
him, — 

"  Pretty  good,  your  Illustriousness ;  you  ought  to  try  i*^** 
said  he. 

"  Dirty,"  said  Prince  Andrei,  making  up  a  face. 

"  We  will  have  it  cleared  out  for  you,  in  a  moment."  And 
Timokhin,  still  undressed,  ran  down  to  the  water,  shouting : 
**  The  prince  wants  a  bath." 

"  What  prince  ?  Ours  ?  "  shouted  various  voices,  and  all 
were  so  zealous  that  Prince  Andrei  had  some  difficulty  in  ap- 
peasing them.  He  felt  that  he  would  much  rather  take  a 
bath  in  a  barn. 

"  Flesh,  body  !  cJiair  a  canon !  "  said  he  to  himself,  as  he 
looked  down  at  his  bare  body,  and  he  trembled,  not  so  much 
from  chill  as  from  his  aversion  and  horror,  incompi-ehensible 
even  to  himself,  at  the  sight  of  thatti'emendous  mass  of  bodies 
rinsing  themselves  in  that  filthy  pond. 

On  the  nineteenth  of  August,  Prince  Bagration,  at  his  en> 
campment  of  Mikhailovka  on  the  Smolensk  highway,  had 
written  the  following  letter  to  Arakcheyef ;  but  he  knew  that 
it  would  be  read  by  the  sovereign,  and,  Qonsequently,  he 
weighed  every  word  to  the  very  best  of  his  ability. 

"  My  dear  Count  Albksei  Andreykvttch  ;— I  suppose  the  minister 
has  already  reported  to  you  concerning  the  surrender  of  Smolensk  to  the 
pnemy.  It  is  saddening  and  painful,  and  the  whole  army  are  in  despair 
that  such  an  important  place  should  have  been  needlessly  abandoned.  I, 
for  my  part,  personally  besought  him  most  earnestly,  and  at  last  even 
wrote  him.  I  swear  on  my  honor  that  never  before  was  Napoleon  *  in  such 
a  box,*  and  he  might  have  lost  half  of  his  array,  bat  he  could  not  have 
taken  Smolensk.  Our  troops  have  been  and  still  are  fightinj^  as  never 
before.    I  held  out  with  fiftaen  thousand  men  for  more  than  thirty-five 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  / 

bonn,  ftnd  beat  tbem,  but  he  was  not  willing  to  wait  even  fourteen  hours. 
It  is  a  shame  and  a  blot  on  our  army,  and  methinks  he  ought  not  to  live 
in  this  world.  If  he  reports  that  our  losses  are  heavy,  it  is  false  —  pos- 
sibly four  thousand,  not  more  than  that;  even  if  it  bad  been  ten  thou- 
sand, what  would  it  have  been  ?  This  is  war.  But,  to  offset  it,  the 
enemy  lost  a  host. 

*'  What  was  to  prevent  him  holding  out  two  days  longer  ?  Without 
question  they  would  have  been  forced  to  give  it  up:  they  had  no  water  for 
men  and  horses.  He  gave  me  his  word  that  he  would  not  give  way,  but 
suddenly  he  sent  me  word  that  he  was  going  to  desert  the  city  by  night. 
We  cannot  make  war  that  way,  and  we  shall  soon  be  having  the  enemy 
jtt  Moscow. 

*'  The  rumor  that  you  are  thinking  of  peace,  God  forbid !  After  all  our 
sacrifices,  and  after  such  an  idiotic  retreat,  the  idea  of  making  peace! 
Tou  will  have  all  Russia  against  you,  and  we  shall  all  be  ashamed  of 
irearing  the  Russian  uniform.  Since  things  have  gone  so  far  as  they 
have,  we  must  fight  so  long  as  Russia  can,  and  so  long  as  we  have  a  man 
alive. 

"It  is  essential  that  one  man  and  not  two  should  have  supreme  command. 
Yotir  minister  is  perhaps  excellent  in  the  ministry,  but  as  a  general  it  is 
not  enough  to  say  that  he  is  bad !  he  is  abominable !  and  yet  in  his  hands 
is  intrusted  the  fate  of  our  whole  country. 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  beside  myself  with  vexation ;  forgive  me  for  writing 
BO  fiankly.  It  is  plain  to  my  mind  that  any  one  who  advises  peace,  and 
•approves  of  confiding  the  command  of  the  troops  to  the  minister,  is  no 
true  friend  to  the  sovereign,  and  wishes  to  involve  us  all  in  a  common  de- 
struction. And  so  I  write  you  the  trutli.  Arm  the  landwehr!  Here 
the  minister,  m  the  most  masterly  fashion,  is  conducting  his  guests  to  the 
4:apital. 

*•  Mr.  Woltzogen,  the  flugel-adjutanl,  is  giving  the  army  great  cause  for 
suspicion.  They  say  he  is  even  less  favorable  to  us  than  Napoleon  him- 
self, and  that  he  inspires  all  that  the  minister  does. 

*'  I  am  not  merely  polite  to  him,  I  am  as  obedient  as  a  corporal, 
although  I  am  older  than  he  is.  It  is  painful,  but  as  I  love  my  sovereign 
and  benefactor,  I  subordinate  myself.  Only  I  am  sorry  that  the  sovereign 
should  intrust  him  with  such  a  glorious  army.  Just  imagine  I  In  our 
retreat  we  have  lost  more  than  fifteen  thousand  through  fatigue  and  in 
hospitals;  now,  if  we  had  advanced,  this  would  not  have  happened.  For 
'God's  sake,  have  it  proclaimed  that  our  Russia  — our  mother  —  will  call 
us  cowards,  and  will  demand  why  we  have  handed  over  such  a  good  and 
■glorious  country  to  a  mob,  thus  stirring  up  hatred  and  humiliation  in  the 
heart  of  evei7  subject.  What  should  make  us  cowards  ?  Whom  do  we 
fear  ?  It  is  not  my  fault  that  the  minister  is  irresolute,  cowardly,  dull  of 
apprehension,  dilatory,  and  has  all  the  worst  qualities.  The  whole  army 
:are  entirely  discouraged,  and  load  him  with  execrations." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Among  the  innumerable  subdivisions  into  which  the  phe- 
nomena of  life  can  be  disposed,  there  is  one  category  where 
matter  predominates  in  contradistinction  to  another  where 
vform' predominates.     A  contrast  of- this  kind  may  be  observed 


fi6  WAR  AND  PEACi. 

between  life  in  the  country,  in  the  village,  in  the  govern- 
mental town  —  nay,  even  in  Moscow,  and  that  which  can  be 
seen  at  Petersburg,  and  especially  in  the  Petersburg  salons. 
This  sort  of  life  goes  on  always  the  same. 

Since  1805  we  had  been  quarrelling  and  making  up  with 
Bonaparte ;  we  had  been  making  constitutions  and  unmaking 
them,  and  yet  Anna  Pavlovna's  salon  was  exactly  the  same  as 
it  had  been  seven  years  before,  and  Ellen's  salon  was  exactly 
the  same  as  it  had  been  five  years  before.  Just  exactly  as 
before,  at  Anna  Pavlovna's,  they  were  amazed  and  perplexed 
at  Bonaparte's  successes,  and  detected,  not  only  in  his  suc- 
cesses, but  also  in  the  subservience  of  the  sovereigns  of 
Europe,  a  wicked  conspiracy,  the  sole  object  of  which  was  to 
disgust  and  alarm  the  courtly  circle  that  regarded  Anna  Pav- 
lovna  as  its  representative. 

And  just  exactly  the  same  way  at  Ellen's  (where  Rumyant- 
sef  himself  was  gracious  enough  to  be  a  frequent  visitor,  con- 
sidering her  a  i*emarkably  intelligent  woman)  in  1812,  as  in 
1808,  they  talked  with  enthusiasm  of  the  "  great  nation  " 
and  "the  great  man,"  and  regretted  the  rupture  with  the 
French,  which  in  the  opinion  of  the  hahUues  of  Ellen's  salon 
ought  to  end  with  peace. 

Latterly,  since  the  sovereign's  departure  from  the  army, 
these  rival  clique^alona  were  the  scenes  of  some  excitement ; 
and  demonstrations  of  mutual  hostility  were  made,  but  the 
general  characteristics  of  the  two  cliques  remained  the  same. 

Anna  Pavlovna's  clique  received  no  Frenchmen,  except  a 
few  inveterate  legitimists.  It  was  here  that  the  patriotic  idea 
originated  of  people  being  in  duty  lK)und  to  stay  away  from 
the  French  theatre,  and  the  criticism  was  made  that  it  cost  as 
much  to  maintain  the  troupe  as  to  maintain  a  whole  armv 
corps.  Here  the  course  of  military  affairs  was  eagerly  fol- 
lowed, and  the  most  advantageous  reports  of  our  armies  found 
ready  credence. 

In  Ellen's  clique,  where  Rumyantsef  and  the  French  were 
in  favor,  the  reports  as  to  the  barbarities  of  the  enemy  and  of 
the  war  were  contradicted,  and  all  Napoleon's  overtures  for 
reconciliation  were  discussed.  This  clique  were  loud  in 
reproaching  those  who  showed  what  they  considered  too  great 
haste  in  making  preparations  to  remove  to  Kazan,  the  "  Im- 
perial Institute  for  the  education  of  young  ladies  of  the 
nobility,"  the  patroness  of  which  was  the  empress  dowager. 
Anyway,  those  who  frequented  Ellen's  salon  regarded  the 
war  merely  as  an  empty  demonstration,  which  would  be  very 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  187 

quickly  followed  by  peace^  and  here  they  made  great  use  of  a 
witticism  of  Bilibin's,  —  who  was  now  a  frequent  visitor  at 
Ellen's,  as  indeed  it  behooved  every  sensible  man  to  be, — to  the 
effects  that  the  affair  should  be  settled  not  by  gunpowder^  but 
by  the  man  who  invented  it.* 

In  this  clique  there  was  much  laughter  —  caused  by  the 
witty  and  ironical,  though  always  guarded-  observations  upon 
the  enthusiasm  at  Moscow,  news  of  which  had  arrived  at 
Petersburg  simultaneously  with  the  return  of  the  sovereign. 

Anna  Pavlovna's  clique,  on  the  contrary,  were  enraptured 
with  this  enthusiasm,  and  spoke  of  the  acts  of  the  Moscovites 
as  Plutarch  speaks  of  the  glorious  deeds  of  antiquity. 

Prince  Yasili,  who,  just  the  same  as  of  yore,  held  important 
functions,  formed  a  bond  of  union  between  the  tWo  cliques. 

He  was  equally  at  home  with  ma  bonne  amie,  Anna  Pavlovna, 
and  in  the  salon  diplomatique  de  ma  JiUey  and  frequently,  ow- 
ing to  his  constant  visits  from  one  camp  to  the  other,  he  got 
confused,  and  said  at  Ellen's  what  he  should  have  said  at  Amia 
Pavlovna's  and  vice  versa. 

Shortly  after  the  sovereign's  arrival,  Prince  Yasili  was  at 
Anna  Pavlovna's,  conversing  about  the  war,  sharply  criticis- 
ing Barclay  de  Tolly,  and  frankly  confessing  his  doubt  as  to 
the  lit  person  to  call  to  the  head  of  the  armies. 

One  of  the  visitors,  who  was  known  as  Vhomm^  de  beau- 
amp  de  mh-ite,  — the  man  of  great  merit,  —  mentioning  the 
fact  that  he  had  that  day  seen  Kutuzof,  the  newly  appointed 
chief  of  the  Petersburg  landwehr,  at  the  Court  of  Exchequer, 
enrolling  volunteers,  allowed  himself  cautiously  to  suggest  that , 
Kutuzof  would  be  the  man  to  satisfy  all  demands. 

Anna  Pavlovna  smiled  sadly,  and  remarked  that  Kutuzof 
caused  the  sovereign  nothing  but  unpleasantness. 

"  I  have  said,  and  I  have  said  in  the  chamber  of  nobles," 
interrupted  Prince  Vasili,  "but  they  would  not  heed  me,  —  I 
have  said  that  his  election  as  commandant  of  the  landwehr 
would  not  please  the  sovereign.  They  would  not  listen  to  me. 
•  It  is  this  everlasting  mania  for  petty  intrigue,"  pursued  Prince 
Vasili.  "  And  for  what  purpose  ?  Simply  because  we  want 
to  ape  that  stupid  Moscow  enthusiasm,"  said  Prince  Vasili, 
becoming  confused  for  a  moment,  and  forgetting  that  it  was  at 
Ellen's  where  it  was  considered  correct  to  make  sport  of  Mos- 
cow enthusiasm,  but  the  fashion  to  praise  it  at  Anna  Pav- 
lovna's.     But  he  instantly  corrected  himself. 

*  11  n'a  pas  mvente  la  poudre :  He  wiU  never  sel  the  Thamee  on  fire.    The 
idiom  is  slmUar. 


138  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

'^  Now,  then,  is  it  fit  for  Count  Kutuzof,  Russia's  oldest  gen- 
eral, to  be  holding  such  sessions  at  the  court  ?  etil  en  restera 
pour  sa  peine  —  that's  as  far  as  he  will  get.  Is  it  possible  to 
make  a  man  commander-in-chief  who  cannot  sit  a  horse,  who 
dozes  during  council  meetings, — a  man  of  the  worst  possi*^ 
ble  manners  ?  He  won  a  fine  reputation  for  himself  at  Baka- 
rest,  didn't  he  ?  And  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  his  qualities 
as  a  general ;  but  is  it  possible,  under  present  circumstances,  to 
nominate  to  such  a  place  a  man  who  is  decrepit  and  blind^ 
simply  blind  ?  A  blind  general  would  be  a  fine  thing !  He 
can't  see  anything  at  all !  He  might  play  blind-man's-buff — 
but,  really,  he  can't  see  anything ! " 

No  one  raised  any  objection  to  this. 

On  the  tVenty-fifth  of  August  this  was  perfectly  correct. 
But,  five  days  later,  Kutuzof  received  the  title  of  prince  of  the 
empire.  This  advance  in  dignities  might  also  signify  that 
they  wanted  to  shelve  him,  and,  therefore.  Prince  Vasili's  crit- 
icism would  continue  to  be  well  received,  although  he  was  not 
so  ready  to  deliver  himself  of  it.  But,  on  the  twentieth  of 
August,  a  committee  was  summoned,  composed  of  Field-Mar- 
shal Ssdtuikof,  Arakcheyef,  Viazmitinof,  Lopukhin,  and  Ko- 
tchubey,  to  consider  the  conduct  of  the  war.  The  committee 
decided  that  the  failures  were  attributable  to  the  division  of 
command ;  and,  although  the  individuals  composing  the  com- 
mittee well  knew  the  sovereign's  disaffection  for  Kutuzof,  they 
determined,  after  a  brief  deliberation,  to  place  him  at  the  head 
of  the  armies. 

And,  on  that  same  day,  Kutuzof  was  made  plenipotentiajy 
commander-in-chief  of  the  armies,  and  of  the  whole  district 
occupied  by  the  troops. 

On  the  twenty-first,  Prince  Vasili  and  the  "  man  of  great 
merit  "met  again  at  Anna  Pavlovna's.  ^^Uhomme  de  beau- 
coup  de  merite "  was  dancing  attendance  on  Anna  Pavlovna, 
with  the  hope  of  securing  the  appointment  of  trustee  to  a 
woman's  educational  institute. 

Prince  Vasili  entered  the  drawing-room  with  the  air  of  a 
rejoicing  conqueror  who  had  reached  the  goal  of  all  his  ambi- 
tions. 

"  Well,  you  know  the  great  news :  Prince  Kutuzof  is 
appointed  neld-marshal.*  All  discords  are  at  an  end  !  I  am 
so  happy,  so  glad ! "  exclaimed  Prince  Vasili.  "  There's  a 
man  for  you  !  —  enjin  voila  un  homme  I "  he  added  with  sig- 

*  Eh  hient  twus  totvex  la  graiule  twuveUef  Le  Prince  Eoutouzoff  e#C  fntxt* 
MuUl 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  189 

nificant  emphasis,  surreying  all  in  the  room  with  a  stem 
glance. 

'^  Uhomme  de  heaueoup  de  meritey^  in  spite  of  his  anxiety  to 
obtain  a  place,  could  not  refrain  from  reminding  Prince  Vasili 
of  his  former  criticism.  This  was  an  act  of  discourtesy  both 
toward  Prince  Vasili,  in  Anna  Pavlovna's  drawing-room,  but 
also  toward  Anna  Pavlovna  herself,  who  had  also  been  greatly 
delighted  with  the  news ;  but  he  could  not  refrain. 

"  But  it  is  said  that  he  is  blind,  prince,"  *  he  suggested, 
quoting  Prince  Vasili's  own  words. 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  he  sees  well  enough,"  replied  Prince  Vasili, 
in  quick,  deep  tones,  and  clearing  his  throat  — his  usual  resort 
for  getting  himself  out  of  an  awkward  situation.  ^^Allez  I  il  y 
voUj^  he  repeated.  "And  what  makes  me  glad,"  he  went 
on  to  say,  "  is  that  the  sovereign  has  given  him  full  powers 
over  all  the  forces,  and  over  the  whole  district  —  such  powers 
as  never  commander-in-chief  enjoyed  before.  This  makes  him 
the  second  autocrat,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  with  a  triumphant 
smile. 

"  God  grant  it,  Grod  gi-ant  it,"  said  Anna  Pavlovna. 

"  Vhomme  de  heaueoup  de  vierite^'^  who  was  still  somewhat 
of  a  novice  in  courtly  circles,  and  wishing  to  flatter  Anna  Pav- 
lovna by  taking  the  ground  which  she  had  formerly  taken  in 
regard  to  the  same  subject,  said,  — 

"  They  say  it  went  against  the  sovereign's  heart  to  allow 
these  powers  to  Rutuzof.  They  say  that  Kutuzof  blushed  like 
a  school-girl  hearing  *  Joconde,'  when  the  emperor  said :  *  The 
sovereign  and  your  country  grant  you  this  honor.'  "  f 

''  Possibly  his  heart  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Anna 
Pavlovna. 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly  not,"  hotly  cried  Prince  Vasili,  coming 
to  his  defence.  He  could  not  now  aJlow  any  one  to  surpass 
him  in  his  zeal  for  Kutuzof.     According  to  his  idea  at  the 

E resent  time,  not  only  was  Kutuzof  himself  the  best  of  men, 
ut  every  one  simply  worshipped  him.  —  "  No,  that  is  impos- 
sible, because  his  majesty  long  ago  appreciated  his  worth," 
said  he. 

"Only,  God  grant,"  —  ejaculated  Anna  Pavlovna,  —  "God 
grant  that  Prince  Kutuzof  may  have  actual  power,  and  will 
not  allow  any  one  whatever  to  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheels  — 
de$  batons  dans  les  roues,^^ 

*  Mais  Von  dit  quHl  est  avextgle^  mon  prince. 

f  On  dit  qvHl  rougit  comme  vne  demoiselle  a  laqiielle  on  lira  it  Joconde^  ea 
Ivi  duant :  "  Le  touvemin  et  lapatrie  vou«  dccernent  oci  konneur^" 


140  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Prince  Yasili  instantly  understood  whom  she  meant  hy  any 
one.     He  said  in  a  whisper,  — 

^*  I  know  for  a  certainty  that  Kutozof  demanded  as  an  abso- 
lute condition  that  the  tsesarevitch  should  not  hare  anything 
to  do  with  the  army.  You  know  what  he  said  to  the  empe> 
ror  ?  " — and  Prince  Vasili  repeated  the  words  which  it  was  sup- 
posed Kutuzof  spoke  to  the  sovereign, — ^I  cannot  punish  him 
if  he  does  wrong,  or  reward  him  if  he  does  well.'  Oh !  he  is  a 
shrewd  man,  that  Prince  Kutuzof — je  le  canttais  de  longue 
date:' 

^^But  they  do  say,"  insisted  Vhomme  de  beaueaup  de  meritey 
failing  still  to  employ  the  tact  required  at  court,  —  "they  do 
say  that  his  serene  highness  made  it  a  sine  qua  nan  that  the 
sovereign  himself  should  keep  away  from  the  army." 

The  moment  he  had  spoken  those  words.  Prince  Vasili  and 
Anna  Pavlovna  simultaneously  turned  their  backs  on  him, 
and,  with  a  sigh  of  pity  for  his  naivete,  exchanged  a  melan* 
choly  look. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

While  this  was  going  on  at  Petersburg,  the  French  had 
already  left  Smolensk  behind,  and  were  constantly  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Moscow. 

Thiers,  the  historian  of  Napoleon,  like  other  historians  of 
Napoleon,  in  trying  to  justify  his  hero,  says  that  he  was  drawn 
on  to  the  walls  of  Moscow  against  his  will.  He  and  all  simi- 
lar historians  are  correct  on  the  assumption  that  the  explana- 
tion of  all  historical  events  is  to  be  found  in  the  will  of  a 
single  man.  He  is  right,  just  as  the  Russian  historians  are 
right,  who  assert  that  Napoleon  was  lured  on  to  Moscow  by 
the  skill  of  the  Russian  generals.  Here,  unless  one  goes, 
according  to  the  laws  of  retrospection,  by  which,  from  the 
vantage-ground  of  distance,  all  that  has  gone  before  is  seen 
to  be  the  preparation  for  a  given  event,  everything  will  seem 
confused  and  complicated.  A  good  chess-player,  on  losing  a 
game,  becomes  convinced  that  the  cause  of  it  was  to  be  found 
in  his  own  blunder,  and  he  seeks  to  find  what  false  move  he 
made  at  the  beginning  of  his  game ;  but  he  forgets  that  at 
each  step  throughout  the  game  there  were  similar  blunders,  so 
that  not  a  single  move  of  his  was  correct  The  blunder  to 
which  he  directs  his  attention  he  notices  because  his  opponent 
took  advantage  of  it.    But  how  much  more  complicated  ia 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  141 

this  game  of  war^  which  proceeds  under  the  temporal  condi- 
tions where  it  is  impossible  that  a  single  will  should  animate 
the  lifeless  machine,  but  where  everything  results  from  the 
numberless  collisions  of  various  volitions ! 

After  quitting  Smolensk,  Napoleon  tried  to  force  a  battle 
near  Dorogobuzh,  at  Viazma,  then  at  Tsarevo-Z&'lmishche ;  *  but 
it  happened  through  these  same  "innumerable  collisions  of 
circumstances"  that  the  Kussians  were  unable  to  meet  the 
French  in  battle  until  they  reached  Borodino,  one  hundred  and 
twelve  versts  from  Moscow.  At  Viazma,  Napoleon  issued  his 
orders  to  march  straight  upon  Moscow  :  Moscow,  the  Asiatic 
capital  of  this  great  empire,  the  sacred  city  of  Alexander's 
populations,  Moscow  with  its  countless  churches  like  Chinese 

pagodas.t 

This  Mascou  allowed  Napoleon's  imagination  no  rest.  On 
the  march  from  Viazma  to  Tsarevo-Zaimishche,  Napoleon  rode 
his  English-groomed  bay  ambler,  accompanied  by  his  Guards, 
his  body-guard,  his  pages,  and  his  aides.  His  chief  of  staff, 
Berthier,  had  remained  behind  to  interrogate  a  Bussian  who 
had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  cavalry.  And  now,  accom- 
panied by  his  interpreter,  Lelorme  d'Ideville,  he  overtook 
Napoleon  at  a  gallop,  and  with  a  beaming  face  reined  in  his 
horse. 

^Ehy  Men  ?  '*  asked  Napoleon. 

**One  of  Platof's  Cossacks  :  —  he  says  Platofs  corps  is  just 
joining  the  main  army,  that  Kutuzof  has  been  appointed  com- 
mander-in-chief. Very  intelligent  and  talkative  —  tres-intellir 
gent  et  havardJ^ 

Napoleon  smiled,  ordered  this  Cossack  to  be  furnished  with 
a  horse,  and  brought  to  him.  He  wished  to  have  a  talk  with 
him.  Several  aides  galloped  off,  and  within  an  hour  Denisof's 
gerfy  who  had  been  turned  by  him  over  to  Rostof,  Lavrushka, 
in  a  denshchik's  roundabout,  came  riding  up  to  Napoleon  on  a 
French  cavalryman's  saddle,  with  his  rascally,  drunken  face 
shining  with  jollity.  Napoleon  ordered  him  to  ride  along  by 
Ms  side,  and  proceeded  to  question  him. 

"You  are  a  Cossack,  are  you  ? " 

**  I  am,  your  nobility." 

"The  Cossack,"  says  Thiers,  in  telling  this  episode,  "not 
knowing  his  companion,  for  there  was  nothing  in  Napoleon's 

*  ZeSmUhche  means  **  a  field  frequently  overflowed.'' 

t  Mo9cou,  la  capitale  ctsiatiqtie  de  ce  grande  empire,  la  eapUaU  ioarSe  deB 
peapies  d'Alexandref  Mo9cqu  ovec  $es  innombrable$  Sglites  en  forme  de 
pagodes  chinoiiet. 


142  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

appearance  that  could  suggest  the  presence  of  a  sovereign  to 
an  Oriental  imagination,  conversed  with  the  utmost  famil- 
iarity concerning  the  occurrences  of  the  war."  * 

In  reality,  LaviTishka,  who  had  l)een  drunk  the  evening 
before,  and  had  failed  to  provide  his  barin  with  any  din- 
ner, had  been  thrashed  and  sent  off  to  some  village  after 
fowls,  and  there  he  was  tempted  by  his  opportunity  for 
marauding,  and  was  taken  ])risoner  by  the  French. 

Lavrushka  was  one  of  those  coarse,  insolent  lackeys  who 
have  seen  every  kind  of  life,  who  consider  it  to  their  advan- 
tage to  do  everything  by  treachery  and  trickery,  who  are 
ready  to  subserve  their  masters  in  anything,  and  are  shrewd 
in  divining  their  evil  thoughts,  especially  those  that  are  vain 
and  petty. 

Being  brought  now  into  the  company  of  Napoleon,  whom 
he  was  sharp  enough  to  recognize,  Lavrushka  did  not  in  the 
slighteFt  degree  lose  his  presence  of  mind,  and  merely  set  to 
work  with  all  his  soul  to  get  into  the  good  graces  of  his  new 
masters. 

He  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  was  Napoleon  himself,  and 
there  was  no  more  reason  for  him  to  be  abashed  in  Napoleon's 
presence  than  in  Rostof's  or  the  sergeant's  with  his  knout,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  there  was  nothing  of  which  either  the 
sergeant  or  Napoleon  could  deprive  him. 

He  glibly  rattled  off  all  the  gossip  that  was  current  among 
the  denshchiks.  Much  of  this  was  true.  But  when  Napoleon 
asked  him  whether  the  Russians  anticipated  winning  a  vic- 
tory over  Napoleon  or  not,  Lavrushka  frowned  and  deliberated. 
Here  he  saw  some  subtile  craft,  just  as  men  like  Lavrushka 
always  see  craft  in  everything,  and  he  contracted  his  brows 
and  was  silent  for  a  little. 

"This  is  about  the  way  of  it:  f  there's  a  battle  pretty 
soon,  then  yours  will  beat.  That's  a  fact.  But  if  three  days 
pass  then  if  there's  a  battle  it'll  be  a  long  one." 

This  was  interpreted  to  Napoleon  as  follows :  Si  la  bataille 
est  donnSe  avant  trois  jours,  les  Frangais  la  gagneraientj  mais 
qtce  si  elle  serait  donnee  plus  tard,  Dieu  salt  ce  qui  en  arri- 
verait — "If  the  battle  takes  place  within  three  days,  the 
French  would  win,  but  if  it  were  postponed  longer,  Heaven 
knows  what  would  come  of  it."    Thus  it  was  delivered  by 

*  Le  cosaque  ignorant  la  compagnie  dans  laqvelle  il  se  trouvaitf  car  la  sifn^ 
pliciU  de  Napoleon  n^avait  rien  qiii  put  reveler  a  une  imagination  orientale  la 
presence  d'un  souverain,  9*enlretitU  avec  la  plus  grande  famUiarUS  des  aff€Bins 
de  la  guerre  actuelle. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  148 

Lelorme  d'Ideyille  with  a  smile.  Napoleon,  thongh  he  was 
evidently  in  a  genial  frame  of  mind,  dia  not  smile,  and  ordered 
these  words  to,  be  repeated. 

Lavrashka  noticed  this,  and,  in  order  to  amuse  him,  pre- 
tended that  he  did  not  know  who  he  was. 

"  We  know  that  you  have  Napoleon  on  your  side ;  he's 
whipped  everybody  on  earth,  but  then  he'll  find  us  of  a  differ- 
ent mettle, "  —  said  he,  not  knowing  himself  what  made  him 
introduce  this  boastful  patriotism  into  his  words.  The  inter- 
preter passed  over  the  last  clause  and  translated  the  first  part 
only,  and  Napoleon  smiled.  "  La  jeune  Cosaque  fit  sourire  son 
puissant  interlociiteur — the  young  Cossack's  remark  made  his 
powerful  companion  smile,"  says  Thiers. 

After  riding  a  few  steps  farther  in  silence,  Napoleon  spoke 
to  Berthier  and  said  that  he  would  like  to  try  the  effect  that 
would  be  produced  on  this  enfant  du  Don  on  learning  that  the 
man  with  whom  he,  this  enfant  du  Don,  had  been  conversing 
was  the  emperor  himself,  the  very  emperor  who  had  written 
his  eternally  victorious  name  on  the  pyramids. 

The  information  was  communicated. 

Lavrushka,  — comprehending  that  this  had  been  done  so  as 
to  embarrass  him,  and  that  Napoleon  would  expect  him  to 
show  signs  of  fear,  —  and  wishing  to  please  his  new  masters, 
immediately  pretended  to  be  overwhelmed  with  astonishment 
and  struck  dumb ;  he  dropped  his  eyes  and  put  on  such  a  face 
as  he  usually  drew  when  he  was  led  off  for  a  thrashing. 

Says  Thiers :  —  "  Hardly  had  Napoleon's  interpreter  revealed 
his  name,  ere  the  Cossack  was  overwhelmed  with  confusion ; 
he  did  not  utter  another  word  and  rode  on  with  his  eyes 
steadily  fixed  on  that  conqueror  whose  name  had  reached  even 
his  ears  across  the  steppes  of  the  East.  All  his  loquacity  was 
suddenly  checked  and  gave  place  to  unaffected,  silent  admira- 
tion. Napoleon,  having  rewarded  him,  set  him  at  liberty,  as  a 
bird  is  restored  to  its  native  fields."* 

Napoleon  went  on  his  way,  but  the  bird  restored  tq  its 
native  fields  galloped  off  to  the  picket  lines,  thin^:ing  up 
beforehand  what  sort  of  a  romance  he  should  tell  Jiis  ac- 
quaintances.    The  thing  that  had  actually  happened  to  him 

♦  A  peine  Vinierprite  de  Napoleon  avait-il  parle^  que  le  Cosaqve^  saUi 
d^uM  torte  ^ahaiMement,  ne  pro/era  plus  une  parole  et  marrfia  les  yevx  con- 
^ctmment  cUtahhes  Kur  en  conqiiirantj  dont  le  nom  avail  p^n^tre  jvsqu'a  Im, 
a  travers  les  steppes  de  Vorient.  Toute  sa  loquacity s'etait  subitement  arret^e, 
pour /aire  place  a  un  sentiment  d'admiration  naive  et  silencieuse.  ^TapoUon, 
apresVavoir  recompenseflui  JU  donn^r  la  liberty  cot^vne  a  un  oUecm'qu*Qi% 
rtnd  aux  champs  ^ut  Vont  vu  nature, 


144  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

he  had  no  intention  of  telling,  for  the  simple  reason  that  ii 
seeined  to  him  unworthy  of  narration.  He  rode  up  to  the 
Cossacks  and  made  inquiries  as  to  where  he  should  find  his 
regiment,  which  now  formed  a  part  of  Platofs  division,  and 
toward  evening  he  reported  to  his  barin,  Nikolai  Rostof,  who 
was  bivouacking  at  Yankovo  and  had  just  moimted  to  make 
a  reconnoissance  of  the  neighboring  villages.  He  gave  Lan 
vrushka  a  fresh  horse  and  took  him  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

The  Princess  Mariya  was  not  at  Moscow  and  out  of  harm- s 
way,  as  her  brother  supposed. 

When  Alpatuitch  returned  from  Smolensk,  the  old  prince 
seemed  suddenly  to  wake,  as  it  were,  from  a  dream.  He 
ordered  the  peasantry  to  be  formed  into  the  landwehr  and 
armed,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  commander-in-chief,  inform- 
ing him  of  his  intention  to  remain  at  Luisiya  Gorui  and  de» 
fend  himself  till  the  last  extremity,  leaving  it  to  his  consider- 
ation whether  to  take  measures  or  not  for  the  defence  of  the 
place  where  one  of  the  oldest  of  Russian  generals  proposed  to 
be  taken  prisoner  or  to  die.  At  the  same  time  he  announced 
to  his  household  that  he  should  remain  at  Luisiya  Gorui. 

But,  while  determined  himself  not  to  quit  Luisiya  Gorui,  he 
insisted  that  the  princess  with  Dessalles  and  the  young  prince 
should  go  to  Bogucharovo,  and  from  there  to  Moscow.  The 
princess,  alarmed  by  her  father's  feverish,  sleepless  activity 
so  suddenly  taking  the  place  of  his  former  lethargy,  could  not 
bring  herself  to  leave  him  alone,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  permitted  hersejf  to  disobey  him.  She  refused  to  leave, 
and  this  drew  upon  her  a  terrific  storm  of  fury  from  the 
prince.  He  brought  up  against  her  everything  which  he 
could  find  that  was  most  unjust  toward  her.  In  his  en- 
deavors to  incriminate  her,  he  declared  that  she  was  a  torment 
to  him,  that  she  had  made  him  quarrel  with  his  son,  that  she 
had  harbored  shameful  suspicions  of  him,  that  she  made  it 
the  task  of  her  life  to  poison  his  life,  and  finally  he  drove  her 
out  of  his  cabinet,  saying  that  if  he  never  set  eyes  on  her 
again,  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  him. 

He  declared  that  he  would  never  have  her  name  mentioned, 
and  henceforth  she  might  do  what  she  pleased,  but  let  her 
never  dare  to  come  into  his  sight  again.  The  fact  that,  in 
spite'of  the  Princess  Mariya's  apprehensions,  he  did  not  order 


WAR  AND  PEACB.  145 

her  to  be  carried  away  by  main  force,  but  simply  forbade  her 
to  come  into  his  sight,  was  a  comfort  to  her.  She  knew  this 
proved  that  in  the  secret  depths  of  his  heart  he  was  glad  of 
her  determination  to  stay  at  home  and  not  go* 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  after  Nikolushka's  departure, 
the  old  prince  put  on  his  full  uniform  and  prepared  to  visit 
the  commander-in-chiefi  The  caniage  was  already  at  the 
door.  The  Princess  Mariya  saw  him  as  he  left  the  house  in 
his  nniform  and  all  his  orders,  and  went  down  into  the  pai-k 
to  review  his  peasantry  and  household  serfs  under  arms*  The 
Princess  Mariya  sat  at  the  window  and  listened  to  the  tones 
of  his  voice  echoing  throtlgh  the  park.  Suddenly  a  tiumber  of 
men  came  miming  from  the  avenue  with  frightened  facesi 

The  Princess  Mariya  hastened  down  the  steps,  along  the 
flower-bordered  Walk  and  into  the  avenue.  Here  she  was  met 
by  a  great  throng  of  the  landwehr  and  the  household  serfs, 
and  in  the  centre  of  this  throng  several  men  were  carrying 
the  poor  little  veteran  in  his  uniform  and  orders* 

The  Princess  Mariya  ran  up  to  him,  and,  in  the  shifting 
play  of  the  sunbeams  falling  in  little  circles  through  the  lime« 
tree  boughs,  and  flecking  the  ground,  she  could  not  clearly 
m^e  oiit  what  change  had  taken  place  in  her  father's  facet 
The  one  thing  that  she  noticed  was  that  the  former  stern  and 
resolute  expression  of  his  face  had  changed  into  an  expression 
of  timidity  and  submission*  When  he  caught  sight  of  his 
daughter,  he  moved  his  lips,  but  his  words  were  unintelligible, 
and  the  only  sound  that  came  forth  was  a  hoarse  rattling. 
It  was  impossible  to  understand  what  he  wished  to  say*  Thoy 
took  him  carefully  in  their  arms,  carried  him  into  his  cabinet, 
and  laid  him  on  that  divan  where  he  had  been  of  late  so  loath 
to  lie.  , 

The  doctor  who  was  summoned  that  same  night  took  blood 
from  him,  and  announced  that  paralysis  had  affected  his  right 
side* 

As  it  grew  more  and  more  dangerous  to  remain  at  Luisiya 
Gonii,  the  day  after  the  stroke  the  prince  was  removed  to 
Bogucharovo.     The  doctor  went  with  him. 

When  they  reached  Bogucharovo,  Dessalles  and  the  little 
prince  had  already  started  for  Moscow. 

The  old  prince  lay  for  three  weeks  in  the  same  condition, 
neither  better  nor  worse,  in  the  new  house  which  his  son  h:Ml 
erected  at  Bogucharovo.  He  lay  in  a  lethargic  state.  He  was 
like  a  mutilated  corpse.  He  kept  constantly  muttering  som  ^- 
thing  with  twitching  brows  and  lips,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
VOL.  3.  — 10. 


146  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

make  out  whether  or  not  he  realized  what  was  going  on  around 
him. 

The  only  thing  that  was  certain  was  that  he  struggled  and 
felt  the  necessity  of  saying  something ;  but  what  it  was  no 
one  could  divine.  Was  it  the  whim  of  a  sick  and  semi-deliri- 
ous man  ?  Did  it  refer  to  the  general  course  of  aifairs  7  Or 
was  it  in  regard  to  the  circumstances  of  the  family  ?  This 
was  a  question  that  no  one  could  decidd 

The  doctor  insisted  that  there  was  no  significance  to  be 
found  in  this  restlessness,  that  it  proceeded  wholly  from 
physical  causes ;  but  the  Princess  Mariya  felt  certain  that  he 
wished  to  say  something  to  her,  and  the  fact  that  her  presence 
always  increased  his  agitation  confirmed  her  in  this  aupposi^ 
tion. 

He  apparently  suffered  both  physically  and  mentaliy<  Therd 
was  no  hope  of  his  recovery.  It  was  impossible  to  remove 
him.  And  what  would  have  been  done  had  he  died  on  the 
road  ? 

"  Would  not  the  end,' would  not  death  be  far  better  ?  "  the 
Princess  Mariya  sometimes  asked  herself.  She  sat  by  him 
night  and  day,  almost  denying  herself  sleep ;  and,  terrible  to 
say,  she  often  watched  him  closely,  not  with  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering symptoms  of  improvement,  but  rather  with  the  wUh 
that  she  might  discover  the  approaching  end. 

Strange  as  it  was  for  the  princess  to  confess  to  this  feelings 
still  it  was  there.  And  what  was  still  more  horrible  for  her 
was  that  since  the  illness  of  her  father  —  even  if  it  were  not 
earlier,  the  time,  say,  when  she  had  elected  to  stay  by  him 
with  some  vague  expectation — all  her  long-forgotten  hopes 
and  desires  seemed  to  wake  and  take  possession  of  her  once 
more.  What  she  had  long  years  ago  ceased  to  think  of  —  the 
thought  of  a  life  free  from  the  terror  of  her  father's  tyranny, 
even  the  dream  of  love,  and  the  possibility  of  family  happi- 
ness, constantly  arose  in  her  imagination  like  the  suggestions 
of  the  evil  one. 

No  matter  how  strenuously  she  tried  to  put  them  all  away, 
the  thought  would  constantly  arise  in  her  mind  how  she 
would  henceforth,  after  this  was  over,  arrange  her  life.  This 
was  a  temptation  from  the  devil,  and  the  Princess  Mariya 
knew  it.  She  knew  that  the  only  weapon  against  this  was 
prayer,  and  she  tried  to  pray.  She  put  herself  into  the  atti- 
tude of  prayer,  she  looked  at  the  holy  pictures,  she  read  the 
words  of  the  breviary,  but  she  could  not  pray.  She  felt  that 
now  she  was  going  to  be  brought  into  contact  with  the  world 


War  and  PEACi.  147 

of  life,  of  hard  and  yet  free  activity,  so  different,  so  wholly 
opposed  to  that  moral  world  in  which  she  had  been  hitherto 
surrounded ;  in  which  her  best  consolation  had  been  prayer.  She 
found  it  impossible  to  pray,  impossible  to  shed  a  tear;  the 
new  laborious  delight  of  living  had  taken  possession  of  her. 

It  was  growing  still  more  perilous  to  remain  at  Bogu- 
charovo.  From  every  direction  came  rumors  of  the  approach 
of  the  French,  and  m  a  village  only  fifteen  versts  distant  a 
farmhouse  had  been  pillaged  by  French  marauders. 

The  doctor  insisted  that  it  was  necessary  to  get  his  patient 
farther  away.  The  predvodityel,  or  marshal  of  the  nobility, 
sent  an  officer  to  the  Princess  Mariya,  urging  her  to  get  away 
as  speedily  as  possible.  The  district  ispravnik,  coming  in 
person  to  Bogucharovo,  insisted  on  the  same  thing,  declaring 
that  the  French  were  only  forty  versts  off,  that  the  French 
proclamations  were  circulating  among  the  villages,  and  that  if 
the  princess  did  not  get  her  father  away  by  the  twenty-seventh, 
he  would  not  answer  for  the  consequences. 

The  princess  resolved  to  start  on  the  twenty-seventh.  The 
labors  in  preparation,  the  manifold  orders  which  she  had  to 
give,  as  every  one  came  to  her  for  directions,  kept  her  busy  all 
day  long.  The  night  of  the  twenty-sixth  she  spent  as  usual, 
without  undressing,  in  the  room  next  to  that  occupied  by  her 
father.  Several  times,  arousing^from  her  doze,  she  heard  his 
hoarse  breathing  and  muttering,  the  creaking  of  his  bed.  and 
the  steps  of  Tikhon  and  the  doctor  as  they  turned  him  over. 
Several  times  she  listened  at  the  door,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  he  muttered  more  distinctly  than  hitherto,  and  turned 
over  more  frequently.  She  could  not  sleep,  and  many  times  she 
went  to  the  door  and  listened,  wishing  to  go  in,  and  yet  not 
having  the  courage  to  do  so.  Although  he  could  not  tell  her 
so,  still  she  had  seen  and  she  knew  how  much  he  was  annoyed 
by  every  expression  of  solicitude  on  his  account.  She  had  ob- 
served how  he  impatiently  avoided  her  glance,  which  she 
sometimes  fixed  upon  him,  in  spite  of  Berself,  full  of  anxiety. 
She  knew  that  her  intrusion  at  night,  at  such  an  unusual  time, 
would  annoy  him. 

But  never  before  had  she  felt  so  sad,  so  terribly  sad,  at  the 
thought  of  losing  him.  She  recalled  all  her  life  with  him, 
and  discovered  the  expression  of  his  love  for  her  in  his  every 
word  and  every  deed.  Occasionally  these  recollections  would 
he  interrupted  by  those  promptings  of  the  devil,  the  thoughts 
of  what  would  happen  after  he  was  gone,  and  how  she  would 
arrange  her  new  life  of  fi-eedom.    But  she  dismissed  such 


148  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

thoughts  with  loathing.     Toward  morning  he  became  quieter, 
and  she  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 

She  awoke  late.  The  clear-sightedness  which  is  a  concomi- 
tant  of  our  waking  hours  made  her  realize  that  her  father's 
illness  was  the  one  predominant  occupation  of  her  life.  As 
she  woke  up  she  listened  for  what  was  going  on  in  the  next 
room^  and,  hearing  his  hoarse  breathing,  she  said  to  herself 
with  a  sigh  that  there  was  no  change. 

"  But  what  should  it  be  ?  What  is  it  that  I  wish  ?  I  am 
looking  forward  to  his  death/'  she  told  herself,  revolted  at 
the  very  thought. 

She  changed  her  dress,  made  her  toilet,  said  her  praters, 
and  went  out  on  the  steps.  In  front  of  the  door  the  carriages 
were  standing  without  horses ;  a  number  of  things  had  been 
already  packed. 

The  morning  was  warm  and  hazy.  The  Princess  Marija 
was  standing  on  the  steps,  her  mind  still  full  of  horror  at  the 
thought  of  her  moral  depravity,  and  striving  to  bring  some 
order  into  her  mental  state  before  going  in  to  see  him. 

The  doctor  came  downstairs  and  approached  her. 

"He  is  better  to-day,"  said  he.  "I  was  looking  for  you. 
You  may  be  able  to  catch  something  of  what  he  says.  His 
mind  is  clearer.     Come.     He  is  calling  for  you  "  — 

The  Princess  Mariya's  heart  beat  so  violently  at  this  news 
that  she  turned  pale  and  leaned  up  against  the  door  lest  she 
should  fall.  To  see  him,  to  speak  with  him,  to  come  under 
the  power  of  his  eyes  now  when  her  soul  htid  just  been  full  of 
these  terrible,  criminal,  sinful  temptations  was  too  painful  a 
union  of  joy  and  horror. 

"Come,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  princess  went  to  her  father's  room  and  approached  his 
bed.  He  was  lying  propped  high  up,  with  his  small,  bony 
hands  covered  with  knotted  purple  veins  resting  on  the  ^ 
counterpane,  with  his  left  eye  straight  as  it  «always  had  been, 
and  witn  his  right  eytf  drawn  down,  though  now  his  brows  and 
lips  were  motionless.  He  was  the  same  little  lean,  weazened, 
pitiful  old  man.  His  face  seemed  all  shrivelled,  so  tliat  the 
features  seemed  to  be  without  character  or  coherence.  The 
Princess  Mariya  approached  him  and  kissed  his  hand.  His 
left  hand  gave  her  hand  a  returning  pressure  that  made  it 
evident  he  had  been  for  some  time  expecting  her.  He  held 
her  hand,  and  his  brows  and  lips  moved  impatiently. 

She  looked  at  him  in  terror,  striving  to  get  an  inkling  of 
what  he  desired  of  her.     When  she  changed  her'  position  and 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  14& 

moved  so  tliat  he  could  see  her  face  with  his  left  eye,  he 
seemed  satisfied  and  for  several  seconds  did  not  let  her  out  of 
his  sight.  Then  his  brows  and  lips  quivered;  he  uttered 
sounds  and  began  to  speak,  looking  at  her  timidly  and  suppli- 
c^tingly,  evidently  apprehensive  that  she  would  not  under- 
stand hi]n. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  concentrating  all  her  powel*s  of  atten- 
tion, looked  at  him.  The  comic  difficulty  he  had  in  managing 
his  tongue  caused  her  to  drop  her  eyes  and  made  it  hard  for 
her  to  choke  down  the  sobs  that  rose  in  her  throat.  He  said 
something,  several  times  repeating  his  words.  The  Princess 
Mariya  could  not  understand  them,  but  in  her  attempts  to 
get  at  the  gist  of  what  he  said  she  uttered  several  sentences 
questioningly. 

"  6a^a — bo'i  —  bo'i^'^^he  repeated  several  times.  It  was 
impossible  to  make  any  sense  out  of  those  sounds.  The  doc- 
tor thought  that  he  had  found  the  clew,  and,  trying  to  come 
the  nearest  to  those  sounds,  asked:  ^^Do  you  mean^  Is  the 
princess  *  afraid  ?  "  He  shook  his  head  and  again  repeated 
the  same  sounds. 

*'  His  mind,  his  mind  troubles  him ! "  f  suggested  the  prin- 
cess. He  uttered  a  sort  of  roar  by  way  of  affirmation,  seized 
her  hand  and  pressed  it  here  and  there  on  his  chest,  as  though 
trying  to  find  a  place  suitable  for  it  to  rest. 

"  Think  —  all — the  time  —  about  —  thee,"  he  then  said  far 
more  distinctly  than  before,  —  now  that  he  was  persuaded 
that  they  understood  him.  The  Princess  Mariya  bowed  her 
head  down  to  his  hand  to  hide  her  sobs  and  tears. 

He  smoothed  her  hair.  "  I  was  —  calling  thee  —  all  night," 
he  went  on  saying. 

"  If  I  had  only  known,"  said  she  through  her  tears.  "  I 
was  afraid  to  come  in." 

He  pressed  her  hand.     "  Were  you  not  asleep  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  not  asleep,"  replied  the  princess,  shaking  her 
head.  Falling  under  the  influence  of  her  father's  condition, 
she  now,  in  spite  of  herself,  had  to  speak,  as  he  did,  more  by 
signs,  and  almost  found  it  difficult  to  manage  her  tongue. 

" Darling," t  —  or  did  he  say  little  daughter?  —  she  could 
not  tell,  —  but  she  was  assured  by  his  look  that  he  had  called 
her  some  affectionate,  caressing  name,  which  he  had  never 
before  done,  —  "  why  didn't  you  come  in  ?  " 

*  Knyazhnya  boXisa, 
t  Dusha,  dtisha  boliU 
X  Ihi$h9nka,  (tittle  soul)  or  DruxfKfk,  diminutiye  of  friend  or  love. 


150  1^^^  AND  PUaCB. 

"And  I  was  wishing  him  dead,  wishing  him  dead/'  thought 
the  Princess  Mariya. 

He  lay  silent.  "  Thank  thee  —  daughter,  dearest  —  for  all, 
for  everything.  —  Forgive.  —  Thank  thee  —  forgive  —  thank 
thee!"  And  the  tears  trickled  from  his  eyes.  —  *^Call  An- 
dryusha,"  said  he  suddenly,  and,  making  this  request,  a  child- 
ishly puzzled  and  distrustful  expression  came  into  his  face. 
It  seemed  as  though  he  himself  knew  that  there  was  some- 
thing out  of  the  way  about  this  request.  So  at  least  it  seemed 
to  the  Princess  Mariya. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  him,"  replied  the  Princess  Marija. 
He  gazed  at  her  in  puzzled  amazement. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  He  is  with  the  army,  mon  pere,  at  Smolensk." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  remained  long  silent.  Then  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  nodded  his  head  affirmatively  as  though 
in  answer  to  his  own  doubts,  as  much  as  to  say  that  now  he 
understood  and  remembered  everything. 

"Yes,"  said  he  in  a  low  but  distinct  voice.  "Russia  is 
ruined,  lost !  They  have  ruined  her ! "  And  again  he  sobbed 
and  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  The  Princess  Mariya 
could  no  longer  contain  herself,  and  she  also  wept  as  she  looked 
into  his  face. 

He  again  closed  his  eyes.  His  sobs  ceased.  He  made  a 
gesture  toward  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  Tikhon,  understand- 
ing what  he  meant,  wiped  his  eyes  for  him.  Then  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  made  some  remark  which  no  one  for  some  time 
understood :  at  last  Tikhon  made  out  what  he  had  said,  and 
said  it  over  after  him.  The  Princess  Mariya  had  been  trying 
to  connect  the  sense  of  his  words  with  what  he  had  just 
before  been  speaking  about.  She  thought  he  might  be  speak- 
ing either  of  Russia,  or  of  Prince  Andrei,  or  of  herself,  or  of 
his  grandson,  or  of  his  own  death. 

And  consequently  she  could  not  make  it  ouft  "Put  on 
your  white  dress ;  I  like  it,"  was  what  he  had  said. 

On  hearing  this,  the  Princess  Mariya  sobbed  still  more 
violently ;  and  the  doctor,  taking  her  by  the  arm,  led  her  from 
the  room,  out  upon  the  terrace,  telling  her  to  calm  herself  and 
then  finish  the  preparations  for  the  departure.  After  his 
daughter  had  left  him  he  again  spoke  about  his  son,  about  the 
war,  about  the  sovereign,  and  scowled  angrily,  and  tried  to 
raise  his  hoarse  voice,  and  then  came  the  second  and  finishing 
stroke. 

The  Princess  Mariya  had  remained  on  the  terrace.    The 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  151 

Weatber  was  now  clear ;  it  was  sunny  and  hot.  She  found  it 
impossible  to  realize  anything,  or  to  think  of  anything,  or  to 
feel  anything,  except  her  passionate  love  for  her  father,  a  love 
which,  it  seemed  to  her,  she  had  never  felt  until  that  moment. 
She  ran  into  the  park,  and,  still  sobbing,  hastened  down  to 
the  pond^  along  the  avenues  of  lindens  that  her  brother  had 
^recently  planted. 

"  Yes  —  I  —  I  —  I  wished  for  his  death.  Yes,  I  wished  it 
to  end  quickly !  —  I  wanted  to  rest.  —  But  what  will  become 
of  me  ?  What  peace  shall  I  ever  find  when  he  is  gone  ?  " 
mattered  the  princess,  aloud,  as  she  walked  through  the  park 
with  swift  steps  and  beat  her  breast,  which  was  heaving  with 
tjonvulsive  sobs. 

After  having  made  the  round  of  the  park,  which  brought  her 
back  to  the  house  again,  she  saw  Mademoiselle  Bourienne  — 
who  had  remained  at  Bogucharovo,  and  had  refused  to  go 
away  —  coming  toward  her,  in  company  with  a  man  whom  she 
did  not  recognize.  This  was  the  district  predvodityel,  who 
had  come  in  person  to  impress  upon  the  princess  the  impera- 
tive need  of  their  immediate  departure. 

The  Princess  Mariya  heard  what  he  said,  but  his  words  had 
no  meaning  for  her :  she  conducted  him  into  the  house,  asked 
him  to  remain  to  breakfast,  and  sat  down  with  him.  Then, 
excusing  herself,  she  went  to  the  old  prince's  door.  The  doc- 
tor, with  a  frightened  face,  came  to  her,  and  said  she  could  not 
go  in.     "  Eetire,  princess  ;  go  away,  go  away ! " 

The  princess  went  into  the  park  again,  and  down  the  slope 
to  the  pond,  and  threw  herself  on  the  turf,  where  no  one  could 
see  her.  She  knew  not  how  long  she  remained  there. 
Women's  steps  running  along  the  avenue  roused  her  from  her 
revery.  She  got  up  and  saw  her  maid  Dunyasha,  who  was 
evidently  in  search  of  her,  suddenly  stop  with  a  terrified  face 
at  sight  of  her  mistress. 

"Please,  princess  —  the  prince" —  stammered  Dunyasha, 
in  a  broken  voice. 

"  Instantly  —  I  am  coming  —  I  am  coming,"  cried  the  prin- 
cess, not  giving  Dunyasha  time  to  finish  telling  what  she  had 
to  say,  and  ran  to  the  house,  trying  not  to  look  at  the 
maid. 

*'  Princess,  God's  will  is  done ;  you  must  be  prepared  for 
the  worst,"  said  the  predvodityel,  who  met  her  at  the  door- 
way. 

"  Leave  me  !    It  is  false  ! "  she  cried,  angrily. 

The  doctor  tried  to  hold  her  back.     She  pushed  him  away, 


152  ^AR  AND  PEACE. 

and  ran  into  the  room.  "Why  do  these  people  look  so 
frightened  ?  Why  do  they  try  to  keep  me  away  ?  I  do  not 
need  them.     What  are  they  doing  here  ?  *' 

She  opened  the  door,  and  the  bright  sunlight  in  the  room 
that  a  short  time  ago  had  been  kept  so  dark  filled  her  with 
terror*  The  old  nyanya  and  other  women  were  busy  in  the 
room.  They  all  moved  away  from  the  bed,  and  made  room 
for  her  to  approach.  He  still  lay  on  the  same  bed ;  but  the 
stern  aspect  of  his  face,  calm  in  death,  rooted  the  Princess 
Mariya  to  the  threshold. 

"  No !  he  is  not  dead  !  It  cannot  be  !  *^  said  the  Princess 
Mariya  to  herself ;  she  went  to  him,  and,  overcoming  the  hor- 
ror which  seized  her,  she  pressed  her  lips  to  his  cheek.  But 
instantly  she  recoiled  from  the  bed.  Suddenly  all  the  affeo^ 
tion  for  him  which  she  had  just  felt  so  powerfully  vanished, 
and  instead  came  a  feeling  of  horror  for  what  was  before 
her. 

**  No  1  he  is  no  more  I  He  is  gone  !  And  in  his  place  here, 
where  he  was,  is  this  strange  and  unfriendly  thing  5  this 
frightful,  blood-curdling,  repulsive  mystery  !  " 

And,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  the  Princess  Mariya 
fell  into  the  arms  of  the  doctor,  who  was  there  to  catch  her. 

« 

tinder  the  superintendence  of  Tikhon  and  the  doctor,  the 
women  laved  that  which  had  been  the  prince;  thejr  tied  a 
handkerchief  around  his  head,  so  that  nis  jaw  might  not 
stiifen  with  the  mouth  open,  and  they  bound  together  his  legs 
with  another  handkerchief.  Then  they  dressed  him  in  his 
uniform,  with  his  orders,  and  laid  out  his  little  weazened  body 
on  a  table.  God  knows  under  whose  direction  and  at  what 
time  all  this  was  accomplished,  but  everything  seemed  to  be 
done  of  itself. 

By  night  the  candles  were  burning  around  the  cofl&n,  the 
pall  was  laid  over  it ;  juniper  was  strewn  upon  the  floor ;  a 
printed  prayer  was  placed  under  the  wrinkled  head  of  the 
dead,  and  in  the  room  sat  the  diach6k  reading  the  psalter. 

Just  as  horses  shy  and  crowd  together  and  neigh  at  the 
sight  of  a  dead  horse,  so  in  the  drawing-room,  around  the 
coffin  of  the  dead  prince,  gathered  a  throng  of  strangers  and 
the  members  of  the  household, — the  predvodityel,  and  the 
starosta,  and  the  peasant  women,  —  and  all,  with  staring  eyes 
and  panic-stricken,  crossed  themselves  and  bowed  low  and 
kissed  the  aged  prince's  cold,  stiff  hand. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  158 


CHAPTER   IX. 

XJntiii  Prince  Andrei  went  to  reside  at  Bogucharovo,  the 
place  had  always  been  an  '^  absentee  "  estate,  and  the  peas- 
antry bore  an  entirely  different  character  from  those  of  Luisiya 
Gorui.  They  differed  in  speech  and  in  dress  and  in  customs. 
They  called  themselves  "  children  of  the  8tej)pe."  The  old 
prince  praised  them  for  their  endurance  in  work  when  they 
came  over  to  Luisiya  Gorui  to  help  get  in  the  crops  or  dig  out 
the  pond  and  ditches ;  but  he  did  not  like  them,  because  of 
their  boorishness. 

Their  manners  had  not  been  softened  since  Prince  Andrei's 
last  residence  there,  in  spite  of  his  dispensaries  and  schools, 
and  the  lightening  of  the  obrok  or  quit-rent ;  on  the  contrary, 
those  traits  oi  character  which  the  old  prince  called  boorish- 
ness  seemed  to  have  been  intensified.  Strange,  obscure 
rumors  were  always  finding  credence  among  them ;  at  one 
time  they  got  the  notion  that  they  were  all  to  be  enrolled  as 
Cossacks ;  another  time,  it  was  a  new  religion  which  they  were 
to  be  forced  to  accept ;  then,  again,  there  was  talk  about  certain 
imperial  dispensations ;  then,  at  the  time  they  took  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  Paul  Petrovitch,  in  1797,  they  got  the  notion 
that  their  freedom  had  been  granted  them,  but  that  their  mas- 
ters had  deprived  them  of  it;  and,  again,  it  was  the  return 
of  Peter  Feodorovitch  *  to  the  throne,  who  would  be  tsar  in 
seven  years,  and  give  them  absolute  freedom,  so  that  every- 
thing would  be  simple  and  easy,  and  they  would  have  no  laws 
at  all. 

The  rumors  of  the  war  and  of  Napoleon  and  his  invasion 
were  connected  in  their  minds  with  obscure  notions  of  Anti- 
christ, the  end  of  the  world,  and  perfect  freedom. 

In  the  vicinity  of  Bogucharovo  were  a  number  of  large  vil- 
lages, belonging  to  the  crown  or  to  non-resident  proprietors. 
It  was  very  rarely  that  these  proprietors  came  to  reside  on 
their  estates :  there  were  also  very  few  domestic  serfs,  or 
people  who  knew  how  to  read  and  write ;  and  the  lives  of  the 
peasantry  of  this  region  were  more  noticeably  and  powerfully 
affected  than  elsewhere  by  those  mysterious  currents  character- 
istic of  the  common  people  in  liussia,  the  significance  and 
causes  of  which  are  so  inexplicable  to  contemporaries. 

A  phenomenon  which  illustrates  this  had  taken  place  i^ 

♦  Peter  III. 


164  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

score  of  years  before,  when  an  exodus  of  the  peasantry  was 
made  toward  certain  "hot  rivers."  Hundreds  of  peasant-s, 
including  some  from  Bogucharovo,  suddenly  sold  their  cattle 
and  set  off  with  their  families  "  somewhere  "  toward  the  south- 
east. Just  as  birds  fly  '^  somewhere  "  across  the  sea,  so  these 
men,  with  their  wives  and  children,  made  every  endeavor  to 
reach  that  unknown  Southeast,  where  none  of  them  had  ever 
been  before.  They  marched  in  caravans ;  here  and  there  one 
bought  his  freedom  ;  others  ran  away,  and  set  forth  in  wagons 
or  on  foot  for  the  "  hot  rivers  "  !  Many  were  caught  and  pun- 
ished ;  many  were  sent  to  Siberia ;  many  perished  of  cold  and 
starvation  on  the  road ;  many  returned  of  their  own  accord ; 
and,  at  last,  this  migration  died  out  of  itself,  just  as  it  had 
begun,  —  without  any  visible  reason.  But  these  underground 
currents  ceased  not  to  flow  among  this  people,  and  they  were 
gathering  impetus  for  some  new  outbreak,  likely  to  prove  just 
as  perplexing,  as  unexpected,  and,  at  the  same  time,  as  simple, 
natural,  and  violent. 

At  the  present  time,  in  1812,  any  man  whose  life  brought 
him  in  contact  with  the  people  might  have  observed  that  these 
hidden  currents  were  working  with  extraordinary  energy,  and 
were  all  ready  for  an  eruption. 

Alpatuitch,  who  had  arrived  at  Bogucharovo  some  little 
time  before  the  old  prince's  decease,  had  observed  that  there 
was  considerable  excitement  among  the  peasantry :  while  in  the 
region  of  Luisiya  Gorui  —  only  sixteen  versts  distant  —  all 
the  peasants  had  deserted  their  homes,  leaving  their  villages 
to  he  marauded  by  the  Cossacks ;  here,  on  the  contrary,  in 
the  "  Steppe"  belt,  in  the  region  of  Bogucharovo,  the  peas- 
antry, so  the  report  ran,  had  dealings  with  the  French,  were  in 
receipt  of  certain  papers  which  were  circulating  among  them, 
and  had  no  thought  of  leaving  their  homes. 

He  knew,  through  certain  of  the  household  serfs  who  were 
faithful  to  him,  that  a  muzhik  named  Karp,  who  had  great 
influence  over  the  7nir,  or  peasant  commune,  had  lately 
returned  from  driving  a  crown  wagon-train,  and  was  spreading 
the  report  that  the  Cossacks  were  ravaging  the  villages  that 
had  been  deserted  by  their  inhabitants,  while  the  French  were 
not  touching  them. 

He  was  informed  on  good  authority  that  another  muzhik, 
the  evening  before,  had  brought  from  the  village  of  Vislo- 
ukhovo,  where  the  French  were,  a  proclamation  from  a  French 
general,  representing  to  the  inhabitants  that  no  harm  would  be 
done  to  them,  and  that  cash  should  be  paid  for  whatever  waa 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  165 

taken,  provided  they  remained  in  their  homes.  As  proof  posi- 
tive of  this,  the  muzhik  brought  with  him  from  Vislo-iSkhovo 
a  hundred  rubles  in  assignats  —  he  did  not  know  that  they 
were  counterfeit  —  which  had  been  paid  to  him  for  his  hay. 

Finally,  and  more  important  than  all,  Alpatuitch  found  that 
on  that  very  day  when  he  had  commanded  the  starosta  to  pro- 
cure wagons  for  the  conveyance  of  the  princess's  effects  from 
Bogucharovo,  the  peasants  had  held  a  morning  meeting  in 
the  village,  at  which  it  had  been  voted  that  they  should  not 
stir  from  the  place,  but  wait.  And  meantime  there  was  no 
time  to  lose. 

The  predvodityel,  on  the  very  day  on  which  the  prince  had 
died,  —  the  twenty-seventh,  —  had  come  to  urge  the  princess 
to  depart  without  further  delay,  as  the  risk  was  growing  con- 
stantly more  imminent.  He  had  declared  that  after  the  twenty- 
eighth  he  would  not  be  responsible  for  the  consequences. 
That  same  evening,  after  the  prince's  demise,  he  had  gone 
away,  promising  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  on  the  next  day. 
But  on  the  next  day  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  present, 
since  news  had  been  brought  to  him  of  an  unexpected 
approach  of  the  French,  and  he  had  barely  time  to  remove  his 
own  family  and  valuables  from  his  estate. 

For  thirty  years,  Dron,  whom  the  old  prince  always  called 
by  the  affectionate  diminutive,  Dr<5nushka,  had  exercised  the 
functions  of  starosta,  or-hailiff,  at  Bogucharovo. 

Pron  was  one  of  those  muzhiks  —  powerful,  physically  and 
morally  —  who,  as  soon  as  they  come  to  years  of  discretion, 
grow  a  patriarchal  beard,  and  live  on  without  change  till  they 
are  sixty  or  seventy  years  old,  without  a  gray  hair  or  the  loss 
of  a  tooth,  just  as  erect  and  powerful  at  sixty  as  they  were  at 
thirty. 

Dron,  shortly  after  his  returning  from  his  expedition  to  the 
"hot  rivers,"  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  had  been  made  starosta- 
burmistr,  or  bailiff  headman  of  the  village  of  Bogucharovo  j 
and,  since  that  time,  he  had  performed  without  reproach  all 
the  functions  of  that  office.  The  muzhiks  feared  him  more 
than  they  feared  their  barin.  His  masters — both  the  old 
prince  and  the  young  prince  —  respected  him,  and,  in  jest, 
called  him  "minister."  During  all  the  time  of  his  service, 
Dron  had  never  once  been  drunk  or  sick.  Never,  even  after  sleeps 
less  nights  or  after  the  most  exhausting  labors,  was  he  known 
to  show  the  slightest  slothfulness,  and,  though  he  did  not  know 
his  letters,  he  never  made  the  slightest  mistakes  in  his  money 
accoiintS;  or  as  to  the  number  of  poods  of  flour  which  he 


166  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

carried  in  monstrous  loads  and  sold,  or  as  to  the  amount  of  a 
single  rick  of  corn  harvested  in  the  fields  of  Bogucharovo. 

Alpatuitch,  on  his  arrival  from  the  devastated  Luisiya  Gonii, 
summoned  this  Dron,  on  the  very  day  of  the  funeral,  and 
ordered  him  to  have  ready  a  dozen  horses  for  the  princess's 
conveyance,  and  eighteen  teams  for  the  luggage  which  she  was 
to  take  with  her  from  Bogucharovo.  Although  the  peasantry 
paid  an  obrok  or  quit-rent,  Alpatuitch  never  dreamed  that 
there  would  be  any  difficulty  in  having  this  order  carried  out, 
since  the  villages  contained  two  hundred  and  thirty  taxable 
households,  and  the  muzhiks  were  well-to-do. 

But  the  starosta,  Dron,  on  receiving  this  order,  dropped  his 
eyes  and  made  no  answer.  Alpatuitch  named  certain  peasants 
whom  he  knew,  and  ordered  him  to  make  the  requisitions  on 
them. 

Dron  replied  that  these  men's  horses  were  off  on  carrier 
duty.  Alpatuitch  named  still  other  muzhiks.  And  these 
men,  also,  according  to  Dron,  had  no  horses :  some  were  off 
with  the  government  trains ;  others  were  out  of  condition ; 
still  others  had  lost  theirs  through  lack  of  forage.  According 
to  Dron's  report,  it  was  impossible  tp  secure  horses  for  the  car* 
riages,  to  say  nothing  of  those  for  the  baggage-wagons. 

Alpatuitch  looked  sharply  at  the  starosta  and  scowled.  In 
the  same  way  as  Dron  was  a  model  of  what  a  peasant  stdrosta 
should  be,  in  the  same  way  Alpatuitch  had  not  managed  the 
prince's  estates  for  nothing  all  those  twenty  years,  and  he 
also  was  a  model  overseer.  He  was  in  the  highest  degree 
qualified  to  understand,  as  by  a  sort  of  scent,  the  wants  and 
instincts  of  the  people  with  whom  he  had  to  do,  and  this  made 
him  a  surpassingly  excellent  overseer.  He  knew  by  a  single 
glance  at  Dron,  that  Dron's  answers  were  not  the  expression 
of  Dron's  individual  opinions,  but  merely  the  expression  of 
the  general  disposition  of  the  Bogucharovo  commune,  in 
which  the  starosta  was  evidently  involved.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  he  knew  that  Dron,  who  had  grown  rich  and  was  hated 
by  the  commune,  must  necessarily  waver  between  the  two 
camps,  the  x>easants'  and  the  master's.  This  wavering  he 
could  detect  in  his  eyes,  and^  therefore,  Alpatuitch,  with  a 
frown,  drew  near  to  Dron. 

"  Listen,  you,  Dronushka ! "  said  he.  "  You  need  not  tell 
me  idle  tales.  His  Illustriousness  Prince  Andrei  Kikolaitch 
himself  gave  me  orders  that  all  the  peasantry  should  leave, 
and  not  remain  behind  with  the  enemy ;  and  those  are  the 
tsar's  orders  also.  So  any  one  who  stays  is  a  traitor  to  the 
tsar.    Do  you  hear  ?  " 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  167 

**  Yes,  I  hear,"  replied  Dron,  not  raising  his  eyes. 

Alpatuitch  was  not  satisfied  with  this  answer. 

"  Ah !  Dron  !  Ill  will  come  of  it !  "  exclaimed  Alpatuitch, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  You  have  the  power,"  returned  Dron  mournfully. 

"  Ah,  Dron !  Give  it  up ! "  exclaimed  Alpatuitch,  taking  his 
hand  out  from  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and,  with  a  solemn  ges- 
ture, pointing  under  Dron's  feet.  "  Not  only  do  I  see  through 
and  through  you,  but  I  can  see  three  arshins  under  you :  every- 
thing there  is,"  said  he,  looking  down  at  Dron's  feet. 

Dron  grew  confused ;  he  gave  Alpatuitch  a  fleeting  look,  and 
then  dropped  his  eyes  again. 

"  Stop  all  this  nonsense,  and  tell  the  people  to  get  ready  to 
leave  for  Moscow,  and  have  the  teams  ready  to-morrow  morn- 
ing for  the  princess,  and  mind  you  don't  attend  any  more  of 
their  meetings !     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

Dron  suddenly  threw  himself  at  his  feet. 

"  Yakof  Alpatuitch !  discharge  me  !  Take  the  keys  from 
me !  dischai-ge  me,  for  Christ's  sake ! " 

^  Stop  ! "  said  Alpatuitch  sternly.  "  I  can  see  three  arshins 
deep  under  you ! "  he  repeated,  knowing  that  his  skill  in  going 
after  bees,  his  knowledge  of  the  times  and  seasons  for  sowing, 
and  the  fact  that  for  a  score  of  years  he  had  succeeded  in  satis- 
fying the  old  prince,  had  long  ago  given  him  the  reputation  of 
being  a  koldoon,  or  wizard,  and  that  to  koldoons  was  attrib- 
uted the  power  of  seeing  three  arshins  under  a  man. 

Dron  got  to  his  feet,  and  tried  to  say  something,  but  Alpa- 
tuitch interrupted  him. 

"  Come  now  !  What  is  your  idea  in  all  this  ?  Ha  ?  What 
are  you  dreaming  of  ?     Ha  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  the  people  ?  "  asked  Dron.  "  They 
are  all  stirred  up !  And,  besides,  I  have  told  them." 

"  What's  the  good  of  telling  them  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  they 
drunk  ?  "  he  demanded  laconically. 

"  All  stirred  up,  Yakof  Alpatuitch  !  They  have  just  brought 
another  cask ! " 

*'  Now,  then,  listen !  I  will  go  to  the  ispravnik,  and  you 
hasten  back  to  the  people,  and  bid  them  quit  all  this  sort  of 
thing,  and  get  ready  the  teams." 

"  I  obey,"  replied  Dron. 

Yakof  Alpatuitch  insisted  on  nothing  more.  He  had  been 
in  control  of  the  people  too  long  not  to  know  that  the  principal 
way  of  bringing  the  people  to  subordination  was  not  to  show 
the   slightest  doubt  that  they  would  become    subordinate. 


I 

158  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Having  wrung  from  Dron  the  submissive  "  slushdyurs,  —  I 
obey,"  —  Yakof  Alpatuitch  contented  himself  with  that, 
although  he  not  merely  suspected,  but  was  even  certain  in  his 
own  mind,  that,  without  the  assistance  of  a  squad  of  militia, 
nothing  would  be  done. 

And,  in  point  of  fact,  there  were  no  teams  forthcoming,  as 
he  supposed.  Another  meeting  of  the  peasantry  was  held  at 
the  village  tavern  ;  and  this  meeting  voted  to  drive  the  horses 
out  into  the  woods  and  not  to  furnish  the  teams.  Saying 
nothing  of  all  this  to  the  princess,  Alpatuitch  gave  orders  to 
have  the  carts  that  had  brought  his  own  effects  from  Luisiya 
Gorui  unloaded,  and  to  have  his  horses  put  to  the  Princess 
Mariya's  carriage,  and  he  himself  went  to  consult  with  the 
authorities. 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  after  her  father's  funeral,  shut  her- 
self up  in  her  room,  and  admitted  no  one.  Her  maid  came  to 
the  door  to  say  that  Alpatuitch  was  there  to  learn  her  wishes 
in  i»egard  to  the  departure.  (This  was  before  his  interview 
with  Dron.)  The  princess  sat  up  on  the  sofa  where  she 
had  been  lying,  and  spoke  through  the  closed  door,  declaring 
that  she  would  never  go  away  anywhere,  and  asked  her  to 
leave  her  in  peace. 

The  windows  of  the  room  which  the  Princess  Mariva  occu- 
pied faced  the  soxith.  She  lay  on  the  sofa,  with  her  face 
turned  toward  the  wall,  and  picking  with  her  fingers  at  the 
buttons  on  the  leathern  cushion,  which  was  the  onl}''  thing  that 
she  could  see,  while  her  vague  thoughts  were  concentrated  on 
one  thing:  she  was  thinking  about  the  unavoidableness  of 
death  and  of  her  own  moral  baseness,  which  had  now  been  re- 
vealed to  her  for  the  first  time  in  its  manifestation  during  her 
father's  illness.  She  wanted  but  she  dared  not  to  pray ;  she 
dared  not,  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  she  found  herself, 
to  turn  to  God  in  prayer.     Long  she  lay  in  that  position. 

Tlie  sun  had  gone  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and 
its  slanting  afternoon  beams,  which  fell  through  the  opened 
windows,  lighted  up  the  room  and  lay  on  the  cushion  at  which 
she  was  looking.  The  train  of  sombre  thoughts  suddenly 
ceased.  She  instinctively  sat  up,  smootlied  her  hair,  got  to 
her  feet,  and  went  to  the  window,  where,  without  thinking, 
she  filled  her  lungs  with  the  cool  air  of  t^e  bright  but  windy 
afternoon. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  169 

"Yes,  now  yon  can  enjoy  your  fill  of  the  evening!  He  is 
gone,  and  no  one  is  here  to  interfere  with  you/'  said  she  to 
herself,  and,  dropping  into  a  chair,  leaned  her  head  on  the 
window-seat.  Some"  one,  in  a  soft,  affectionate  voice,  called  her 
name  from  the  park  side  of  the  window,  and  kissed  her  on  the 
head.     She  looked  up. 

It  was  Mademoiselle  Bourienne,  in  a  black  dress  trimmed 
with  white.  She  had  softly  approached  the  Princess  Mariya, 
kissed  her  with  a  sigh,  and  immediately  burst  into  tears. 
The  princess  looked  at  her.  All  her  previous  collisions  with 
her,  her  jealousy  of  her,  came  back  to  her  remembrance  ;  she 
also  remembered  how  he  of  late  had  changed  toward  Mad- 
emoiselle Bourienne,  could  not  even  bear  to  see  her,  and 
consequently  how  uniust  had  been  the  reproaches  with  which 
the  Princess  Mariya  had  loaded  her.  "  Yes,  and  can  I,  I  who 
have  just  been  wishing  for  his  death,  can  I  judge  any  one 
else  ?  '*  she  asked  herself. 

The  Princess  Mariya  had  a  keen  sense  of  Mademoiselle  Bou- 
rienne's  trying  situation,  held  by  her  at  a  distance,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  dependent  upon  her,  and  dwelling  under  a  stran- 
ger's roof.  And  she  began  to  feel  a  pity  for  her.  She  looked 
at  her  with  a  sweet,  questioning  look,  and  stretched  out  her 
hand.  Mademoiselle  Bourienne  immediately  had  a  fresh  par- 
oxysm of  tears,  began  to  kiss  the  princess's  hand,  and  to  speak 
of  the  affliction  that  had  come  upon  her,  and  claimed  to  be  a 
sympathizer  in  that  affliction.  She  declared  that  her  only 
consolation  in  this  sorrow  was  that  the  princess  allowed  her 
to  share  it  with  her.  She  said  that  all  their  previous  mis- 
understandings ought  to  be  forgotten  in  presence  of  this  terri- 
ble loss,  that  she  felt  that  her  conscience  was  clear  before  all 
men,  and  that  he  from  above  would  bear  witness  to  her  love 
and  gratitude. 

The  princess  listened  to  her  without  comprehending  what 
she  was  saying,  but  she  looked  at  her  from  time  to  time,  and 
heard  the  sounds  of  her  voice. 

"  Your  position  is  doubly  terrible,  dear  princess,"  said  Mad- 
emoiselle Bourienne,  after  a  short  silence.  "  I  understand  how 
it  is  that  you  could  not  have  thought  —  that  you  cannot 
think  about  yourself ;  but,  from  the  love  which  I  bear  you,  I 
am  compelled  to  do  so  for  you.  —  Has  Alpatuitch  been  to  see 
you  ?  Has  he  said  anything  to  you  about  going  away  ?  "  she 
asked. 

The  Princess  Mariya  made  no  reply.  She  could  not  realize 
who  was  going  away  or  where  it  was. 


WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  Why  undertake  anything  just  now  ?  Why  think  of  any- 
thing ?  What  difference  does  it  make  ? ''  She  made  no 
answer. 

if  Do  you  know,  ch^re  Marie,"  asked  Mademoiselle  Bouri- 
enne,  —  "  do  you  know  that  we  are  in  peril,  that  we  are  sur* 
rounded  by  the  French  ?  It  is  dangerous  to  go  now.  If  we 
were  to  start,  we  should  almost  certainly  be  taken  prisoner, 
and  Grod  knows  "  — 

The  Princess  Mariya  looked  at  her  friend  without  compre- 
hending what  she  was  saying. 

"  Akh  !  if  you  could  only  know  how  little,  how  little  I  care 
now,"  said  she.  "Of  course,  I  should  never  wish  such  a 
thing  as  to  go  away  and  leave  him.  —  Alpatuitch  said  some- 
thing to  me  about  going  away,  —  Talk  it  over  with  him ;  I 
cannot  and  I  will  not  hear  "  — 

<'  I  have  spoken  with  him.  He  hopes  that  we  shall  be  able 
to  get  away  to-morrow ;  but  it  is  my  opinion  that  we  had 
better  remain  here  now,"  said  Mademoiselle  Bourienne. 
"  Because  —  you  must  agree  with  me,  chere  Marie  —  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  soldiers  or  insurgent  peasants  would  be 
horrible." 

Mademoiselle  Bourienne  drew  forth  from  her  reticule  a 
proclamation  —  printed  on  paper  different  from  that  used 
generally  in  Russia  —  from  the  French  general  Rameau, 
in  which  the  inhabitants  were  advised  not  to  abandon  their 
homes,  since  full  protection  would  be  vouchsafed  them  by  the 
French  authorities  ;  this  she  handed  to  the  princess. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  apply  to  this  general,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Bourienne.  "And  I  am  convinced  that  we 
should  be  treated  with  due  consideration." 

The  Princess  Mariya  read  the  paper,  and  her  face  contracted 
with  a  sort  of  tearless  sob. 

"  From  whom  did  you  get  this  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  They  probably  knew  that  I  am  French  from  my  name," 
said  Mademoiselle  Bourienne,  with  a  blush. 

The  princess,  with  the  paper  in  her  hand,  got  up  from  the 
window,  and  with  a  blanched  face  left  the  room,  and  went 
into  Prince  Andrei's  cabinet,  which  adjoined. 

"  Dunyasha,  summon  Alpatuitch,  Drdnushka,  any  one,"  ex- 
claimed the  Princess  Mariya,  "  and  tell  Amalie  Karlovna  not 
to  come  near  me,"  she  added,  hearing  Mademoiselle  Bouri- 
enne's  voice.  "  Go  quick  !  quick  !  "  exclaimed  the  Princess 
Mariya,  panic-stricken  at  the  thought  that  she  might  be  left 
in  the  power  of  the  French, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  161 

"What  if  Prince  Andrei  knew  that  she  were  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  French !  That  she,  the  daughter  of  Prince 
Nikolai  Andreyitch  Bolkoiisky,  had  asked  General  Kameau  to 
grant  her  his  protection,  and  put  herself  under  obligations  for 
benefits  received  from  him  ! '' 

The  mere  suggestion  of  such  a  thing  filled  her  with  horror, 
made  her  shudder,  turn  red,  and  feel  still  more  violently  than 
ever  before  those  impulses  of  anger  and  outraged  pride. 

She  now  vividly  realized  all  the  difficulties,  and,  above  all, 
the  humiliations  of  her  position. 

"They  —  the  French — will  take  possession  of  this  house; 
M.  le  general  Rameau  will  make  use  of  Prince  Andrei's  cabi- 
net ;  for  their  amusement  they  will  ransack  and  read  his 
letters  and  papers.  Mademoiselle  Bourienne  lux  fera  les  hoti' 
neurs  de  Bogaeharovo  !  They  will  out  of  special  favor  grant 
me  a  sleeping-room ;  the  soldiers  will  tear  open  my  father's 
newly  made  grave  in  order  to  rob  him  of  his  crosses  and  stars ; 
they  will  boast  before  me  of  their  victories  over  the  Russians, 
they  will  pretend  to  sympathize  in  my  grief,"  thought  the 
Princess  Mariya,  and  these  were  not  her  own  thoughts,  but 
she  felt  herself  compelled  to  think  as  her  father  and  brother 
would  have  thought. 

For  her  personally  it  was  a  matter  of  utter  indifference 
where  she  staid  or  what  happened  to  her ;  but  at  the  same 
time  she  felt  that  she  was  the  representative  of  her  late  father 
and  of  Prince  Andrei.  She  could  not  help  thinking  these 
thoughts  and  feeling  these  feelings.  Whatever  they  would 
have  said,  whatever  they  would  have  done,  now  this  she  felt 
that  it  was  indispensable  for  her  to  do.  She  went  into  Prince 
Andrei's  cabinet,  and,  in  her  endeavors  to  follow  out  what 
would  be  his  ideas,  she  reviewed  her  position. 

The  demands  of  life,  which  she  had  felt  had  been  annihi- 
lated at  the  moment  of  her  father's  death,  suddenly,  with  new, 
never-before-experienced  violence,  rushed  up  before  her,  and 
took  possession  of  her. 

Flushed  with  excitement,  she  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  summoning  first  Alpatuitch,  then  Mikhail  Ivanovitch, 
then  Tikhon,  then  Dron.  Dunyasha,  the  old  nyanya,  and  all 
the  maids  were  equally  unable  to  say  how  far  Mademoiselle 
Bourienne  was  correct  in  what  she  had  declared.  Alpatuitch 
was  not  at  home  ;  he  had  gone  to  consult  with  the  authorities. 
Mikhail  Ivanuitch,  the  architect,  on  being  summoned,  came 
into  the  Princess  Mariya's  presence  with  sleepy  eyes,  and 
could  tell  her  absolutely  nothmg.  He  replied  to  her  questions 
VOL.  8.  — 11. 


162  ^VAR  AND  PEACS. 

with  precisely  the  same  non-committal  stnile  with  which  for 
fifteen  years  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with  the  old 
prince,  and  she  could  get  nothing  definite  from  his  replies. 

Then  the  old  valet  Tikhon  was  called,  and  with  a  downcast 
and  impassive  face,  bearing  all  the  symptoms  of  incurable  woe, 
he  replied  to  all  her  questions  with  his  "  slush&yu-s  —  I  obey," 
and  could  scarcely  refrain  from  sobbing  as  he  looked  at  her. 

At  last  the  starosta  Dron  came  into  the  room,  and,  making 
her  a  low  obeisance,  stood  respectfully  at  the  threshold. 

The  Princess  Mariya  glided  through  the  room  and  paused 
in  front  of  him. 

"  Dr6nushka ! "  said  she,  seeing  in  him  an  undoubted  friend, 
the  same  Dr6nushka  who  had  always  brought  home  pieces  of 
gingerbread  with  him  from  his  trips  to  the  yarmarka  or 
annual  bazaar  at  Viasma,  and  presented  to  her  with  a  smile.  — 
"Dr6nushka!  now,  since  our  sad  loss,'' —  She  began  and 
then  paused,  unable  to  proceed. 

"All  our  goings  are  under  God,"  said  he  with  a  sigh- 
Neither  spoke. 

"  Dr6nu8hka !  Alpatuitch  has  gone ;  I  have  no  one  to  turn 
to  ;  is  it  true,  what  I  am  told,  that  we  cannot  get  away  ?  " 

"  Not  get  away  ?  Certainly  you  can  get  away,  princess," 
said  Dron. 

"  They  tell  me  there  is  danger  from  the  enemy.  My  friend,* 
I  am  helpless,  I  don't  understand  anything  about  it,  I  am 
entirely  alone.  I  decidedly  wish  to  start  to-night  or  to-morrow 
morning  early." 

Dron  made  no  sound.  He  looked  from  under  his  brows  at 
the  princess. 

"No  horses,"  said  he  at  last,  "and  I  have  told  Yakof  Al- 
patuitch so." 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  demanded  the  princess. 

"  It  is  God's  punishment,"  said  Dron ;  "  what  horses  we  had 
have  been  taken  by  the  troops,  and  the  rest  have  perished. 
That's  the  way  it  is  this  year.  'Twouldn't  so  much  matter 
about  feeding  the  horses,  if  we  ourselves  weren't  perishing  of 
starvation.  Often  for  three  days  at  a  time  we  go  without  a 
bite.    We  have  nothing  at  all ;  we  are  utterly  ruined." 

The  Princess  Mariya  listened  attentively  to  what  he  said. 

"  The  peasantry  are  ruined  ?  You  say  they  have  no  com  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"They  are  perishing  of  famine,"  said  Dron.  "And  as  foi 
teams  "  — 

•  Golubckik. 


WAR  AND  P^ACS.  163 

"  But  why  haven't  you  told  me  of  this  before,  Dr6nushka  ? 
Can't  they  be  helped  ?     I  will  do  all  in  my  power  "  — 

It  was  strange  for  the  Princess  Mariya  to  think  that  now, 
at  this  moment  when  her  heart  was  filled  with  such  sorrow, 
there  could  be  poor  men  and  rich,  and  that  the  rich  did  not 
help  the  poor.  She  had  a  general  notion  that  when  the  mas- 
ters had  a  reserve  of  corn,  it  was  distributed  among  the  serfsi 
She  knew  also  that  neither  her  father  nor  her  brother  would 
refuse  to  help  the  peasantry  in  case  of  need;  all  that  she 
feared  was  that  she  might  make  some  blunder  in  speaking 
ahout  this  distribution  of  corn  which  she  was  anxious  to 
make.  She  was  glad  of  some  pretext  for  active  work :  some- 
thing that  would  allow  her  without  pangs  of  conscience  to 
forget  her  own  sorrow.  She  proceeded  to  interrogate  Dron- 
ushka  in  regard  to  the  necessities  of  the  muzhiks  and  the 
store  of  reserve  corn  belonging  to  the  estate  at  Bogucharovo. 
"  We  have  com  belonging  to  the  estate ;  have  we  not, 
brother  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"The  master's  corn  is  untouched,"  said  Dron  with  pride. 
"  Our  prince  had  not  ordered  it  to  be  sold." 

"  Give  that  to  the  peasantry ;  give  them  all  they  need.     I 
grant  it  in  my  brother's  name,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya. 
Dron  made  no  reply  and  drew  a  long  sigh. 
"You  give  them  this  com,  if  there  is  enough  for  them. 
Give  it  all  to  them.     I  order  it  in  my  brother's  name,  and  tell 
them :  *  What  is  ours  is  always  theirs.'     We  shall  not  grudge 
it  for  them.     Tell  them  so." 
Dron  looked  steadily  at  the  princess  while  she  was  saying  this. 
"Discharge  me,  mdtushka,  for  God's  sake;  order  the  keys 
to  be  taken  from  me,"  said  he.     "  I  have  been  in  service  for 
twenty-three  years !     I  have  never  done  anything  dishonest ; 
discharge  me,  for  God's  sake !  " 

The  Princess  Mariya  could  not  understand  what  he  wanted 
of  her,  or  why  he  wished  to  be  relieved  of  his  office.  She  re- 
plied that  she  had  never  conceived  a  doubt  of  his  devotion,  and 
that  she  was  always  ready  to  do  anything  for  him  or  for  any  of 
the  muzhiks. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

An  hour  later  Dunyasha  came  to  the  princess  with  the 
news  that  Dron  was  there,  and  that  all  the  muzhiks  had  col- 
lected in  accordance  with  the  princess's  orders  at  the  granary, 
and  wished  to  have  speech  with  their  mistress. 


164  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

« But  I  never  called  them,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya ;  **  1 
merelY  told  Dr6nushka  to  give  them  com." 

''Tnen,  for  Grod's  sake,  princess-matushka,  order  them  to 
disperse  and  don't  go  to  them.  They  are  deceiving  you,"  ex- 
claimed Dunyasha.  ^^  Yakof  Alpatuitch  will  soon  be  back,  and 
then  we  wiU  go  —  and  don't  you  allow  "  — 

"How  are  they  deceiving  me?"  asked  the  princess  in 
amazement. 

"  But  I  am  certain  of  it !  Only  heed  my  words,  for  God's 
sake.  Just  ask  nurse  here.  They  declare  they  will  not  go 
away  at  your  orders." 

"  You  have  got  it  entirely  wrong.  —  Besides,  I  have  never 
ordered  them  to  go  away,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya.  "Fetch 
Dr6nu8hka." 

Dron  came  in  and  confirmed  what  Dunyasha  said:  the 
muzhiks  had  assembled  at  the  princess's  orders. 

**  But  I  never  summoned  them,"  said  the  princess.  "  You 
did  not  give  my  message  correctly.  I  only  told  you  to  give 
them  com." 

Dron  made  no  reply ;  merely  sighed. 
"  If  you  order  it  they  will  disperse,"  said  he. 
"  No,  no,  I  will  go  to  them,"  said  the  princess. 
In  spite  of  the  persuasion  of  Dunyasha  and  the  old  nyanya, 
the  Princess  Mariya  went  down  the  steps.     Dr6nu8hka,  Dun- 
yasha, the  old  nyanya,  and  Mikhail  Ivamiitch  followed  her. 

"  They  apparently  think  that  I  give  them  the  corn  so  that 
they  should  stay  at  home,  while  I  myself  am  going  away, 
abandoning  them  to  the  mercy  of  the  French,"  thought  the 
Princess  Mariya.  "But  I  will  promise  them  rations  and 
quarters  at  our  pod-Moskovnaya ;  I  am  sure  Andre  would  do 
even  more  in  my  place,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  went 
toward  the  throng  that  had  gathered  in  the  twilight  on  the 
green  near  the  granary. 

The  throng  showed  some  signs  of  confusion,  and  moved  and 
swayed  a  little,  and  hats  were  removed  as  she  approached. 
The  Princess  Mariya,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  getting  her 
feet  entangled  in  her  dress,  went  toward  them.  So  many  dif- 
ferent eyes  from  faces  young  and  old  were  fixed  upon  her,  and 
so  many  different  people  were  collected,  that  the  princess  did 
not  distinguish  any  particular  person ;  and,  as  she  felt  that  it 
was  requisite  for  her  to  address  them  all  at  once,  she  did  not 
know  how  to  set  about  it.  But  once  more  the  consciousness 
that  she  was  the  representative  of  her  father  and  brother  gave 
her  courage,  and  she  boldly  began  to  speak. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  165 

"I  am  veiy  glad  that  you  came,"  she  began,  not  raising  her 
eyes,  and  conscious  of  her  heart  beating  fast  and  strong. 
"  Dronashka  told  me  that  you  were  ruined  by  the  war.  That 
,  is  our  common  misfortune,  and  I  shall  spare  no  endeavor  to 
-  help  yoxL.  I  myself  am  going  away  because  it  is  dangerous 
here — and  the  enemy  are  near — because  —  I  will  give  you 
everything,  friends,  and  I  beg  of  you  to  take  all,  all  our  com, 
so  that  you  may  not  suffer  from  want.  And  if  you  have  been 
told  that  I  distribute  the  corn  among  you  so  as  to  keep  you 
here,  that  is  a  falsehood.  On  the  contrary,  I  beg  of  you  to  go 
with  all  your  possessions  to  our  pod-Moskovnaya,  and  I  will 
engage  and  promise  that  you  shall  not  suffer.  You  shall  be 
given  homes  and  provisions." 

The  princess  paused.  In  the  throng  sighs  were  heard,  and 
that  was  all. 

"  I  do  not  give  this  of  myself,"  continued  the  princess,  "  but 
I  do  it  in  the  name  of  my  late  father,  who  was  a  good  barin  to 
you,  and  in  behalf  of  my  brother  and  his  son." 

She  again  paused.  No  one  broke  in  upon  her  silence.  "  Our 
misfortune  is  universal,  and  we  will  share  everything  together. 
AH  that  is  mine  is  yours,"  said  she,  gazing  at  the  faces  ranged 
in  front  of  her. 

All  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  with  one  expression,  the  signifi- 
cance of  which  she  could  not  riddle.  Whether  it  were  curios- 
ity, devotion,  gratitude,  or  fear,  or  distrust,  that  expression, 
whatever  it  was,  was  the  same  in  all. 

"Very  grateful  for  your  kindness,  but  we  don't  want  to  take 
the  master's  corn,"  said  a  voice  in  the  rear  of  the  throng. 
"Yes,  but  why  not  ?  "  asked  the  princess. 
Ko  one  replied,  and  the  Princess  Mariya,  glancing  around  the 
throng,  observed  that  now  all  eyes  which  met  hers  immedi- 
ately turned  away. 
"  Why  are  you  unwilling  ?  "  she  asked  again. 
No  one  replied. 

The  Princess  Mariya  felt  awkward  at  this  silence.     She  tried 
to  catch  some  one's  eye. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  ?  "  demanded  the  princess,  address- 
ing an  aged  man,  who,  leaning  on  his  cane,  was  standing  in 
front  of  her.  "  Tell  me  if  you  think  that  anything  else  is 
needed.  I  will  do  everything  for  you,"  said  she,  as  she  caught 
^is  eye.  But  he,  as  though  annoyed  by  this,  hung  his  head 
and  mattered,  — 
"  Why  should  we  ?  We  don't  want  your  com." 
"What I  us  abandon  everything ?    We  don't  agree  to  it,"  — 


166  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  We  don't  agree  to  it."  —  "  Not  with  our  consent."  —  "  We  aw 
sorry,  but  it  sha'n't  be  done  with  our  consent."  —  "Gro  off  by 
yourself  alone  ! "  rang  out  from  the  mob  on  different  sides. 
And  again  all  the  faces  of  the  throng  had  one  and  the  same 
expression;  but  this  time  it  was  assuredly  not  curiosity  or 
gratitude,  but  one  of  angry,  obstinate  resolution. 

"  Oh,  but  you  have  not  understood  me,"  exclaimed  the  Prin- 
cess Mariya,  with  a  melancholy  smile.  "Why  are  you  unwill- 
ing to  go  ?  I  promise  to  give  you  new  homes  and  feed  you. 
But  if  you  stay  here  the  enemy  will  ruin  you."  But  her  voice 
was  drowned  by  the  voices  of  the  mob. 

"  Not  with  our  consent.  Let  him  destroy  us.  We  won't 
touch  your  corn.     Not  with  our  consent." 

The  Princess  Mariya  tried  again  to  catch  the  eyes  of  some 
other  person  in  the  crowd  j  but  not  one  was  directed  toward 
hor :  their  eyes  evidently  avoided  her.  She  felt  strange,  and 
ill  at  ease. 

"  There,  now !  she's  a  shrewd  one.  Follow  her  to  prison. 
They  want  to  get  our  houses,  and  make  serfs  of  us  again  — 
the  idea!  We  won't  touch  your  corn,"  rang  the  various 
voices. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  hanging  her  head,  left  the  crowd,  and 
went  back  to  the  house.  Reiterating  her  ordera  to  Dron  to 
have  the  horses  ready  against  their  departure  the  next  day, 
she  went  to  her  room  and  remained  alone  with  her  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Princess  Mariya  sat  long  that  night  beside  her  open 
window  in  her  room,  listening  to  the  hubbub  of  voices  which 
came  up  to  her  from  the  peasant  village  ;  and  yet  she  was  not 
thinking  of  them.  She  felt  that  the  more  she  thought  about 
them,  the  less  she  should  understand  them.  Her  mind  was 
concentrated  on  one  thing  :  her  affliction,  which  now,  after  the 
interruption  caused  by  her  labors  in  connection  with  the 
present  situation,  seemed  already  far  in  the  past.  She  could 
now  think  calmly,  could  weep,  and  could  pray. 

With  the  sunset  the  breeze  had  died  down.  The  night  was 
calm  and  cool.  By  twelve  o'clock  the  voices  began  to  grow 
still ;  a  cock  crew ;  the  full  moon  began  to  rise  up  from  behind 
the  lindens ;  a  cool,  white  dew-mist  arose,  and  peace  reigned 
over  the  village  and  over  the  house. 

One  after  the  other  passed  before  her  mind  the  pictures  of 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  167 

the  recent  past :  the  illness  and  the  last  moments  of  her  father. 
And,  with  a  melancholy  joy,  she  now  dwelt  upon  these  pic- 
tures, repelliug  with  horror  only  one :  the  vision  of  his  death, 
a  thing  which  she  felt  wholly  unable  to  contemplate,  even  in 
imagination,  at  that  calm,  mysterious  hour  of  night.  And 
these  pictures  came  before  her  with  such  vividness,  and  with 
such  fulness  of  detail,  that  they  seemed  to  her  now  like  the 
reality,  and  then,  again,  like  something  past,  or,  again,  like 
something  that  was  to  come. 

Now  she  vividly  recalled  the  moment  when  he  received  the 
stroke,  and  was  borne  in  the  arms  of  his  men  into  the  house 
at  Luisiya  Gonii,  muttering  unintelligible  words  with  his  dis- 
obedient tongue,  knitting  his  grizzled  brows,  and  looking  anx- 
iously and  timidly  at  her. 

"  Even  then,  he  wanted  to  tell  me  what  he  said  on  the  very 
day  of  his  death,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  What  he  said  to  me 
then  was  all  the  time  in  his  mind." 

And  then  she  imagined,  with  all  its  details,  that  night  at  Luis- 
iya Gorui,  on  the  evening  before  the  apoplectic  stroke,  when, 
with  a  presentiment  of  evil,  she  remained  with  him  against  his 
will.  She  could  not  sleep,  and  she  went  down  late  at  night  on 
her  tiptoes,  and,  going  to  the  door  of  the  greenhouse,  where 
her  father  had  tried  to  sleep  that  night,  had  listened  to  him. 
He  was  talking  to  Tikhon  in  a  peevish,  weary  voice.  He  was 
telling  him  something  about  the  Crimea,  about  the  genial 
nights,  about  the  empress.  He  was  evidently  in  a  talkative 
mood. 

"  And  why  did  he  not  call  me  ?  Why  did  he  not  allow  me 
then  to  take  Tikhon's  place  ?  " 

She  asked  herself  that  question  then,  and  again  she  asked 
it  now.  "  He  was  never  one  to  confide  in  any  one  what  he 
kept  locked  up  in  the  chambers  of  his  heart.  And  now  never 
again  for  him  and  for  me  will  return  that  moment  when  he 
might  say  all  he  wished  to  say,  and  then  I,  and  not  Tikhon, 
might  have  listened  and  understood  him.  Why  did  I  not  go 
in  where  he  was  ?  "  wondered  the  Princess  Mariya.  "  Maybe 
even  then  he  would  have  told  me  what  he  said  on  the  day  of 
his  death.  While  he  was  talking  with  Tikhon  he  twice  asked 
about  me.  He  wished  to  see  me,  and  there  I  was  standing  at 
the  door.  He  found  it  tiresome  and  stupid  to  talk  with  Ti- 
khon, for  he  could  not  understand  him.  I  remember  how  he 
spoke  with  him  about  Liza,  as  though  she  were  still  alive,  — 
he  had  forgotten  that  she  was  dead,  —  and  Tikhon  reminded 
him  that  she  had  passed  away,  and  he  cried,  *  Dur&k  —  idiot  1 ' 


168  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

It  was  hard  for  him.  As  I  stood  outside  I  heard  him  groan, 
and  lie  down  on  the  bed  and  cry  aloud,  *  My  God  ! '  Why 
didn't  I  go  in  then  and  there  ?  What  would  he  have  done  to 
me  ?  What  trouble  might  I  not  have  made  ?  Perhaps  even 
then  he  would  have  been  comforted ;  perhaps  he  would  have 
called  me  —  what  he  did."  And  the  princess  repeated  aloud 
the  caressing  word  which  he  had  spoken  to  her  on  the  day  of  his 
death :  "  Diishenka,"  —  Dear  heart,  —  "  Dii-shen-ka,"  repeated 
the  princess,  and  she  burst  into  tears  that  lightened  the  sor- 
row of  her  soul. 

Now  she  saw  his  face  plainly  before  her :  and  not  that  face 
which  she  had  known  ever  since  her  earliest  remembrance, 
and  which  she  had  always  seen  afar  off,  as  it  were,  but  that 
weak,  submissive  face  which  she,  for  the  first  time  in  her  mem- 
orv,  as  she  bent  down  close  to  it  to  catch  the  last  words  that 
fell  from  his  mouth,  saw  near  at  hand  with  all  its  wrinkles 
and  details. 

"  Diishenka ! "  she  repeated. 

"  What  thoughts  were  in  his  mind  when  he  said  that  word  ? 
What  is  he  thinking  now  ?  " 

That  question  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  and  for  answer  to  it 
she  seemed  to  see  him  before  her  with  that  same  expression 
of  face  which  he  had  worn  in  his  coffin  with  the  white  hand 
kerchief  binding  up  his  face.  And  that  horror  which  had 
seized  her  then,  when  she  had  touched  him,  and  then  felt  so 
assured  that  this  thing  not  only  was  not  be,  but  something 
mysterious  and  repulsive,  came  over  her  again.  She  tried 
to  think  of  something  else,  she  tried  to  pray,  and  she  could 
do  neither.  With  wide,  stai'ing  eyes  she  gazed  at  the  moon- 
light and  at  the  shadows,  every  instant  expecting  to  see  his 
dead  face,  and  she  felt  that  the  silence  that  hung  over  the 
house  and  in  the  house  was  turning  her  to  stone. 

"  Dunyasha !  "  she  whispered.  "  Dunyasha !  "  she  cried,  in 
a  wild  voice,  and,  tearing  herself  away  from  the  silence,  she 
ran  into  the  domestics'  room,  meeting  the  old  nyanya  and  the 
women,  who  came  to  meet  her  at  her  cry. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

On  the  twenty-ninth  of  August  Rostof  and  Hyin,  accompar 
nied  only  by  Lavrushka,  just  back  from  his  brief  captivity, 
and  an  orderly  sergeant  of  hussars,  set  forth  from  their  biv- 
ouac at  Yankovo,  fifteen  versts  from  Bogucharovo^  to  make 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  169 

trial  of  a  new  horse  which  Ilyin  had  recently  purchased,  and 
to  find  whether  there  was  any  fodder  in  the  villages  round 
about. 

Bogucharovo,  during  the  last  three  days,  had  been  midway 
between  two  hostile  armies,  so  that  it  was  just  as  likely  to  be 
occupied  by  the  Eussian  rearguard  as  by  the  French  van- 
guard ;  and  consequently,  Eostof,  like  the  thoughtful  squadron 
commander  that  he  was,  conceived  the  notion  of  taking  pos- 
session of  the  provisions  at  Bogucharovo  in  ^anticipation  of 
the  French. 

Eostof  and  Ilyin  were  in  the  most  jovial  mood.  On  the  way 
to  Bogucharovo,  to  the  princely  estate  and  farm  where  they 
hoped  to  iind  a  great  throng  of  domestics  and  pretty  young 
girls,  they  now  questioned  Lavrushka  about  Napoleon,  and 
made  merry  over  his  tale,  and  then  they  ran  races  to  test 
Ilyin's  horse. 

Eostof  had  not  the  slightest  notion  that  this  village  where 
he  was  bound  was  the  estate  of  that  very  same  Bolkonsky  who 
had  been  betrothed  to  his  sister. 

He  and  Ilyin  made  a  final  spurt  in  trial  of  their  horses 
down  the  slope  in  front  of  Bogucharovo,  and  Eostof,  outriding 
Ilyin,  was  the  firat  to  enter  the  street  of  the  village. 

"  You  got  in  first !  "  cried  Ilyin,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

"  Yes,  always  ahead,  not  only  on  the  level,  but  here  also," 
replied  Eostof,  smoothing  the  flank  of  his  foam-flecked  Donets. 

"  And  I  on  my  Franzuska,  your  illustriousness,"  exclaimed 
Lavrushka,  coming  up  behind  them  on  his  cai*t-jade,  which  he 
called  "  Franzuska,"  or  "  Frenchy,"  in  honor  of  his  adventure. 
"  I'd  ha'  come  in  first  only  I  didn't  want  to  mortify  you." 

They  rode  at  a  foot-pace  up  to  the  granary,  near  which  a 
great  crowd  of  muzhiks  were  gathered. 

Some  of  them  took  off  their  caps ;  some,  not  taking  off  their 
caps,  gazed  at  the  new-comers.  Two  lank  muzhiks,  with 
wrinkled  faces  and  thin  beards,  came  out  from  the  public- 
house,  reeling,  and  trolling  some  incoherent  snatch  of  a  song, 
and  approached  the  officers. 

"  Say,  my  hearties,"  sung  out  Eostof,  with  a  laugh,  "  have 
you  any  hay  ?  " 

"  Like  as  two  peas,"  exclaimed  Ilyin. 

"  We'i'e  jo-ol-ly  g-oo-d  f-fel-el-lo-ows,"  sang  one  of  the  men, 
with  an  effusively  good-natured  smile. 

A  muzhik  came  out  of  the  throng  and  approached  Eostof. 

"  Which  side  are  you  from  ?  "  he  asked. 

"The  French,"    replied  Eostof,  jokingly,  with  a   smile. 


170  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  And  that*s  Napoleon  himself/'  he  added,  pointing  to  Lar- 
rushka. 

''  Of  course,  you^re  Russians,  ain*t  you  ? ''  asked  the  muzhiL 
^*  Is  there  a  large  party  of  you  ?  "  asked  another,  a  little 
man,  who  also  joined  them. 

"  Ever  so  man}/'  replied  Eostof.  "  And  what  brings  you 
all  together  here,"  he  added.     '•  A  holiday  festival  ?  " 

"  The  elders  have  collected  for  communal  business,"  replied 
the  muzhik  who  first  came  out. 

At  this  time  two  women  and  a  man  in  a  white  hat  made 
their  appearance  on  the  road  from  the  mansion,  coming 
toward  the  otficers.  "  The  one  in  pink  is  mine !  Don't  dare 
cheat  me  of  her!"  exclaimed  Il^in,  catching  sight  of  Dun- 
yasha  coming  resolutely  toward  him. 

*'  She  shall  be  yours,"  replied  Lavrushka,  with  a  wink. 
"  What  do  you  want,  my  beauty  ? "  asked  Ilyin,  with  a 
smile. 

'^  The  princess  has  sent  to  ask  what  is  your  regiment  and 
your  name." 

'^  I  am  Count  Bostof,  squadron  commander,  and  I  am  your 
humble  servant." 

**  De-e-ev-lish  jo-ol-ly  g-ga-gals,"  sang  one  of  the  drunken 
muzhiks,  with  a  jovial  grin,  and  giving  Ilyin  a  meaning  look, 
as  he  stood  talking  with  the  maid.  Dunyasha  was  followed 
by  Alpatuitch,  who,  at  some  distance,  took  off  his  hat  in 
RostoFs  presence. 

"  I  make  bold  to  trouble  your  nobility,"  said  he,  politely, 
but  manifesting  a  certain  scorn  of  the  officer's  youthful  appear- 
ance, and  placing  his  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  coat.  "  My 
misti-ess,  the  daughter  of  Generalowf^^A^/,  the  late  Prince 
Xikolai  Andreyeviteh  Bolkonsky,  who  died  on  the  twenty- 
seventh  instant,  finds  herself  in  difficulty  on  account  of  the 
insubordination  and  boorishness  of  these  individuals  here"  — 
he  |)ointed  to  the  muzhiks  —  "and  she  begs  you  to  confer  with 
her — if  it  would  not  be  asking  too  much,"  said  Alpatuitch, 
with  a  timid  smile,  —  "  if  you  would  come  a  few  steps  farther 
—  and  besides  it  is  not  so  pleasant  in  presence  of" —  He 
indicated  the  two  drunken  muzhiks,  who  were  circling  round 
them  and  in  their  rear  like  gadflies  round  a  horse. 

"  Hey !  Alpatuitch  —  Hey  !  Yakof  Alpatuitch  "  —  «  Ser'ous 
shing !  'Scuse  us  !  Ser'ous  shing ! "  —  "  'Scuse  us,  for  Christ's 
sake!  Hey!"  said  the  muzhiks,  leering  at  him.  Rostof 
looked  at  the  drunken  muzhiks,  and  smiled. 

"  Or  perhaps  this  amuses  your  illustriousness  ? ''  suggested 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  171 

Alpatuitch,  with  a  sedate  look,  and  indicating  the  old  men 
with  his  other  hand — the  one  not  in  the  breast  of  his  coat. 

'^No^  there's  no  amusement  in  that,"  said  Rostof,  and  started 
off.     "  What  is  the  trouble  ?  "  he  asked, 

'^  I  make  bold  to  explain  to  your  illustriousness,  that  these 
coarse  peasants  here  are  not  willing  that  their  mistiness  should 
leave  her  estate,  and  they  threaten  to  take  her  horses  out; 
and  though  everything  has  been  packed  up  since  morning,  her 
illustriousness  can't  get  away." 

"  Incredible  ! "  cried  Rostof . 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  reporting  to  you  the  essential  truth," 
maintained  Alpatuitch. 

Rostof  dismounted,  and,  throwing  the  reins  to  his  orderly, 
went  with  Alpatuitch  to  the  house,  questioning  him  on  the 
state  of  affairs.  In  point  of  fact,  the  offer  of  corn  which  the 
princess  had  made  to  the  muzhiks  the  evening  before,  her 
explanations  to  Dron  and  to  the  meeting,  had  made  affairs  so 
much  worse  that  Dron  had  definitively  laid  down  his  keys,  and 
taken  sides  with  the  peasantry,  and  had  refused  to  obey  Alpa- 
tnitch's  summons ;  and  that  morning,  when  the  princess  had 
ordered  to  have  the  horses  put  in  so  as  to  take  her  departure, 
the  muzhiks  had  gone  in  a  regular  mob  to  the  granary,  and 
sent  a  messenger  doclaiing  that  they  would  not  allow  the  prin- 
cess to  leave  the  village,  that  orders  had  come  not  to  leave  and 
they  should  unharness  the  horses.  Alpatuitch  had  gone  to 
them,  and  reasoned  with  them,  but  they  had  replied  —  Karp 
being  their  spokesman  for  the  most  part  —  Dron  did  not  show 
himself  at  all  —  that  it  was  impossible  to  let  the  princess  take 
her  departure,  that  there  was  a  law  against  it :  "  only  let  her 
stay  at  home,  and  they  would  serve  her  as  they  always  had 
done,  and  obey  her  in  everything." 

At  the  moment  that  Rostof  and  Ilyin  had  come  spurring  up  A 
the  avenue,  the  Princess  Mariya,  in  spite  of  the  dissuasion  of  V 
Alpatuitch,  the  old  nyanya,  and  her  women,  had  given  orders 
to  have  the  horses  put  in,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  to  start ; 
but  when  the  coachmen  saw  the  cavalrymen  galloping  up, 
they  took  them  for  the  French,  and  ran  away ;  and  wailing 
and  lamentations  of  women  were  heard  in  the  house. 

"  Batyushka ! "  —  "  Blessed  father  1 "  —  «  God  has  sent  you," 
were  the  words  of  welcome  that  met  him,  as  Rostof  passed 
through  the  anteroom. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  entirely  bewildered  and  weak  with 
fright,  was  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  when  Rostof  was 
brought  in  to  her.     She  had  no  idea  who  he  was  and  why  he 


c 


172  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

was  there  and  what  was  going  to  become  of  her.  When  she 
saw  his  Russian  face,  and  recognized  by  his  manner  and  the 
first  words  he  spoke  that  he  was  a  man  of  her  own  walk  in  life, 
she  looked  at  nim  with  her  deep,  radiant  eyes,  and  began  to 
speak  in  broken  tones,  her  voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

Kostof  immediately  found  something  very  romantic  in  this 
adventure.  "  An  unprotected  maiden,  overwhelmed  with  grief, 
left  alone  to  the  mercy  of  rough,  insurgent  muzhiks !  And 
what  a  strange  fate  has  brought  me  here ! "  thought  Bostof, 
as  he  listened  to  her  and  looked  at  her.  ''And  what  sweetness 
and  gratitude  in  her  features  and  her  words  ! "  he  said  to  him- 
self,  as  he  listened  to  her  faltering  tale. 

When  she  related  all  that  had  taken  place  on  the  day  after 
her  father's  obsequies,  her  voice  trembled.  She  turned  aside, 
and  then,  as  though  she  were  afraid  Kostof  would  take  her 
words  to  be  an  excuse  for  rousing  his  pity,  she  glanced  at  him 
with  a  timidly  questioning  look. 

The  tears  stood  in  Rostofs  eyes.  The  Princess  Mariya 
observed  it,  and  she  looked  gratefully  at  him  with  those  bril- 
liant eyes  of  hers,  which  made  one  forget  the  plainness  of  her 
face. 

*^  I  cannot  tell  you,  princess,  how  happy  I  am  at  the  chance 
that  brought  me  here,  and  puts  me  in  position  to  show  you 
how  ready  I  am  to  serve  you,"  said  Rostof,  rising.  "  You  can 
start  immediately,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor  that  no 
one  shall  dare  to  cause  you  the  slightest  unpleasantness,  if  you 
will  only  permit  me  to  serve  as  your  escort,"  and,  making  her 
a  courtly  bow  such  as  are  made  to  ladies  of  the  imperial  blood, 
he  went  to  the  door.  By  the  courtliness  of  his  tone,  Rostof 
seemed  to  show  that,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  should  con> 
sid  T  it  an  honor  to  be  acquainted  with  her,  he  would  not 
think  of  taking  advantage  of  her  hour  of  misfortune  to  inflict 
his  acquaintance  upon  her. 

The  Princess  Mariya  understood  and  appreciated  this  deli- 
cacy. 

"I  am  very,  very  grateful  to  you,"  said  she,  in  French. 
"But  I  hope  that  this  was  merely  a  misunderstanding,  and 
that  no  one  is  to  blame  for  it "  —  She  suddenly  broke  down. 
"  Forgive  me,"  said  she. 

Rostof  once  more  made  a  low  obeisance^  and  left  the  room 
with  an  angry  scowL 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  178 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"Well,  now,  pretty?  ah,  brother,  ray  pink  one's  a  beauty 
and  her  name  is  Diinjrasha  "  — 

But  as  he  glanced  into  Rostof  s  face  Ilyin  held  his  tongue. 
He  saw  that  his  hero  and  commander  had  come  back  in  an 
entirely  different  frame  of  mind. 

Rostof  gave  Ilyin  a  wrathful  glance,  and,  without  deigning 
to  give  him  any  answer,  he  strode  swiftly  down  to  the  village. 

"  I  will  teach  them !  I'll  give  it  to  those  cut-throats,"  he 
muttered  to  himself. 

Alpatuitch,  with  a  sort  of  swimming  gait  that  was  just 
short  of  running,  found  it  hard  to  overtake  him. 

"  What  decision  have  you  been  pleased  to  come  to  ? "  he 
asked,  at  last  catching  up  with  him.  Rostof  halted  and,  doub- 
ling his  fists,  made  a  threatening  movement  toward  Alpatmtch 
suddenly. 

"  Decision  ?  What  decision  ?  You  old  dotard ! "  cried  he. 
"What  are  you  staring  at?  Ha?  —  The  muzhiks  are  in 
revolt  and  you  can't  bring  them  to  terms  ?  You  yourself  are 
a  traitor !  I  know  you.  I'll  take  the  hide  off  you,  the  whole  of 
you" —  And,  as  though  afraid  of  wasting  the  reserve  fund  of 
his  righteous  wrath,  he  left  Alpatuitch  and  hastened  forward. 

Alpatuitch,  evidently  crushing  down  his  sense  of  injured 
innocence,  hastened  after  Rostof  with  that  swimming  gait  of 
his,  and  continued  to  give  him  his  opinions  in  regard  to  the 
matter.  He  declared  that  the  muzhiks  had  got  themselves 
into  such  a  state  of  recalcitrancy,  that  at  the  present  moment 
it  would  be  imprudent  to  contrarize  them,  unless  one  had  a 
squad  of  soldiers,  so  that  it  would  be  better  to  send  after  the 
soldiers  first. 

"  I'll  give  them  a  squad  of  soldiers  —  I'll  show  how  to  con- 
trarize them,"  replied  Rostof,  not  knowing  what  he  was  say- 
ing, and  breathing  hard  from  his  unreasoning,  keen  indignation 
and  the  necessity  which  he  felt  of  expressing  this  indignation. 
With  no  definite  plan  of  action  he  rushed  with  strong,  reso- 
lute steps  straight  at  the  mob. 

And  the  nearer  he  approached  it,  the  more  firmly  convinced 
grew  Alpatuitch  that  this  imprudent  action  of  his  might  lead 
to  excellent  results.  The  muzhiks  in  the  throng  felt  the  same 
thing  as  they  saw  his  swift,  unswerving  movements  and  his 
lesolute,  scowling  face. 


174  HM/J   AND  PEACE. 

After  the  hussars  had  entered  the  village  and  Rostof  had 
gone  to  see  the  princess,  a  certain  perplexity  and  division  of 
counsels  had  prevailed  among  the  peasantry.  It  hegan  to  be 
bruited  among  them  that  these  visitors  were  Russians,  and 
some  of  the  muzhiks  declared  that  they  would  be  angry 
because  their  baruishnya  was  detained.  Dron  was  of  this 
opinion,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  so  expressed  himself,  Karp  and 
the  other  muzhiks  attacked  their  former  starosta. 

"  How  many  years  have  you  been  getting  your  belly  full  out 
of  this  commune  ?  "  cried  Karp.  "  It's  all  the  same  to  you. 
You'll  dig  up  your  pot  of  money  and  be  off !  What  do  you 
care  whether  they  burn  up  our  houses  or  not  ?  " 

"  The  order  was  to  keep  good  order :  no  one  to  go  from  their 
homes  and  not  carry  off  the  value  of  a  speck  o'  dust — and 
there  she  goes  with  all  she's  "got,"  cried  another. 

"  'Twas  your  son's  turn,  but  you  were  too  soft  on  your  young 
noodle,''  suddenly  exclaimed  a  little  old  man,  pitching  into 
Dron.     *•  But  they  shaved  my  Vanka.     Ekh !  we  shall  die !  '* 

"  Certainly  we  shall  die  ! " 

"  I'm  not  quit  of  the  commune  yet,"  said  Dron. 

"  Of  course  you're  not.     You've  tilled  your  belly,  though !  ^ 

Then  two  long,  lank  muzhiks  said  their  say.  As  soon  as 
Rostof,  accompanied  by  Ilyin,  Lavrushka,  and  Alpatuitch,  drew 
near  the  mob,  Karp,  thrusting  his  fingers  in  his  belt,  and 
slightly  smiling,  came  forward.  Dron,  on  the  contrary,  got 
into  the  rear  ranks,  and  the  throng  crowded  closer  together. 

"  Hey  !  Which  of  you  is  the  starosta  here  ?  "  cried  Rostof, 
coming  up  to  the  mob  with  swift  strides. 

"  The  starosta  ?    Wliat  do  you  want  of  him  ?  "  asked  Karp, 

But  before  he  had  a  chance  to  utter  another  word  his  cap 
flew  off,  and  he  was  sent  reeling  with  a  powerful  blow. 

"  Hats  off,  you  traitors ! "  cried  Rostof  in  a  stentorian  voice. 
"  Where  is  the  starosta  ?  "  he  thundered  in  a  frenzied  voice. 

"  The  starosta,  he  wants  the  starosta.  —  Dron  Zakai'uitch  ^- 
you!"  was  spoken  by  various  officiously  submissive  voices, 
and  every  hat  was  doffed. 

*|  We  should  never  think  of  rebelling ;  we  preserve  order," 

insisted  Karp,  and  several  voices  in  the  rear  ranks  at  the  same 

instant  suddenly  shouted :  — 

"  It  was  what  the  council  of  elders  decided ;  we  have  to 
obey  "  — 

"  Do  you  dare  answer  back  ?  —  Mob !  —  cut-throats !  —  trai- 
tors ! "  sung  out  Rostof,  beside  himself  with  rage  and  in  an 
unnatural  voice,  while  he  seized  Karp  by  the  colUr,     "  3in4 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  175 

himt  Bind  him!''  he  cried,  though  there  was  no  one  to 
exeeate  his  orders  except  Lavnishka  and  Alpatnitch. 

LaTTUshka,  however,  sprang  forward  and  seized  Karp  by 
the  arms  from  behind.  "Do  you  wish  us  to  summon  ours 
from  below  ?  "  he  cried. 

Alx>atuitch  turned  to  the  muzhiks,  calling  two  by  name,  to 
bind  Karp's  arms.  These  muzhiks  submissively  stepped  forth 
from  the  throng  and  began  to  unfasten  their  belts. 

"  Where  is  the  starosta  ?  "  cried  Rostof . 

Bron,  with  a  pale  and  frowning  face,  stood  out. 

"You  the  starosta  ?  — Bind  him,  Lavnishka,"  cried  Bostof, 
as  though  it  wei-e  impossible  for  this  command  to  meet  with 
resistance.  And,  in  point  of  fact,  two  other  muzhiks  began 
to  bind  Dron,  who,  in  order  to  facilitate  the  operation,  took  off 
his  girdle  and  handed  it  to  them. 

"  And  see  here  —  do  you  all  obey  me ! "  —  Bostof  had  turned 
to  the  muzhiks.  —  "Disperse  to  your  homes  instantly,  and 
don't  let  me  hear  a  word  from  one  of  you ! " 

"  Gome,  now !  we  hain't  done  no  harm ! "  —  "  We  Ve  only  been 
acting  silly."  —  " Made  fools  of  ourselves,  that's  alU'  —  "I 
said  there  wasn't  no  such  orders,"  said  various  voices,  re- 
proaching each  other. 

"  That's  what  I  told  you,"  said  Alpatnitch,  re-assuming  his 
rights.     "  'Twasn't  right  of  you,  boys." 

"Our  foolishness,  Yakof  Alpatnitch,"  replied  the  voices, 
and  the  crowd  immediately  began  to  break  up  and  scatter  to 
their  homes. 

The  two  muzhiks,  with  their  arms  bound,  were  taken  to  the 
master's  house.*     The  two  drunken  men  followed. 

"  Ekh  !  now  I  get  a  good  look  at  you !  "  said  one  of  them, 
addressing  Karp. 

"  How  could  you,  with  your  betters  in  that  way  ?  What 
were  you  thinking  of  ?  Durak !  idiot  1 "  exclaimed  the  other. 
"  Truly  you  were  an  idiot ! " 

Inside  of  two  hours  the  teams  were  ready  in  the  dvor  of 
the  Bogucharovo  mansion.  The  men  were  zealously  lugging 
out  and  packing  up  the  master's  belongings,  and  Dron,  at  the 
princess's  intercession  let  out  of  the  shed  where  he  had  been 
locked  up,  directed  the  muzhiks  at  their  work. 

"Don't  pack  that  away  so  clumsily,"  said  one  of  the  mu- 
zhiks, a  tall  man,  with  a  round,  smiling  face,  taking  a  casket 
from  the  hands  of  a  chambermaid.  "  You  see,  that  must  'a' 
Qost  summat !    Don't  sling  it  in  that  way,  or  poke  it  under  a 

•  Barsky  dvor. 


176  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

pile  of  Tape  —  why,  it'll  get  spoiled!  I  don't  like  it  that 
way.  Let  everything  be  done  neat,  according  to  law  !  There, 
that's  the  way  —  under  this  mat,  and  tuck  hay  round  it 
That's  the  way  to  do  it ! " 

"  Oh,  these  books  !  these  books ! "  exclaimed  another  mu- 
zhik, bending  under  the  weight  of  the  bookcases  from  Prince 
Andrei's  library.  "  Don't  you  touch  them  !  Heavy,  I  tell  you, 
boys  !  healthy  lot  of  books  ! " 

"  Yes,  that  man  kept  his  pen  busy,  and  didn't  gad  much," 
said  the  tall,  moon-faced  muzhik,  winking  significantly,  and 
pointing  to  some  lexicons  lying  on  top. 

Bostof,  not  wishing  to  impose  his  acquaintance  upon  the 
princess,  did  not  return  to  her,  but  remained  in  the  village, 
waiting  for  her  to  pass  on  her  way.  Having  waited  until  the 
Princess  Mariya's  carriages  had  left  the  house,  Rostof  mounted 
and  accompanied  her  on  horseback  along  the  highway  occu- 
pied by  our  troops  for  a  dozen  versts. 

At  Yankovo,  where  his  bivouac  was,  he  jwlitely  took  leave 
of  her,  and  for  the  first  time  permitted  himself  the  liberty  of 
kissing  her  hand. 

"  Ought  jrou  not  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself !  "  replied  Ros- 
tof, reddening,  as  the  Princess  Mariya  expressed  her  gratitude 
for  his  having  saved  her  —  for  so  she  spoke  of  what  he  had 
done.  "  Any  policeman  *  would  have  done  as  much.  If  we 
had  only  peasants  to  fight  with,  we  should  not  have  let  the 
enemy  tuivance  so  far,"  said  he,  feeling  a  twinge  of  shame,  and 
anxious  to  change  the  topic.  "  I  am  only  delighted  that  this 
has  given  me  a  chance  of  making  your  acquaintance.  Farewell, 
— prashchaite,  princess.  I  wish  you  all  happiness  and  conso- 
lation, and  I  hope  that  we  shall  meet  under  more  favorable  cir- 
cumstances.  If  you  wish  to  spare  my  blushes,  please  do  not 
thank  me." 

But  the  princess,  if  she  did  not  thank  him  further  in  word, 
could  not  help  expressing  her  gratitude  in  every  feature  of 
her  face,  which  fairly  beamed  with  recognizance  and  gentle- 
ness. She  could  not  believe  him  when  he  said  that  she  had 
nothing  for  which  to  thank  him.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  be- 
yond question  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  him,  she  would  have 
been  utterly  lost  either  at  the  hands  of  the  insurgent  peas- 
ants, or  the  French;  that  he,  in  order  to  rescue  her,  had 
exix>sed  himself  to  the  most  palpable  and  terrible  peril ;  and 
still  less  was  it  a  matter  of  doubt  that  he  was  a  man  of  high, 

*  StanovcU 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  177 

noble  spirit,  capable  of  realizing  her  position  and  misfortune. 
His  kindly,  honest  eyes,  which  had  filled  with  sympathetic 
tears  when  she  herself  was  weeping,  and  seemed  to  speak  with 
her  about  her  loss,  she  could  not  keep  out  of  her  thoughts. 

When  she  bade  him  farewell,  and  was  left  alone,  the  Prin«> 
cess  Mariya  suddenly  felt  her  eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  then,  it 
seemed  not  for  the  first  time,  the  strange  question  came  into 
her  mind,  "  Did  she  love  him  ?  " 

During  the  rest  of  the  journey  to  Moscow,  though  her  posi- 
tion was  far  from  agreeable,  the  princess,  as  Dunyasha,  who 
rode  with  her  in  the  carriage,  more  than  once  observed,  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  smiled,  as  though  at  pleasant-melan- 
choly thoughts. 

'<  Well,  supposing  I  did  fall  in  love  with  him,"  mused  the 
Princess  Manya. 

Shameful  as  it  Was  for  her  to  acknowledge  to  herself  that 
she  fell  in  love  at  first  sight  with  a  man  who^  perhaps,  might 
never  reciprocate  her  love,  still  she  comforted  herself  with 
the  thought  that  no  one  would  ever  know  it^  and  that  she 
would  not  be  to  blame  if,  even  to  the  end  of  her  life,  she, 
without  ever  telling  any  one,  loved  this  man  whom  she  loved 
for  the  first  time  and  the  last. 

Sometimes  she  recalled  his  looks,  his  sympathetic  interest, 
his  words,  and  happiness  seemed  to  her  not  out  of  the  bounds 
of  the  possible.  And  it  was  at  such  times  that  Dunyasha 
observed  that  she  smiled  as  she  gazed  out  of  the  carriage  win- 
dow. 

<<  And  it  was  fate  that  he  should  come  to  Bogucharovo,  and 
at  such  a  time ! "  said  the  Princess  Mariya.  "  And  it  was  fate 
that  his  sister  should  jilt  Prince  Andrei  I "  And  in  all  this 
the  Princess  Manya  saw  the  workings  of  Providence. 

The  impression  made  upon  Rostof  by  the  Princess  Mariya 
was  very  agreeable.  When  his  thoughts  recurred  to  her,  hap- 
piness filled  his  heart,  and  when  his  comrades,  learning  of  his 
adventure  at  Bogucharovo,  joked  him  because,  in  going  after 
hay,  he  had  fallen  in  with  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  of 
Russia,  Rostof  lost  his  temper.  He  lost  his  temper  for  the 
very  reason  that  the  idea  of  marrying  the  princess,  who  had 
impressed  him  so  pleasantly,  and  who  had  such  an  enormous 

{Toperly,  had  more  than  once,  against  his  will,  occurred  to 
im.     As  far  as  he  personally  was  concerned,  he  could  not 
wish  a  better  wife  than  the  Princess  Mariya.    To  marry  h(»r 
would  give  great  delight  to  the  countess,  his  mother,  and  would 
help  him  to  extricate  his  father's  affairs  from  their  wreck,  — 
'  VOL.  a  — 12. 


178  WAR  A^^  PEACE. 

and  then,  again,  — Nikolai  felt  this,  —  it  would  be  for  the  Prin- 
cess Mariya's  happiness. 

But  Sonya  ?  And  his  plighted  troth  ?  And  that  was  the 
reason  Rostof  grew  angry  when  they  joked  him  about  the 
Princess  Bolkonskaya. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HAVTKa  accepted  the  command  of  the  armied,  Kutuzof 
remembered  Prince  Andrei,  and  sent  word  to  him  to  join  him 
at  headquarters.  Prince  Ajidrei  reached  Tsarevo-Zai«mi8hche 
on  the  very  day  and  at  the  very  time  when  Kutuzof  was  mak- 
ing his  first  review  of  the  troops. 

He  stopped  in  the  village,  at  the  house  of  a  priest,  in  front 
of  which  the  chief  commander's  carriage  was  standing,  and 
took  his  seat  on  the  bench  in  front  of  the  door,  waiting  for 
his  <*  serene  highness,"  *  as  every  one  now  called  Kutuzof. 
From  the  field  back  of  the  village  came  the  sound  of  martial 
music,  then  the  roar  of  a  tremendous  throng  of  men  shouting 
"  Hurrah !  Hurrah  1 "  in  honor  of  the  commander-in-chief. 

A  dozen  steps  or  so  from  Prince  Andrei  stood  a  couple  of 
Kutuzof  s  servants  — the  courier  and  his  house-steward, — 
profiting  by  the  prince's  absence  and  the  beautiful  weather  to 
come  out  to  the  gates. 

A  dark-complexioned  little  lieutenant^^lonel  of  hussars, 
with  a  poi*tentous  growth  of  mustache  and  side-whiskers,  came 
riding  up  to  the  gates,  and,  seeing  Prince  Andrei,  asked  if  his 
serene  highness  lodged  there,  and  if  he  would  soon  return. 

Prince  Andrei  replied  that  he  was  not  a  member  of  his 
serene  highness's  staff,  and  had,  likewise,  only  just  arrived. 

The  lieutenant-colonel  turned  to  the  spruce-looking  denshchik 
with  the  same  question ;  and  the  chief  commander's  denshchik 
answered  him  with  that  contemptuous  indifference  with  which 
the  servants  of  commanders-in-chief  are  apt  to  treat  under- 
officers. 

*^  What  ?  His  serene  highness  ?  Likely  to  be  here  before 
long.    What  do  you  want  ?  " 

The  lieutenant  laughed  in  his  mustaches  at  the  denshchik's 
tone,  dismounted  from  his  horse,  gave  the  bridle  to  his  orderly, 
and  joined  Bolkonsky,  making  him  a  stiff  little  bow.  Bolkon- 
sky  made  room  for  him  on  the  bench.  The  officer  of  hussars 
sat  down  next  him. 


WAR  AND  PHACE.  I7d 

"So  you're  waiting  for  the  commander-in-chief  too,  are 
yon  ?  '*  asked  the  lieutenant-colonel.  "  He's  weported  to  be 
vewy  accessible !  Thank  Go<l  for  that !  That  was  the  twouble 
with  those  sausage-stuffers.  There  was  some  weason  in  Yer- 
molof  asking  to  be  weckoned  as  a  German.  Now  pe'w'aps  we 
'Ussians  may  have  something  to  say  about  things  now.  The 
devil  knows  what  they've  been  doing  !  Always  wetweating  — 
always  wetweating !  Have  you  been  making  the  campaign  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  have  had  that  pleasure,"  replied  Prince  Andrei.  "  Not 
t)nly  have  I  taken  part  in  the  retreat,  but  I  have  lost  thereby 
all  that  I  hold  dear,  to  say  nothing  of  my  property  and  the 
home  of  my  ancestors,  —  my  father,  who  died  of  grief.  I  am 
Smolensk." 

"  Ah  ?  Are  you  Pwince  Bolkonsky  ?  Wight  glad  to  make 
your  acquaintance :  —  Lieutenant-Colonel  Denisof,  better 
known  as  Vaska,"  said  Denisof,  shaking  hands  with  Prince 
Andrei,  and  looking  with  a  peculiarly  gentle  expression  into 
his  face.  "  Yes,  I  heard  about  it,"  said  he  sympathetically  5 
and,  after  a  short  pause,  he  continued,  "  And  so  this  is  Scy- 
thian warfare.  It's  all  vewy  good  except  for  those  whose 
wibs  are  bwoken.  And  you  are  Pwince  Andrei  Bolkonsky  ?  " 
He  shook  his  head.  "  Vewy,  vewy  glad,  pwince,  vewy  glad  to 
make  your  acquaintance,"  he  repeated  for  the  second  time, 
squeezing  his  hand. 

Prince  Andrei  had  known  from  Natasha  that  Denisof  was  her 
first  suitor.  This  recollection,  at  once  sweet  and  bitter,  brought 
back  to  him  those  painful  sensations  which  of  late  he  had  not 
allowed  himself  to  harbor,  but  which  were  always  in  his  heart. 
Recently  so  many  other  and  more  serious  impressions  —  like 
the  evacuation  of  Smolensk,  his  visit  to  Luisiya  Gorui,  the 
news  of  his  father's  death  —  and  so  many  new  sensations  had 
been  experienced  by  him  that  it  was  some  time  since  he  had 
even  thought  of  his  disappointment,  and  now,  when  he  was 
reminded  of  it,  it  seemed  so  long  ago  that  it  did  not  affect  him 
with  its  former  force. 

For  Denisof,  also,  the  series  of  recollections  conjured  up  in 
his  mind  by  Bolkonsky's  name  belonged  to  a  distant,  poetic 

Gt,  to  that  time  when  he,  after  the  supper,  and  after  Natasha 
i  sung  for  him,  himself  not  realizing  what  he  was  doing, 
offered  himself  to  a  maiden  of  fifteen  I  He  smiled  from  his 
recollection  of  that  time,  and  of  his  love  for  Natasha,  and  im- 
mediately proceeded  to  the  topic  which  at  the  present  pas- 
sionately occupied  him  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 


180  VFAR  AND  PEACE. 

This  was  a  plan  of  campaign  which  he  had  developed  during 
the  retreat,  while  on  duty  at  the  outposts.  He  had  proposed 
this  plan  to  Barclay  de  Tolly,  and  was  now  bent  on  proposing 
it  to  Kutnzof.  The  plan  was  based  on  the  fact  that  the 
French  line  of  operations  was  too  widely  spread  out,  and  his 
idea  was  that,  instead  of  attacking  them  in  front,  or,  possibly, 
in  connection  with  offensive  attacks  at  the  front,  so  as  to  block 
their  road,  it  was'  necessary  to  act  against  their  communica* 
tions. 

"  They  can't  sustain  such  a  long  line.  It  is  impossible ! 
I'll  pwomise  to  bweak  thwough  them ;  give  me  five  hundwed 
men  and  I'll  cut  my  way  thwough,  twuly.  A  sort  of  system 
of  guwillas." 

Denisof  had  got  up  in  his  excitement,  and  as  he  laid  his 
plan  before  Bolkonsky  he  gesticulated  eagerly.  In  the  midst 
of  his  exposition,  the  acclamations  of  the  militaiy,  more  than 
ever  incoherent,  more  than  ever  diffused  and  mingled  with 
music  and  songs,  were  heard  in  the  direction  of  the  review- 
grounds.  The  trampling  of  horses  and  shouts  were  heard  in 
the  village. 

"  Here  he  comes,"  shouted  the  Cossack  guard.  Bolkonsky 
and  Denisof  went  down  to  the  gates,  where  were  gathered  a 
little  knot  of  soldiers,  composing  the  guard  of  honor,  and 
saw  Kutuzof  coming  down  the  street,  mounted  on  his  little 
bay  cob.  A  tremendous  suite  of  generals  accompanied  him ; 
Barclay  de  Tolly  was  riding  almost  abreast  of  him.  A  throng 
of  officers  followed  them  and  closed  in  around  them  on  all 
sides,  shouting  "  Hurrah  !  " 

His  adjutants  galloped  on  ahead  of  him  into  the  yard, 
Kutuzof  impatiently  spurring  his  steed,  which  cantered  along 
heavily  under  his  weight,  and  constantly  nodding  his  head 
and  raising  his  hand  to  his  white  cavalier-guard  cap,  which 
was  decorated  with  a  red  band  and  without  a  visor.  As  he 
came  up  to  his  guard  of  honor  composed  of  gallant  gi'enadiers, 
—  for  the  most  part  cavalrymen,  —  who  presented  arms,  he 
for  an  instant  gazed  silently  and  shrewdly  at  them  with  the 
stubborn  look  of  one  used  to  command,  and  turned  back  to 
the  throng  of  generals  and  other  officers  standing  around 
him.  Over  his  face  suddenly  passed  an  artful  expression ;  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  gesture  of  perplexity. 

"The  idea  of  retreating,  and  retreating  with  such  gallant 
fellows ! "  said  he.  "  Well,  good-by,*  general,"  he  added,  and 
turned  his  horse  into  the  gates,  past  Prince  Andrei  and  Denisof. 

*  Do  svidanya. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  181 

'^Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!"  The  acclamations  rent 
the  air  behind  him. 

Kutuzof,  since  Prince  Andrei  had  last  seen  him,  had  grown 
stouter  than  ever;  he  fairly  weltered  in  fat.  But  the 
whitened  eye,  and  the  wound,  and  that  expression  of  lassitude 
in  face  and  figure,  which  he  knew  so  well,  were  the  same.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  military  long  coat  —  a  whip  hung  by  a  slen- 
der ribbon  over  his  shoulder  —  and  he  wore  his  white  cava- 
lier-guard  shako.  Heavily  sprawled  out  and  swaying,  he  sat 
his  little  horse.  His  Jiu — fiu — fin  could  be  heard  almost 
distinctly  as  he  rode,  breathing  sharply,  into  the  courtyard. 

His  face  had  that  expression  of  relief  which  a  man  shows 
when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  have  a  rest  after  a  public 
exhibition.  He  extricated  his  left  leg  from  the  stirrup,  leaned 
bock  with  his  whole  body,  and,  scowling  with  the  exertion  of 
getting  his  leg  up  over  the  saddle,  rested  with  his  knee  a 
moment,  and  then  with  a  quack  like  a  duck  he  let  himself 
down  into  the  arms  of  the  Cossacks  and  adjutants,  who  were 
waiting  to  assist  him. 

He  straightened  himself  up,  glanced  around  with  blinking 
eyes,  and,  catching  sight  of  Prince  Andrei,  he  evidently  failed 
to  recognize  him,  and  set  out  with  his  clumsy,  plunging  gait 
for  the  steps.  Fiu  — fiu  — fiu  he  puffed,  and  again  he  glanced 
at  Prince  Andrei.  The  impression  made  by  Prince  Andrei's 
face,  though  it  was  reached  only  after  sevei*al  seconds,  —  as  is 
often  the  case  with  old  men,  —  at  last  connected  itself  with 
the  recollection  of  who  he  was. 

"  Ah  !  good-day,  prince,  good-day.  How  are  you,  my  good 
fellow  ?  *  come  with  me,"  he  said  wearily,  glancing  round,  and 
beginning  heavily  to  mount  the  steps,  which  groaned  under 
his  weight.  Then  he  unbuttoned  his  uniform  and  sat  down 
on  the  bench  at  the  top  of  the  steps. 

"  Well,  how  is  your  father  ?  " 

"Yesterday  I  received  netvs  of  his  death,"  said  Prince 
Andrei  abruptly. 

Kutuzof  looked  at  Prince  Andrei  with  startled,  wide-opened 
eyes ;  then  he  took  off  his  cap  and  crossed  himself. 

"The  kingdom  of  heaven  be  his.     God's  will  be  done  to  us* 
aU." 

He  drew  a  deep^  heavy  sigh  and  was  long  silent.  "I  loved 
liim  dearly  and  I  realized  his  woi*th,  and  I  sympathize  with 
you  with  all  my  heart." 

He  embraced  Prince  Andrei,  pressed  him  to  his  fat  chest 


182  W^AR  AND  PEACE. 

and  held  him  there  long.  Wlien  at  last  he  released  him, 
Prince  Andrei  saw  that  his  blubbery  lips  trembled,  and  that 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  He  sighed  and  took  hold  of  the 
bench  with  both  hands  so  as  to  rise. 

"  Come,  come  to  my  room  and  let  lis  talk ! "  said  he,  but 
just  at  that  instant  Denisof,  who  was  as  little  apt  to  quail 
before  his  superiore  as  before  his  enemies,  strode  with  jingling 
spurs  to  the  steps,  in  spite  of  the  adjutants,  who  with  indig- 
nant whispers  tried  to  stop  him.  Kutuzof,  still  clinging  to 
the  bench,  gave  him  a  displeased  look. 

Denisof,  introducing  himself,  explained  that  he  had  some- 
thing of  the  gi*eatest  importance  for  the  good  of  the  country 
to  communicate  to  his  serene  highness.  Kutuzof,  with  hid 
weary  look,  continued  to  stare  at  Denisof,  and,  with  a  gesture 
of  annoyance,  released  his  hands  and  folded  them  on  his  belly, 
repeating :  "  For  the  good  of  the  country  ?  — Well,  what  is  it  ? 
Speak ! " 

Denisof  reddened  like  a  girl  —  how  strange  it  was  to  see 
the  blush  on  the  mustachioed,  bibulous  face  of  the  veteran,  — 
and  he  began  boldly  to  evolve  his  plan  for  breaking  through 
the  enemy's  effective  line  between  Smolensk  and  Viazma. 
Denisofs  home  was  in  this  region,  and  he  was  well  acquainted 
with  every  locality.  His  plan  seemed  unquestionably  excel- 
lent, especially  owing  to  the  force  of  conviction  which  he  put 
into  his  words.  Kutuzof  regarded  his  own  legs,  and  occa- 
sionally looked  over  into  the  dvor  or  yard  of  the  adjoining 
cottage,  as  though  he  were  expecting  something  unpleasant  to 
appear  from  there.  And  in  reality  from  the  cottage  at  which 
he  was  looking,  during  Denisofs  speech,  emerged  a  general 
with  a  portfolio  under  his  arm. 

*'  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Kutuzof,  interrupting  Denisof  in  the 
midst  of  his  exposition.     "  Ready  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  serene  highness,"  replied  the  general.  Kutuzof 
shook  his  head  as  much  as  to  say,  <<How  can  one  man  have 
time  for  all  this  ?"  and  went  on  listening  to  Denisof. 

"I  give  my  twuest  word  of  honor  as  a  'Ussian  officer," 
insisted  Denisof,  "  that  I  will  cut  off  Napoleon's  communica- 
tions." 

"  What !  is  Kirill  Andreyevitch  Denisof,  Ober-intendant,  any 
relation  of  yours  ?  "  asked  Kutuzof,  interrupting  him. 

"  My  own  uncle,  your  serene  highness." 

"  Oh,  we  were  good  friends,"  exclaimed  Kutuzof,  jovially. 
"  Very  good,  very  good,  my  dear.*  Stay  here  at  headquar- 
ters ;  we  will  talk  it  over  to-morrow." 

•  Qolubchik, 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  188 

Nodding  to  Denisof,  he  turned  away,^  and  stretched  out  his 
liand  for  the  papers  which  Koiiovnitsuin  had  brought  him. 

"  Would  not  your  serene  liighness  find  it  more  comfortable 
to  come  into  the  house  ?  '*  suggested  the  officer  of  the  day,  in  a 
dissatisfied  tone.  "  It's  absolutely  essential  to  look  over  some 
plans,  and  to  sign  a  numl)er  of  documents." 

An  adjutant,  appearing  at  the  door,  announced  that  his 
rooms  wei-e  all  ready.  But  Kutuzof  evidently  wanted  not  to 
go  indoors  until  he  was  free.     He  scowled. 

"  No,  have  a  table  brought  out,  my  dear ;  I'll  look  at  them 
here,"  said  he.  —  "  Don't  you  go,"  he  added,  addressing  Prince 
Andrei.  Prince  Andrei  remained  on  the  steps,  and  listened  to 
the  officer  of  the  day. 

Ihiring  the  rendering  of  the  report,  Prince  Andrei  heard  in 
the  passageway  the  whispering  of  a  woman's  voice  and  the  rus- 
tling of  a  woman's  silken  gown.  Several  times,  as  he  glanced 
in  that  direction,  he  caught  sight  of  a  round,  ruddy-faced, 
pretty  woman,  in  a  pink  di*ess,  and  with  a  lilac  silk  handker« 
chief  over  her  head,  holding  a  dish  in  her  hands,  and  evi- 
dently waiting  for  the  return  of  the  commander-in-chief.  One 
of  Kutuzof  8  adjutants  explained  to  Prince  Andrei  in  a  whis- 
per that  this  was  the  mistress  of  the  house,  the  pope's  wife, 
who  was  all  ready  to  offer  his  serene  highness  the  khlebsol* 
Her  husband  had  already  met  his  highness  with  the  cross  at 
the  church,  and  here  she  was  at  home  with  the  bread  and  salt. 

"  Very  pretty  !  "  added  the  adjutant,  with  a  smile.  Kutu- 
zof looked  up  on  hearing  that.  He  had  been  listening  to  the 
general's  report,  —  the  principal  feature  of  which  was  a 
critique  on  the  position  at  Tsarevo-Za'imishche,  —  just  exactly 
as  he  had  listened  to  Denisof,  just  exactly  as  he  had  listened 
to  the  discussions  at  the  council  on  the  night  before  the  battle 
of  Austerlitz,  seven  years  previously.  It  was  evident  that 
he  listened  merely  because  he  had  ears,  which  could  not  help 
hearing,  although  one  of  them  was  stuffed  full  of  tarred  hemp ; 
but  it  was  plain  that  nothing  that  the  general  on  duty  could 
say  could  either  arouse  him  or  interest  him,  and  that  he  knew 
in  advance  what  would  be  said,  and  listened  only  because  he 
had  to  listen,  as  he  might  have  to  listen  to  the  singing  of  a 
Te  Deum. 

All  that  Denisof  said  was  practical  and  sensible.  What  the 
general  on  duty  said  was  still  more  practical  and  sensible, 
but  it  was  evident  that  Kutuzof  scorned  both  knowledge  and 
sense^  and  took  for  granted  that  something  else  was  needed  to 

*  Biead  and  salt,  typical  of  Kuflsiau  liospitaUty. 


184  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

decide  the  matter ;  something  else,  and  quite  independent  of 
sense  and  knowledge. 

Prince  Andrei  attentively  watched  the  expression  of  the 
chief  commander^s  face,  and  the  only  expression  which  he 
could  distinguish  in  it  was  one  of  tedium,  or  of  curiosity  as  to 
the  meaning  of  a  woman's  whispering  inside  the  door,  and  the 
desire  to  save  appearances. 

It  was  evident  that  Kutuzof  scorned  sense  and  knowledge^ 
and  even  the  patriotic  feeling  shown  by  Denisof,  but  that  he 
did  not  scorn  them  by  his  own  superior  sense  and  knowledge 
and  feeling  —  for  he  did  not  try  to  manifest  these  qualities^ 
but  he  scorned  them  from  some  other  reason.  He  scorned 
them  because  of  his  advanced  age,  because  of  his  experience 
of  life. 

The  one  single  disposition  which  Kutuzof  felt  called  upon  to 
make  in  connection  with  this  report  related  to  the  marauding 
of  the  Russian  soldiers.  The  general  on  duty,  on  finishing 
his  report,  presented  to  his  serene  highness,  to  sign,  a  paper 
granting  a  favorable  answer  to  a  proprietor  who  had  peti- 
tioned for  the  military  authorities  to  reimburse  him  for  the 
loss  of  his  standing  oats,  which  had  been  taken  on  requisition. 

Kutuzof  smacked  his  lips  and  shook  his  head  when  he  heard 
about  this. 

"  Into  the  stove  with  it  —  burn  it !  I  tell  you,  once  and 
for  all,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  throw  all  such  things  into  the 
fire.  Let  *em  reap  the  grain  and  burn  the  wood  as  they  need. 
I  don't  order  it,  and  I  don't  allow  it,  but,  if  it  is  done,  I  can't 
pay  for  it.  It  can't  be  helped.  '  If  wood  is  cut,  the  chips 
fly.^ "  ♦  He  glanced  once  more  at  the  paper.  "  Oh,  Germaa 
punctilio  I "  he  exclaimed,  shaking  his  head. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

"  Well,  that  is  all,  is  it  ?  "  asked  Kutuzof,  affixing  his  name 
to  the  last  of  the  documents;  and,  rising  laboriously,  and 
settling  the  folds  of  his  white,  puffy  neck,  he  went  to  the  door 
with  a  cheerful  face. 

The  pope's  wife,  with  flushed  face,  grasped  for  the  plate, 
which,  though  she  had  prepared  it  so  long  in  advance,  she 
nevertheless  failed  to  present  in  time.  And,  with  a  low  obei- 
sance, she  offered  the  bread  and  salt  to  Kutuzof.  Kutuzofs 
eyes  twinkled ;  he  smiled,  chucked  her  under  the  chin^  and 
said :  — 

*  Bnasian  proverb. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  186 

^  What  a  pretty  woman  you  are  !    Thanks,  sweetheart ! "  * 
He  drew  out  of  his  trousers  pocket  a  few  gold  pieces,  and 
laid  them  in  the  plate.     "  Well,  then,  how  are  we  situated  ?  " 
said  he,  going  toward  the  room  reserved  for  his  private  use. 

The  pope's  wife,  with  every  dimple  in  her  rosy  face  smil- 
ing, followed  him  into  the  chamber. 

An  adjutant  came  to  Prince  Andrei,  as  he  stood  on  the 
steps,  and  invited  him  to  breakfast.  In  half  an  hour  he  was 
again  sununoned  to  Kutuzof.  Kutuzof  was  sprawled  out  in  an 
easy-chair,  with  his  uniform  coat  unbuttoned.  He  held  a 
French  book  in  his  hand,  and,  when  Prince  Andrei  came  in, 
he  laid  it  down,  marking  the  place  with  a  knife.  This  book, 
as  Prince  Andrei  could  see  by  the  cover,  was  Les  Chevaliers 
du  Cf/f/nCy  a  work  by  Madame  de  Genlis. 

"  Well,  now,  sit  down,  sit  down  here,"  said  Kutuzof.  "  It's 
sad,  very  sad.  But  remember,  my  boy,  that  I  am  a  father  to 
you  —  a  second  father.'* 

Prince  Andrei  told  Kutuzuf  all  that  he  knew  about  his 
father's  death,  and  what  he  had  seen  at  Luisiya  Gorui  as  he 
passed  through. 

"To  what  —  to  what  have  they  brought  us!"  suddenly 
exclaimed  Kutuzof,  in  an  agitated  voice,  evidently  getting 
from  Prince  Andrei's  story  a  clear  notion  of  the  state  in  which 
Russia  found  herself. 

"Wait  a  bit !  wait  a  bit ! "  he  added,  with  a  wrathful  ex- 
pression, and  then,  evidently  not  wishing  to  dwell  on  this 
agitating  topic,  he  went  on  to  say :  — 
"  I  have  summoned  you  to  keep  you  with  me." 
"I  thank  your  serene  highness,"  replied  Prince  Andrei, 
"but  I  fear  that  I  am  not  good  for  staff  service,"  he  explained 
with  a  smile  which  Kutuzof  remarked.     "  And  chiefly,"  added 
Prince  Andrei,  "I  am  used  to  my  regiment.     I  have  grown 
very  fond  of  the  officers,  and  the  men,  so  far  as  I  can  judge, 
are  fond  of  me.    I  should  be  sorry  to  leave  my  regiment.     If 
1  decline  the  honor  of  being  on  your  staff,  believe  me,  it  is  "  — 
A  keen,  good-natured,  and  at  the  same  time  shrewdly  sar- 
castic expression  flashed  over  Kutuzof  s  puffy  face.     He  inter- 
nipted  Bolkonsky. 

"  I  am  sorry.  You  might  have  been  useful  to  me ;  but  you 
Me  right,  you  are  right.  We  don't  need  men  here !  There 
are  everywhere  plenty  of  advisers,  but  not  of  men.  Our  regi- 
ments would  be  very  different  if  all  the  advice-givers  would 
serve  in  them  as  you  do.    I  remember  you  at  Austerlitz  — 

♦  Gohibushka, 


186  ^'^^  A^I>  PEACE. 

I  remember  you;  I  remember  you  with  the  standard,"  said 
Kutuzof,  and  a  flush  of  pleasure  spread  over  Prince  Andrei's 
face  at  this  recollection.  Kutuzof  drew  him  close,  and  stroked 
his  cheek,  and  again  Prince  Andrei  observed  tears  in  his  eyes. 
Though  Prince  Andrei  knew  that  tears  were  Kutuzors  weak 
point,  and  that  he  was  especially  flattering  to  him,  and  was 
anxious  to  express  his  sympathy  for  his  loss,  still  Prinee  Andrei 
felt  particularly  happy  and  gratified  at  this  allusion  to  Aus- 
terlitz. 

"  Go,  and  God  bless  you  !  I  know,  your  road  —  is  the  road 
of  honor." 

He  paused. 

"  I  missed  you  sadly  at  Bukarest.  I  had  to  send  a  mes- 
senger." 

And,  changing  the  conversation,  Kutuzof  began  to  talk 
about  the  Turkish  war  and  the  peace  which  had  been  con- 
cluded. 

"  Yes,  they  abused  me  not  a  little,"  said  he,  "  both  for  the 
war  and  for  the  peace ;  but  all  came  about  in  time.  T(nU  vient 
a  point  a  eel  it  i  qui  salt  atfendre.  There  I  had  just  as  many 
advisers  as  I  have  here,"  he  went  on  to  say,  turning  to  the 
counsellors  who  were  evidently  his  pre-occupation.  *'Okh! 
these  counsellors,  these  counsellors ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  If 
their  advice  had  been  taken,  we  should  be  still  in  Turkey,  and 
peace  would  not  have  been  signed,  and  the  war  would  not  be 
over  yet.  Everything  in  haste,  but  *  fast  never  gets  far.'  If 
Kamiensky  had  not  died,  he  would  have  been  ruined.  He 
stormed  a  fortress  with  thirty  thousand  men.  There's  noth- 
ing hard  in  taking  a  fortress ;  it's  hard  to  gain  a  campaign. 
And  to  do  that,  not  to  storm  and  attack,  but  patience  and  time 
are  what  is  required.  Kamiensky  sent  his  soldiers  against 
Rushchuk ;  and  while  I  employed  nothing  but  time  and 
patience,  I  took  more  fortresses  than  Kamiensky  ever  did,  and 
I  made  the  Turks  feed  on  horse-flesh."  He  shook  his  head. 
"  And  the  French  will  do  the  same.  Take  my  word  for  it," 
he  exclaimed,  growing  more  animated,  and  pounding  his  chest, 
"  if  I  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  they  will  be  eating  horse- 
flesh too ! "     And  again  his  eyes  overflowed  with  tears. 

"  Still,  you'll  have  to  accept  a  battle,  won't  you  ?  "  asked 
Prince  Andrei. 

"Certainly,  if  every  one  demands  it,  there's  no  help  for 
it.  But  trust  me,  my  boy.*  There  are  no  more  powerful 
fighters  than  these  two,  —  Time  and  Patience ;  they  do  every* 

*  Oolubchik, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  187 

thing.  But  our  advisers  n^entendent  pas  de  eette  oreiile,  voila 
U  nutl ;  that's  the  trouble.  They  won't  see  it  in  that  light. 
Some  are  in  favor,  and  some  are  opposed.  What's  to  be  done  ?  " 
he  asked,  and  waited  for  an  answer.  "  Yes,  what  is  it  you 
advise  doing  ? "  he  repeated,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  an 
expression  of  deep  cunning.  "  I  will  tell  you  what  is  to  be 
done,"  he  went  on  to  say,  when  Prince  Andrei  still  refrained 
from  expressing  ?ny  opinion.  "  I  will  t-ell  you  what  is  to  be 
done,  and  I  shall  do  it.  Dans  le  doute,  mon  cher"  —  he  hesi- 
tated, —  *'  abstiens'toi.  When  in  doubt,  donH^^  he  repeated, 
after  an  interval.  "  Well,  good-by,  prashchai,  my  dear  boy. 
Eemember  that  I  sympathize  with  all  my  heart  in  your  loss, 
and  that  to  you  I  am  not  His  Serene  Higlxness  nor  prince  nor 
commander-in-chief,  but  a  father  to  you.  If  you  want  any- 
thing, apply  directly  to  me.     Good-by,  my  dear."  * 

He  again  embraced  and  kissed  him.  And  before  Prince 
Andi'ei  had  actaally  reached  the  door,  Kutuzof  drew  a  long 
sigh  of  relief,  and  had  resumed  his  unfinished  novel  by 
Madame  de  Genlis,  Les  CheaaJlers  du  Cygne, 

Prince  Andrei  could  not  account  to  himself  for  the  why  or 
wherefore  of  it,  but  it  was  a  fact  that  after  this  interview  with 
Kutuzof,  he  returned  to  his  regiment  much  relieved  as  to  the 
general  course  of  atf  airs,  and  as  to  the  wisdom  of  intrusting 
them  to  this  man  whom  he  had  just  seen.  The  more  he  real- 
ized the  utter  absence  of  all  self-seeking  in  this  old  man,  who 
seemed  to  have  outlived  ordinary  passions,  and  whose  intel- 
lect— that  is,  the  power  of  co-ordinating  events  and  drawing 
conclusions  —  had  resolved  itself  into  the  one  faculty  of 
calmly  holding  in  check  the  course  of  events,  the  more 
assured  Prince  Andrei  felt  that  everything  would  turn  out  as 
it  should. 

"There  is  nothing  petty  and  personal  about  him.  He 
won't  give  way  to  his  imaginations ;  he  won't  do  anything 
rash,"  said  Prince  Andrei  to  himself,  "  but  he  will  listen  to 
all  suggestions ;  he  will  remember  everything ;  he  will  have 
everything  in  its  place  ;  he  will  hinder  nothing  that  is  useful, 
and  permit  nothing  that  is  harmful ;  he  will  remember  that 
there  is  something  more  powerful  and  more  tremendous  than 
his  will,  —  the  inevitable  course  of  events,  —  and  he  will  have 
the  brains  to  see  them ;  he  will  have  the  ability  to  realize 
their  significance,  and,  in  view  of  this  significance,  he  will  be 
sensible  enough  to  see  what  a  small  part  he  himself  and  his 
Pwn  will  have  to  play  in  them.     But  chief  of  all,"  thought 


188  WAB  AND  PEACE. 

Prince  Andrei,  '^  what  makes  me  have  confidence  in  him  is 
that  he  is  Russian,  in  spite  of  his  French  romance  of  Madame 
de  Genlis  and  his  French  phrases ;  because  his  voice  trembled 
when  he  exclaimed,  *  What  have  they  brought  us  to  ? '  and 
because  he  sobbed  when  he  declared  that  he  would  make  them 
eat  horse-flesh." 

It  was  due  to  this  feeling,  which  all  felt  more  or  less  vaguely, 
that  Kutuzof's  selection  as  commander-in-chief,  in  spite  of 
court  cabals,  met  with  such  unanimous  and  general  recognition 
among  the  people. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

After  the  sovereign's  departure  from  Moscow,  the  life  in 
the  capital  flowed  on  in  its  ordinary  channels,  and  the  current 
of  this  life  was  so  commonplace  that  it  was  hard  to  recall 
those  days  of  patriotic  enthusiasms  and  impulses,  and  hard  to 
believe  that  Russia  was  actually  in  peril,  and  that  the  mem- 
bers of  the  English  Club  were  at  the  same  time  '^  Sons  of  the 
Fatherland,"  and  had  declared  themselves  prepared  for  any 
sacrifice. 

The  only  thing  that  recalled  the  general  spasm  of  patriotic 
enthusiasm  that  had  taken  place  during  the  sovereign's  recent 
visit  to  Moscow,  was  the  demand  for  men  and  money,  which, 
coming  now  in  legal,  oflicial  form,  had  to  be  met,  the  sacrifice 
having  once  been  offered. 

Though  the  enemy  were  approaching  Moscow,  the  Mos- 
covites  were  not  inclined  to  regard  their  situation  with  any 
greater  degree  of  seriousness  :  on  the  contrary,  the  matter  was 
treated  with  peculiar  lightness,  as  is  alwajrs  the  case  with 
people  who  see  a  great  catastrophe  approachmg. 

At  such  a  time,  two  voices  are  always  heard  speaking  loudly 
in  the  heart  of  man :  the  one,  with  perfect  reasonableness, 
always  preaches  the  reality  of  the  peril,  and  counsels  him  to 
seek  for  means  of  avoiding  it :  the  other,  with  a  still  greater 
show  of  reason,  declares  that  it  is  too  painful  and  difficult  to 
think  about  danger,  since  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  man  to  fore- 
see everything  or  to  escape  the  inevitable  course  of  events ; 
and,  therefore,  it  is  better  to  shut  the  eyes  to  the  disagreeable, 
until  it  actually  comes,  and  to  think  only  of  the  present. 

'When  a  man  is  alone,  he  generally  gives  himself  up  to  the 
first  voice,  but  in  society,  on  the  contrary,  to  the  second.  And 
this  was  the  case  at  the  present  time  with  the  inhabitants  of 
Moscow, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  189 

Moscow  had  not  been  so  gay  for  a  long  time  as  it  was  that 
year.  Rostopchin's  placards,  called  afficJies,  or  a/?«AA:i,  were 
read  and  criticised  just  as  were  the  couplets  of  Vasili  Lvovitch 
Pushkin.*  On  the  top  of  them  were  represented  the  picture 
of  a  drinking-house  and  the  tapster  and  Moscovite  meshchdnin, 
Karpushka  Chigirin,  who,  Jiaving  been  an  old  soldiery  on  hearing 
that  Bonaparte  toa^s  marching  upon  Moscow,  fortified  himself 
with  a  brimming  nog  of  liquor  in  the  shop,  flew  into  a  passion, 
heaped  every  sort  of  vile  epit/tets  upon  all  the  French,  stepped 
forth  from  the  drinking-house,  and  harangued  the  crowd  col- 
lected under  the  eagle. 

At  the  club,  in  the  corner  room,  men  collected  to  read  these 
bulletins,  and  some  were  pleased  when  Karpushka  made  sport 
of  the  French  and  said,  "  Theg  would  swell  up  with  cabbage, 
burst  their  bellies  with  kasha  gruel,  choke  themselves  with  shchi, 
that  they  were  all  dwarfs,  and  that  a  peasant  woman,would  toss 
three  of  them  at  once  unth  a  pitchforkP 

Some,  however,  criticised  this  tone,  and  declared  that  it  was 
mde  and  stupid.  It  was  reported  that  Bostopchin  had  sent 
the  French,  and,  indeed,  all  other  foreigners,  out  of  Moscow ; 
that  Napoleon  had  spies  and  agents  among  them;  but  this 
storjT  was  told  merely  for  the  sake  of  repeating  certain  sar- 
donic words  which  Rostopchin  was  credited  with  saying  about 
their  destination.  These  foreigners  were  embarked  on  the 
Volga  at  Nizhni,  and  Kostopchin  said  to  them,  — 

'^  Mentrez  en  vaus-memes,  entrez  dans  la  barque,  et  n*en  faites 
pas  une  barque  de  Charon  —  Creep  into  yourselves,"  that  is, 
keep  out  of  sight  —  "  creep  on  board  the  boat,  and  try  not  to  let 
it  become  a  Charon's  bark  for  you." 

It  was  also  reported  that  the  courts  of  justice  had  been 
removed  from  the  city,  and  here  there  was  a  chance  given  for 
repeating  one  of  Shinshin's  jests,  to  the  effect  that  for  this,  at 
least,  Moscow  ought  to  be  grateful  to  Napoleon. 

It  was  said  that  Mamonof  s  regiment  would  cost  him  eight 
hundred  thousand,  that  Bezukhoi  was  spending  still  more  on 
his  warriors ;  but  the  best  joke  of  all  was  that  the  count  him- 

*  VanU  LvoTitch  Pushkin,  the  uncle  of  the  poet  Aleksandr  SergyeyeTitoh 
Pushkin,  was  born  at  Moscow  in  April,  1770;  served  in  the  body  guard  in  the 
Izmailovsky  regiment  till  1797;  began  to  contribute  to  the  Petersburg  "  Met' 
^Tj"  1798;  wrote  an  immense  number  of  epistles,  elegies,  fables,  epin'ams, 
madrigals,  etc.  The  war  of  1812  sent  him  to  Nizhni  Novgorod.  whe{«  he 
lemainod  till  1815.  He  died  Sei>tember  1, 1830,  about  seven  years  before  hig 
^ore  famous  namesake  was  killed.  His  best  known  work,  "  Opdsnui 
oosyed  —  A  Dangerous  Neighbor,"  has  been  thrice  republished:  Munich, 
U15;  UipBtc,1855;  Berlin,  1859. 


IdO  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

self  was  going  to  buckle  on  his  uniform  and  ride  in  front  of 
his  regiment ;  and  those  who  would  be  in  the  front  to  see  this 
great  sight  would  not  sell  their  chances  for  any  money. 

"  You  have  no  mercy  on  any  one,"  said  Jnilie  Drubetskay^ 
picking  up  and  squeezing  a  bunch  of  picked  lint  between  her 
slender  fingers  covered  with  rings. 

Julie  had  determined  to  leave  Moscow  the  next  day,  and 
she  was  giving  her  last  reception.  "Bezukhoi  is  ridindey  but 
he  is  so  good,  so  kind  !  What  is  the  pleasure  to  be  so  caact- 
tique  ? '' 

"Fined!"  exclaimed  a  young  man,  in  a  militia-uniform^ 
whom  Julie  called  ^^  Mon  chevalier,*^  and  who  was  going  to 
accompany  her  to  Nizhni. 

In  Julie's  set,  as  in  many  other  sets  of  Moscow  society,  it 
had  been  agreed  to  speak  only  in  Eussian,  and  those  who  for- 
got themselves  and  made  use  of  French  words  in  conversation, 
had  to  pay  a  fine,  which'  was  turned  over  to  the  committee  of 
public  defence. 

"  That's  a  double  fine,  for  a  Gallicism,"  said  a  Bossian 
author  who  was  in  the  drawing-room.  "  ' Pleasure  to  be*  is 
not  good  Russian." 

"  You  show  no  mercy  upon  any  one,"  pursued  Julie,  paying 
heed  to  the  author's  criticism. 

"  For  using  the  word  catistiqnej  I  admit  my  guilt,  and  will 
pay  my  fine  for  it,  and  for  the  pleasure,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  am  ready  to  pay  another  fine  ;  but  for  Gallicisms  I  am  not 
to  be  held  answerable,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  attthor.  *'  I 
have  neither  the  money  nor  the  time  to  hire  a  teacher  and  take 
Russian  lessons,  as  Prince  Golitsuin  is  doing." 

"  Ah,  there  he  is,"  exclaimed  Julie.  "  Qtiand  on  —  No,  no," 
said  she  to  the  militia-man,  **  do  not  count  that  one,  I'll  say 
it  in  Russian  :  *  When  we  speak  of  the  sun  we  see  his  rays,'  " 
said  the  hostess,  giving  Pierre  a  fascinating  smile  —  **  We 
were  just  talking  about  you.  We  were  saying  that  your  regi- 
ment would  be  really  much  better  than  Mamonof's,"  said  she, 
with  one  of  those  white  lies  so  characteristic  of  society  women. 

"  Akh !  don't  speak  to  me  about  my  regiment,"  replied 
Pierre,  kissing  the  hostess's  hand,  and  taking  a  chair  near  her. 
"  1  am  tired  to  death  of  it." 

V  But  surely  you  are  going  to  take  the  command  of  it  your- 
self ?  "  asked  Julie,  shooting  a  glance  of  cunning  and  ridicule 
at  the  militia-man. 

The  militiarman  in  Pierre's  presence  was  not  so  eaustique, 
and  his  face  expressed  some  j)erplexity  at  the  meaning  ex- 


wAr  and  peace.  191 

pressed  in  Julie's  smile.  In  spite  of  his  absent-mindedness 
and  good  humor,  Pierre's  personality  immediately  out  short 
all  attempts  to  make  a  butt  of  him  in  his  own  presence. 

"  No,"  replied  Pierre,  with  a  glance  down  at  his  big,  portly 
frame,  ^'  I  should  be  too  good  a  mark  for  the  French,  and  I 
am  afraid  that  I  could  not  get  on  a  horse." 

Among  those  who  came  up  as  a  subject  for  gossip  in  the 
course  of  the  shifting  conversation  were  the  Rostofs. 

"They  say  their  affairs  are  in  a  very  bad  condition,"  re- 
marked Julie.  '^  And  the  count  himself  is  so  utterly  lacking 
in  common  sense !  The  Kazumovskys  wanted  to  buy  his 
house  and  his  pod-Moskovnaya,  and  it  is  still  in  abeyance. 
He  asks  too  much." 

"No,  I  believe  the  sale  was  effected  a  few  days  ago,"  said 
some  one.  "  Though  now  it  is  nonsense  for  any  one  to  buy 
property  in  Moscow." 

"Why  ?  "  asked  Julie.    "Do  you  imagine  there  is  any  real 
danger  for  Moscow  ?  " 
"  What  makes  you  go  away  ?  " 

^*  I  ?  That  is  an  odd  question.  I  am  going  because, — be- 
cause,—  well  I  am  going  because  everybody's  going,  and 
because  I  am  not  a  Joan  d'Arc  and  not  an  Amazon." 
"There,  now,  give  me  some  more  rags." 
"  If  he  can  only  economize,  he  may  be  able  to  settle  all  his 
debts,"  pursued  the  militia-man,  still  speaking  of  Count 
Bostof. 

"  A  good  old  man,  but  a  very  pauvre  sire.  And  why  have 
they  been  living  here  so  long  ?  They  intended  long  ago  to 
start  for  the  country.  Nathalie,  I  believe,  is  perfectly  restored 
to  health  ?  — Isn't  she  ?  "  asked  Julie  of  Pierre  with  a  mali- 
cious smile. 

"They  are  waiting  for  their  youngest  son,"  replied  Pierre. 
"He  was  enrolled  among  Obolyensky's  Cossacks  and  was  sent 
to  Bj^laya  Tserkov.*  The  regiment  was  mobilizing  there. 
But  now  he  has  been  transferred  to  my  regiment  and  is 
expected  every  day.  The  count  wanted  to  start  long  ago,  but 
the  countess  utterly  refused  to  leave  Moscow  until  her  son 
came." 

"  I  saw  them  three  days  ago  at  the  Arkharof s'.    Nathalie 

has  grown  very  pretty  again  and  was  very  gay.     She  sang  a 

romanza.     How  easy  it  is  for  some  people  to  forget  every- 
thing/' 

"Forget  what  ?"  asked  Pierre  impulsively. 

•  White  church. 


192  WAR  AND  PE'ACE. 

Julie  smiled.  ''You  know,  eount,  that  knights  like  joa 
are  to  be  found  only  in  the  romances  of  Madame  de  Souza." 

"  What  sort  of  knights  ?  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? " 
asked  Pierre,  reddening. 

''Oh,  iie  now!  dear  count,  e'est  la  fable  de  tout  Moseon,  Je 
vous  admire,  ma  parole  d^honneur  /  " 

"  Fined !    Fined ! "  exclaimed  the  militia-man. 

"Very  well,  then!    It's  impossible  to  talk;  how aimojing!" 

"  Qu^est  ce  qui  est  la  fable  de  tout  Moscou?  "  asked  Pierre, 
angrily  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  Oh !  fie  !  count.     You  know ! " 

"  I  don't  know  at  all  what  you  mean,"  said  Pierre. 

♦'  I  know  that  you  and  Natnalie  were  good  friends,  and  con- 
sequently—  No,  I  always  liked  Viera  better.  Ceite  chere 
Vera/" 

^^Non,  Madame^'*  pursued  Pierre  in  a  tone  of  annoyanoe. 
"I  have  never  in  the  slightest  degree  taken  upon  myself  to 
play  the  role  of  knight  to  Mile.  Rostova,  and  I  have  not  be^i 
at  their  house  for  almost  a  month.  But  I  do  not  understand 
the  cruelty  "  — 

'^  Qui  ^excuse  B^atcu&e^^  said  Julie,  smiling  and  waving  the 
lint,  and,  in  order  to  have  the  last  word  herself,  she  abruptly 
changed  the  conversation.  "What  do  you  suppose  I  heard 
last  night  ?  poor  Marie  Bolkonskaya  arrived  in  Moscow  yes- 
terday.   Have  you  heard  ?    She  has  lost  her  father !  '* 

"  Really  ?  Where  is  she  ?  I  should  like  very  much  to  see 
her,"  said  Pierre. 

"  I  spent  last  evening  with  her.  She  is  going  to-day  or  to- 
morrow morning  with  her  little  nephew  to  their  pod-Moskov- 
naya." 

"  But  what  about  her  ?    How  is  she  ?  "  insisted  Pierre, 

"  Well,  but  sad.  But  do  you  know  who  rescued  her  ?  It's 
a  perfect  romance !  Nicolas  Rostof !  She  was  surrounded ; 
they  would  have  killed  her ;  her  people  were  wounded,  —  He 
rushed  in  and  saved  her  "  — 

"  Lots  of  romances ! "  jcxclaimed  the  militia-man.  "  Really 
this  general  stampede  seems  to  have  been  made  for  providing 
husbands  for  all  the  old  maids.  Catiche  is  one,  the  princess 
Bolkonskaya  two  "  — 

"Do  you  know,  really  I  think  that  she  is  un  petit  penk 
amoureuse  du  jeune  homme?  " 

"  Fined !     Fined  I     Fined ! " 

«  But  really  how  do  you  say  that  in  Russian  ?  " 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  198 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

When  Pierre  reached  home  he  was  handed  two  of  Rostop- 
ohin's  bulletins,  which  had  been  distributed  that  very  day. 

In  the  first  the  count  denied  having  forbidden  any  one  to 
leave  Moscow,  and  declared  that,  on  the  contrary,  he  was  de- 
Hghted  to  have  ladies  of  rank  and  merchants'  wives  leave 
town.  '^  Less  panic,  less  gossip ! "  said  the  bulletin.  ^'  But 
I  assure  the  inhabitants  that  the  villain  will  never  be  in 
Moscow." 

By  these  words  Pierre  was  for  the  first  time  fairly  convinced 
that  the  French  would  get  to  Moscow. 

The  second  affiche  proclaimed  that  our  headquarters  were 
at  Viazma,  that  Count  Wittgenstein  had  beaten  the  French, 
bat  that,  as  very  many  of  the  inhabitants  had  expressed  a 
desire  to  arm  themselves,  there  were  plenty  of  weapons  for 
them  at  the  arsenal :  sabres,  pis.tols,  muskets,  —  which  could 
be  bought  at  the  lowest  prices. 

The  tone  of  this  affiche  was  not  nearly  so  full  of  grim 
bomor  as  those  which  had  been  before  attributed  to  the  tap- 
ster Chigirin.  Pierre  pondered  over  these  bulletins.  Evi- 
dently that  threatening  storm-cloud  which  he  looked  forward 
to  with  all  the  powers  of  his  soul,  and  which  at  the  same  time 
aroused  in  him  involuntary  horror,  —  evidently  this  storm- 
cloud  was  drawing  near. 

''Shall  I  enter  the  military  service  and  join  the  army,  or 
shall  I  wait  ?  "  —  This  question  arose  in  his  mind  for  the  hun- 
dredth time.  He  took  a  pack  of  cards  which  was  lying  on  the 
table  near  him  and  began  to  lay  out  a  game  of  patience. 

'*  K  this  game  comes  out,"  said  he«to  himself  as  he  shuffled 
the  cards,  held  them  in  his  hand  and  looked  up  —  '<  if  it  comes 
out  right,  then  it  means  —  What  shall  it  meam  ?  " 

Before  he  had  time  to  decide  on  what  it  should  mean,  he 
heard  at  the  door  of  his  cabinet  the  voice  of  the  oldest  prin- 
cess, asking  if  she  might  come  in. 

"Well,  it  shall  mean  that  I  must  join  the  army,"  said  Pierre 
to  himself.  —  "Come  in,  come  in,"  he  added,  replying  to  the 
princess. 

Only  the  oldest  of  the  three  princesses  —  the  one  with  the 
long  waist — continued  to  make  her  home  at  Pierre's ;  the  two 
younger  ones  were  married. 
"  Forgive  me,  rnon  cousin^  for  disturbing  you,"  said  she,  in 
VOL.  3.  — 13. 


194  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

an  agitated  voice.  ''  But  you  see  it  is  high  time  to  reacli  soifl€ 
decision.  What  is  going  to  be  the  outcome  of  this  ?  Every- 
body is  leaving  Moscow,  and  the  people  are  riotous.  Why  do 
we  stay  ?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  everything  looks  very  propitions,  ma 
cousine,'^  said  Pierre,  in  that  tone  of  persiflage  which,  in  order 
to  hide  his  confusion  at  having  to  play  the  part  of  benefactor 
before  the  princess,  he  always  adopted  in  his  dealings  with 
her. 

"  Yes,  everything  is  propitious !  Certainly  a  fine  state  of 
affairs  !  This  very  day  Varvdra  Ivdnovna  was  telling  me  how 
our  armies  had  distinguished  themselves.  It  brings  them  the 
greatest  possible  honor.  But  still  the  servants  are  exceed- 
ingly refractory;  they  won't  obey  at  all;  my  maid  —  why, 
she  was  positively  insolent !  And  before  we  know  it  they  wOl 
be  massacring  us.  It  is  impossible  to  go  into  the  streets. 
But  if  the  French  are  liable  to  be  here  to-day  or  to-morrow, 
why  should  we  wait  for  them  ?  I  ask  for  only  one  favor, 
mon  couMn"  pleaded  the  princess.  "  Give  orders  to  have  me 
taken  to  Petersburg.  Whatever  I  am,  I  cannot  endure  to  live 
under  the  sway  of  Bonaparte  !  " 

"  There,  there,  ma  cousine  /  Where  have  you  gotten  your 
information  ?    On  the  contrary  "  — 

"  I  will  not  submit  to  your  Napoleon !  Others  may  —  If 
you  do  not  wish  to  do  this  for  me  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  it.     I  will  give  orders  immediately." 

The  princess  was  evidently  annoyed  that  she  had  no  one 
to  quarrel  with.  She  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  chair,  muttering 
to  herself. 

"Nevertheless,  this  has  been  reported  to  you  all  wrong,** 
said  Pierre.  "  All  is  quiet  in  the  city,  and  there  is  not  the 
slightest  danger.  Hercf  I  was  just  this  moment  reading." 
Pierre  showed  the  princess  Rostopchin's  bulletins.  "  The  count 
writes  that  he  will  be  personally  responsible  for  the  enemy 
never  entering  Moscow." 

"  Akh  1  this  count  of  yours,"  exclaimed  the  princess,  angrily. 
"  He's  a  hypocrite,  a  rascal  1  who  has  himself  been  exciting 
the  people  to  sedition.  Wasn't  he  the  one  who  wrote  in  these 
idiotic  affiches  that,  if  there  was  any  one  found,  to  take  him 
by  the  top-knot  and  drag  him  to  the  police  office — how 
stupid !  And  whoever  should  take  one  should  have  glory  and 
honor.  That  is  a  fine  way  of  doing  !  Varvdra  IvAnovna  told 
me  that  the  mob  almost  killed  her  because  she  spoke  French." 

"  Well,  there's  something  in  that.     But  you  take  everything 


WAR  AND  Pi: ACE.  195 

iob  mach  to  heart,''  said  Pierre,  and  he  began  to  lay  out  his 
patience. 

His  game  of  patience  came  out  correctly,  and  yet  Pierre  did 
hot  join  the  army,  but  he  remained  in  deserted  Moscow,  in  the 
ftame  fever  of  anxiety  and  indecision  and  fear,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  joy,  though  he  was  expecting  something  horrible. 

Toward  evening  of  the  following  day  the  princess  took  her 
departure,  and  Pierre's  head  overseer  came  to  him  with  the 
report  that  the  money  required  by  him  for  the  equipment  of 
his  regiment  could  not  possibly  be  raised  except  by  selling 
one  of  his  estates.  The  head  overseer  explained  to  him  that 
such  expensive  caprices  as  fitting  out  regiments  would  be  his 
ruin.  Pierre,  with  difficulty  repressing  a  smile,  listened  to 
the  man's  despair. 

"  Well,  sell  it,  then,"  he  replied.  "  There's  no  help  for  it 
now.    I  cannot  go  back  on  my  promise." 

The  worse  the  situation  of  affairs  in  general,  and  his  own  in 
particular,  the  more  agreeable  it  was  to  Pierre  ;  the  more  evi- 
dent it  seemed  to  him  that  the  long  expected  catastrophe  was 
drawing  near.  Already  there  was  almost  none  of  his  acquaint- 
ances left  in  town.  Julie  had  gone ;  the  Princess  Mariya  had 
gone.  Of  near  acquaintances  ouly  the  Bostof s  were  left ;  but 
Pierre  staid  away  from  their  house. 

That  day,  in  order  to  get  a  little  recreation,  Pierre  drove 
out  to  the  village  of  Vorontsovo  to  see  a  great  air-balloon, 
which  Leppich  had  built  for  the  destruction  of  the  enemy,  and 
a  trial  balloon,  which  was  to  be  let  off  on  the  next  day.  This 
balloon  was  not  yet  ready  ;  but,  as  Pierre  knew,  it  had  been 
constructed  at  the  sovereign's  desire.  The  emperor  had 
written  to  Count  Eostopchiu  as  follows,  in  regard  to  this 
balloon :  — 

"  As  soon  as  Leppich  is  ready,  furnish  him  with  a  crew  for 
his  boat,  composed  of  tried  and  intelligent  men,  and  send  a 
courier  to  General  Kutuzof  to  inform  him.  I  have  already 
instructed  him  concerning  the  affair. 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  enjoin  upon  Leppich  to  be  exceedingly 
careful  where  he  descends  for  the  first  time,  that  he  may  not 
make  any  mistake  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  It  is 
essential  that  he  should  co-operate  with  the  commander-in- 
chief."  * 

*  **  Aussitdt  que^  Leppich  sera  pret,  composez  ltd  un  equipage  pour  ta 
nacelle  d*hommes  sttrs  et  intelligenis  et  depechez  un  courrier  au  g^niral  KoU' 
tnuzoff  pour  Ten  prevenir.  Je  Vai  instruit  de  la  chose.  RecommnndeZf  je 
wvs  prie,  a  Lippich  d*Stre  hien  aitentij  snr  Vendroit  oit  il  descendra  la  pre- 
Miere/biSt  pour  ne  pas  se  tromper  et  tie  pas  tomher  dans  les  mains  de  Venne^ 
mt.  ttest  indispensable  quHl  combine  sesmouvements  avec  le  g^n^raX-^n-ch^,^* 


196  War  and  peacs. 

On  his  way  home  from  Yorontsovo,  as  he  was  crossing  the 
Bol6tnaya  P16shchad,  Pierre  saw  a  great  crowd  collected  around 
the  L6bnoye  Myesto  (place  of  executions) ;  he  stopped  and  got 
out  of  his  drozhsky.  They  were  watching  the  punishment  of  a 
French  cook,  charged  with  being  a  spy.  The  flogging  had 
oniy  just  come  to  an  end,  and  the  executioner  was  untying 
from  "the  mare,"  or  whipping-post,  a  stout  man,  with  reddish 
side-whiskers,  dressed  in  blue  stockings  and  a  green  kamzol, 
who  was  piteously  groaning.  Another  prisoner,  lean  and 
pallid,  was  also  standing  there.  Both,  to  judge  by  their  faces, 
were  French.  Pierre,  with  a  face  as  scared  and  pale  as  that 
of  the  lean  Frenchman,  elbowed  his  way  through  the  throng. 

"What  does  this  mean?  Who  is  it?  What  have  they 
done  ?  "  he  demanded.  But  the  attention  of  the  throng  — 
chinovniks,  burghers,  merchants,  peasants,  and  women  in 
cloaks  and  furs  —  was  so  eagerly  concentrated  on  what  was 
taking  place  on  the  L6bnoye  Myesto  that  no  one  replied  to 
him. 

The  stout  man  straightened  himself  up,  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders with  a  scowl,  and,  evidently  wishing  to  make  a  show  of 
stoicism,  and  not  looking  around  him,  tried  to  put  on  his 
kamzol ;  but  suddenly  his  lips  trembled,  and  he  burst  into 
tears,  as  though  he  was  angry  at  himself,  just  as  full-grown 
men  of  sanguine  temperament  are  apt  to  weep.  The  crowd 
gave  vent  to  loud  remarks  —  as  it  seemed  to  Pierre,  for  the 
sake  of  drowning  their  own  sense  of  compassion. 

"  Some  prince's  cook  "  — 

"  Well,  Moosioo,  evidently  Russian  sauce  goes  well  with  a 
Frenchman.  Set  your  teeth  on  edge  ?  Hey  ? "  cried  a 
wrinkled  law  clerk,  standing  near  Pierre,  as  the  Frenchman 
burst  into  tears.  The  law  clerk  glanced  around,  expecting 
applause  for  his  sarcasm.  A  few  laughed,  a  few  continued  to 
gaze  with  frightened  curiosity  at  the  executioner,  who  was 
stripping  the  second.  Pierre  gave  a  snort,  scowled  deeply, 
and,  swiftly  returning  to  his  drozhsky,  kept  muttering  to  him- 
self even  aiter  he  was  once  more  seated.  During  the  transit 
he  several  times  shuddered,  and  cried  out  so  loud  that  the 
driver  asked  him :  — 

«  What  do  you  order  ?  " 

"  Where  on  earth  are  you  going  ? "  shouted  Pierre  as  the 
coachman  turned  down  the  Lubyanka. 

"  You  bade  me  drive  to  the  governor-general's,"  replied  the 
coachman. 

"  Idiot !  ass ! "  screamed  Pierre,  berating  his  coachman  as 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  19T 

he  scarcely  ever  had  been  known  to  da.  ^*  I  ordered  you  to 
drive  home,  and  make  haste,  you  blockhead !  I  have  got  to  get 
off  this  very  day,"  muttered  Pierre  to  himself. 
,  Pierre,  at  the  sight  of  the  flogged  Frenchmen  and  the 
throng  surrounding  the  Lobnoye  Myesto,  had  come  to  so  defi- 
nite a  decision  not  to  stay  another  day  in  Moscow  but  to  join 
the  army  immediately,  that  it  seemed  to  him  he  had  already 
spoken  to  his  coachman  about  it,  or  at  least  that  the  coach- 
man was  in  duty  bound  to  have  known  it. 

On  reaching  home  Pierre  gave  his  coachman,  Yevstafye- 
vitch,  who  knew  everything,  and  could  do  everything,  and 
was  one  of  the  notabilities  of  Moscow,  orders  to  have  his  sad- 
dle-horses sent  to  Mozhaisk,  where  he  was  going^  that  very 
day  to  join  the  army. 

It  was  impossible  to  do  everything  on  that  one  day,  how- 
ever, and  accordingly  Pierre,  on  Yevstafyevitch's  representa- 
tion, postponed  his  departure  to  the  following  day,  so  that 
relays  of  horses  might  be  sent  on  ahead. 

On  the  fifth  of  September  foul  weather  was  followed  by  fair,, 
and  that  day  after  dinner  Pierre  left  Moscow.  In  the  even- 
ing, while  stopping  to  change  horses  at  Perkhushkovo,  Pierre- 
learned  that  a  great  battle  had  been  fought  that  afternoon. 
He  was  told  that  there  at  Perkhushkovo  the  cannon  had 
shaken  the  ground ;  but  when  Pieri'e  inquired  who  had  been 
victorious,  no  one  could  give  him  any  information. 

This  was  the  battle  of  Shevardino,  which  was  fought  oni 
the  fifth  of  September. 

By  davbreak  Pierre  was  at  MozhaXsk.  All  the  houses  at 
Mozhaisk  were  filled  with  troops ;  and  at  the  tavern,  in  the 
yard  of  which  Pieri-e  was  met  by  his  grooms  and  coachmen^ 
there  were  no  rooms  to  be  had.  All  the  places  were  pre- 
empted by  officers. 

In  the  town  and  behind  the  town,  everywhere,  regiments 
were  stationed  or  on  the  move.  Cossacks,  infantry,  cavalry, 
baggage  wagons,  caissons,  cannons,  were  to  be  seen  on  £dl 
sides. 

Pierre  made  all  haste  to  reach  the  front,  and  the  farther  he 
went  from  Moscow,  and  the  deeper  he  penetrated  into  this  sea 
of  troops,  the  more  he  was  overmastered  by  anxiety,  disqui- 
etude, and  a  feeling  of  joy,  which  he  had  never  before  experi- 
enced. It  was  somewhat  akin  to  that  which  he  liad  experi- 
enced at  the  Slobodsky  palace,  at  the  time  of  the  sovereign's 
visit,  —  a  feeling  that  it  was  indispensable  to  do  sometMng 
and  make  some  sacrifice. 


198  V(rAR  ANb  PEACS. 

He  now  felt  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  all  that  consti- 
tutes the  happiness  of  men  —  the  comforts  of  life,  wealth, 
even  life  itself  —  was  rubbish,  which  it  was  a  delight  to  re- 
nounce in  favor  of  something  else. 

Still  Pierre  could  not  account  to  himself,  and  indeed  he 
made  no  attempt  to  analyze,  for  whom  or  for  what  the  sacrifice 
of  everything,  which  gave  him  such  a  sense  of  charm,  was 
made.  He  did  not  trouble  himself  with  the  inquiry  for  what 
he  wished  to  sacrifice  himself ;  the  mere  act  of  sacrifice  con- 
stituted for  him  a  new  and  joyful  feeling. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

On  the  fifth  of  September  was  fought  the  battle  at  the 
redoubt  of  Shevardino;  on  the  sixth  not  a  single  shot  was 
fired  on  either  side ;  on  the  seventh  came  the  battle  of  Boro- 
dino. 

For  what  purpose  and  how  was  it  that  these  battles  at 
Shevardino  and  Borodino  were  fought  ?  Why  was  the  battle 
of  Borodino  fought  ?  Neither  for  the  French  nor  for  the 
Russians  had  it  the  slightest  meaning.  The  proximate  result 
was,  and  necessarily  was,  for  the  Russians  an  onward  step 
toward  the  destruction  of  Moscow  —  a  thing  that  we  dreaded 
more  than  anything  else  in  the  world ;  —  and  for  the  French^ 
an  onward  step  toward  the  destruction  of  their  entire  army  — 
a  thing  that  they  dreaded  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world.  This  result  was  therefore  fully  to  be  expected,  and 
yet  Napoleon  offered  battle,  and  Kutuzof  accepted  his  chal- 
lenge. 

If  the  commanders  had  been  governed  by  motives  of  reason, 
it  would  seem  as  if  it  ought  to  have  been  clear  to  Napo- 
leon that,  at  a  distance  of  two  thousand  versts  in  an  enemy's 
country,  to  accept  a  battle  under  the  evident  risk  of  losing  a 
quarter  of  his  army  was  to  march  to  certain  destixiction ;  and 
it  should  have  been  equally  as  clear  to  Kutuzof  that,  in 
accepting  an  engagement,  and  in  likewise  risking  the  loss  of 
half  of  his  army,  he  was  actually  losing  Moscow.  For  Kutu- 
zof this  was  mathematically  demonstrable,  just  as  in  a  game 
of  checkers,  if  I  have  one  draught  less  than  my  adversary,  by 
exchanging  I  lose,  and,  therefore,  I  ought  not  to  risk  the  ex- 
change. 

If  my  adversary  has  sixteen  checkers,  and  I  have  fourteen, 
then  I  am  only  one-eighth  weaker  than  he  is ;  but  when  I 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  199 

dhall  have  exchanged  thirteen  draughts  with  him,  then  he 
becomes  thrice  as  strong  as  I  am. 

Up  to  the  battle  of  Borodino  our  forces  were  to  the  French 
in  the  approximate  proportion  of  five  to  six,  but  after  the 
battle,  of  one  to  two.  That  is,  before  the  battle,  100,000  : 
120,000 ;  but  after  the  battle,  50 :  100.  And  yet  the  wise  and 
experienced  Kutuzof  accepted  battle. 

Napoleon,  also,  the  leader  of  genius,  as  he  was  called, 
offered  battle,  losing  a  fourth  of  his  army,  and  still  further 
extending  his  line.  If  it  be  said  that  he  expected,  by  the 
occupation  of  Moscow,  to  end  the  campaign,  as  he  did  in 
the  case  of  Vienna,  this  theory  can  be  rebutted  by  many 
proofs.  The  historians  of  Napoleon  themselves  admit  that  he 
was  anxious  to  call  a  halt  at  Smolensk ;  that  he  knew  the  risk 
he  ran  in  his  extended  position,  and  knew  that  the  capture  of 
Moscow  would  not  be  the  end  of  the  campaign,  because  he 
had  seen,  by  the  example  of  Smolensk,  in  what  a  state  the 
Russian  cities  would  be  left  to  him,  and  he  did  not  1*6061  ve  a 
single  response  to  his  reiterated  offers  for  negotiations. 

In  offering  and  accepting  the  battle  of  Borodino,  Kutuzof  and 
Napoleon  both  acted  contrary  to  their  intentions  and  their 
good  sense.  But  the  historians  have  affected  to  fit  to  these 
accomplished  facts  an  ingeniously  woven  tissue  of  proofs  of 
the  foresight  and  genius  of  these  commanders,  wlio,  of  all  the 
involuntary  instruments  for  the  execution  of  cosmic  events, 
were  the  most  totally  subject  and  involuntary. 

The  ancients  left  us  examples  of  historical  poems  in  which 
the  heroes  themselves  constitute  all  the  interest  of  the  story ; 
and  we  cannot  yet  accustom  ourselves  to  the  fact  that  history 
of  this  kind,  applied  to  our  own  day,  is  wholly  lacking  in 
sense. 

As  to  the  second  question  :  how  came  the  battle  of  Borodino 
and  the  battle  of  Shevardino,  which  preceded  it,  to  be  fought  ? 
there  exists  an  explanation  just  as  positive  and  universally 
known,  but  absolutely  fallacious.  All  the  historians  describe 
the  affair  as  follows  :  — 

Tlie  Russian  armi/f  in  its  retreat  from  Smolensk,  sought 
the  most  favorable  position  for  a  general  battle,  and  found  sttch 
a  position  at  Borodino, 

The  Russians  beforehand  fortified  this  position  at  the  left 
of  the  road,  almost  in  a  right  angle  from  Borodino  to  Utitsa, 
the  vert/  point  where  the  battle  was  fought. 

In  front  of  this  position,  to  keep  watch  of  the  enemy,  a  for- 
tified redoubt  was  established  upon  the  hill  of  Shevardino,     On 


200  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  fifth  of  September  J  Napoleon  attacked  the  redatibty  and  took 
it  by  storm  ;  September  7,  he  attacked  the  entire  Russian  army, 
which  was  then  in  position  on  the  field  of  Borodino. 

Thus  it  is  described  in  the  histories;  and  yet  the  whole 
thing  is  perfectly  wrong,  as  any  one  may  be  easily  convinced 
who  will  care  to  investigate  the  facts* 

The  Eussians  did  not  seek  the  most  favorable  position ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  in  their  retreat  they  passed  by  many  positions 
which  were  moi-e  favorable  than  the  one  at  Borodino.  They 
did  not  halt  at  any  one  of  these  positions,  because  Kutuzof 
Would  not  occupy  any  position  that  he  had  not  himself  selected, 
and  because  the  popular  demand  for  an  engagement  was  not 
yet  expressed  with  sufficient  force ;  and  because  Milorado^ 
vitch  had  not  come  up  with  the  landwehr ;  and  for  many  other 
reasons  besides,  which  are  too  numerous  to  mention* 

It  is  a  fact  that  the  former  positions  were  superior  in 
strength,  and  that  tlie  position  at  Borodino  —  the  one  where 
the  battle  was  fought  —  was  not  only  not  strong,  but  was  in 
no  respect  superior  to  any  other  position  in  the  whole  Russian 
empire,  such  as  one  might  at  haphazard  point  out  on  the  map 
witn  a  pin. 

The  Russians  not  only  did  not  fortify  their  position  on  the 
field  of  Borodino,  at  the  left,  at  a  right  angle  to  the  road  —  in 
other  words,  at  the  place  where  the  battle  took  place — but, 
moreover,  up  till  the  sixth  of  September,  they  never  even 
dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  a  battle  taking  place  there. 

This  is  proved,  in  the  first  place,  by  the  fact  that  until  the 
sixth  of  September  there  were  no  fortifications  on  the  ground  ; 
but,  moreover,  the  defences  begun  on  the  sixth  were  not  even 
completed  on  the  seventh. 

In  the  second  place,  this  is  proved  by  the  position  of  the 
Shevardino  redoubt  •  a  redoubt  at  Shevardino,  in  front  of  the 
position  where  the  battle  was  accepted,  had  no  sense.  Why 
was  this  redoubt  fortified  more  strongly  than  all  the  other 
points  ?  And  why  were  the  troops  weakened,  and  six  thousand 
men  sacrificed,  in  vain  attempts  to  hold  this  position  until  late 
on  the  night  of  the  fifth  ?  For  all  observations  of  the  enemy, 
a  Cossack  patrol  would  have  been  sufficient. 

In  the  third  place,  that  the  position  where  the  battle  was 
fought  was  not  a  matter  of  foresight,  and  that  the  Shevardino 
redoubt  was  not  the  advanced  work  of  this  position,  is  proved 
by  the  fact  that  Barclay  de  Tolly  and  Bagration,  up  to  the 
sixth  instant,  were  convinced  that  the  Shevardino  redoubt  was 
the  left  flank  of  the  position ;  and  even  Kutuzof  himself,  in 


"V.^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  201 

his  report,  written  in  hot  haste  after  the  battle,  calls  the  She- 
vardino  redoubt  the  left  flank  of  the  position. 

It  was  only  some  time  subsequently,  when  the  report  of  the 
battle  of  Borodino  was  written,  with  abundant  time  for  reflec- 
tion, that,  probably  for  the  sake  of  smoothing  over  the  blunder 
of  the  commander-in-chief,  who  had  to  be  held  infallible,  the 
false  and  strange  ideas  were  promulgated  that  the  Shevardino 
redoubt  made  the  advanced  post:  when,  in  reality,  it  was 
only  an  inti-enchment  on  the  left  flank ;  and  that  the  battle 
of  Borodino  was  accepted  by  us  in  a  position  well  forti- 
fied, and  selected  in  advance :  when,  in  reality,  it  was  fought 
in  a  position  perfectly  unpremeditated,  and  almost  unfor- 
tified. 

The  afEair,  evidently,  hapi)ened  this  way :  a  position  was 
selected  on  the  river  Kalotcha,  where  it  crosses  flie  highroad, 
not  at  right,  but  at  acute  angles,  so  that  the  left  flank  was  at 
Shevardino,  the  right  not  far  from  the  village  of  Novoye ;  and 
the  centre  at  Borodino,  near  the  confluence  of  the  rivers  Kalot- 
cha  and  Voiua.  That  this  was  the  position,  covered  by  the 
river  KaJotcha,  for  an  army  having  for  its  end  to  check  an 
enemy  moving  along  the  Smolensk  highway,  against  Moscow, 
must  be  evident  to  any  one  who  studies  the  battle-field  of 
Borodino,  and  forgets  how  the  battle  really  took  place. 

Napoleon,  who  reached  Valuyevo  on  the  fifth  of  September, 
failed  —  so  the  histories  tell  us  —  to  discover  the  position 
of  the  Eussians,  stretching  from  Utitsa  to  Borodino,  —  he 
could  not  have  discovered  this  position  because  there  was  no 
such  position,  —  and  did  not  discover  the  advanced  i)ost  of  the 
Russian  army,  but,  in  pursuing  the  Eussian  i*earguard,  he 
drove  them  in  upon  the  left  flank  of  the  position  of  the  Eus- 
sians at  the  Shevardino  redoubt,  and,  unexpectedly  to  the 
Russians,  crossed  the  Kalotcha  with  his  troops.  And  the  Eus- 
sians, not  having  succeeded  in  bringing  on  a  general  engage- 
ment, withdrew  their  left  wing  from  a  position  which  they 
had  intended  to  hold,  and  took  up  another  position,  which  was 
not  anticipated  and  not  fortified. 

Napoleon,  having  crossed  over  to  the  left  bank  of  the 
Kalotcha  at  the  left  of  the  highway,  transferred  the  coming 
battle  from  the  right  to  left  (relative  to  the  Eussians)  and 
brought  it  into  the  field  between  Utitsa,  Semenovskoye,  and 
Borodino  —  into  a  field  which  had  no  earthly  advantage  over 
any  other  field  that  might  have  been  chosen  at  random  any- 
where in  Eussia — and  here  it  was  that  the  great  battle  took 
place  on  the  seventh. 


202  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Roughly  sketched,  the  plan  of  the  ideal  battle  and  of  the 
actual  battle  is  here  appended :  — 


If  Napoleon  had  not  reached  the  Kalotcha  on  the  afteroooa 
of  the  fifth  and  had  not  given  orders  immediately  to  storm 
the  redoubt,  but  had  postponed  the  attack  uiitil  the  next 
morning,  no  one  could  seriously  doubt  that  the  Shevardino 
redoubt  would  have  been  the  left  flank  of  our  position  and  the 
battle  would  have  been  fought  as  we  expected.  In  such  a 
contingency,  we  should  have  defended  still  more  stubbornly 
the  Shevardino  redoubt  aa  being  our  left  flank ;  we  should 
have  attacked  Napoleon  at  his  centre  or  right,  and  on  the  fifth 
of  September  there  would  have  been  a  generaJ  engagement  in 
that  position  which  had  been  previously  selected  and  defended. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  203 

But  as  the  attack  on  our  left  ilank  was  made  in  the  after- 
noon, after  the  retreat  of  our  rearguard,  that  is  to  say,  imme- 
diately after  the  skirmish  at  Gridneva,  and  as  the  Russian 
leaders  would  not  or  could  not  begin  a  general  engagement  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  fifth,  therefore  the  principal  action  of  the 
battle  of  Borodino  was  already  practically  lost  on  the  fifth, 
and  undoubtedly  led  to  the  loss  of  the  battle  that  was  fought 
on  the  seventh. 

After  the  loss  of  the  Shevardino  redoubt  on  the  morning  of 
the  sixth,  we  were  left  without  any  position  on  our  left  flank 
and  were  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  straightening  our  left 
wing  and  of  making  all  haste  to  fortify  it  as  best  we 
could. 

Not  only  were  the  Eussian  troops  on  the  seventh  of  Sep- 
tember protected  by  feeble,  unfinished  intrenchments,  but  the 
disadvantage  of  this  situation  was  still  further  enhanced  by  the 
fact  that  the  Russian  leaders,  refusing  to  recognize  a  fact 
settled  beyond  a  peradventure,  —  namely,  the  loss  of  their 
defences  on  the  left  flank  and  the  transfer  of  the  whole  future 
engagement  from  right  to  left — remained  in  their  altogether 
too  extended  position  from  Novoye  to  Utitsa,  and  the  conse- 
quence was  they  were  obliged,  during  the  engagement,  to 
transfer  their  troops  from  right  to  left. 

Thus,  throughout  the  engagement,  the  Russians  had  the 
entire  force  of  the  French  army  directed  agaiyst  their  left 
wing,  which  was  not  half  as  strong.  (Poniatowski's  demon- 
stration against  Utitsa  and  Uvarovo  on  the  right  flank  of 
the  French  was  independent  of  the  general  course  of  the 
battle.) 

Thus  the  battle  of  Borodino  was  fought  in  a  way  entirely 
different  from  the  descriptions  of  it  which  were  written  for 
the  purpose  of  glossing  over  the  mistakes  of  our  leaders  and 
consequently  dimming  the  glory  of  the  Russian  army  and 
])eople.  The  battle  of  Borodino  did  not  take  place  on  a  se- 
lected and  fortified  position  or  with  forces  only  slightly  dis- 
groportioned,  but  the  battle,  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  the 
hevardino  redoubt,  was  accepted  by  the  Russians  at  an  ex- 
posed and  almost  unfortified  position,  with  forces  doubly 
strong  opposed  to  them ;  in  other  words,  under  conditions 
whereby  it  was  not  only  unfeasible  to  fight  ten  hours  and  then 
leave  the  contest  doubtful,  but  unfeasible  to  keep  the  army 
even  three  hours  from  absolute  confusion  and  flight. 


204  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PiEBRE  left  Mozhaisk  on  the  morning  of  the  seventh. 

On  the  monstrously  steep  and  precipitous  hillside  down 
which  winds  the  road  from  tne  city,  just  oeyond  the  cathedral 
that  crowns  the  hill  on  the  right,  where  service  was  going  on 
and  the  bells  were  pealing,  Pierre  dismounted  from  his  car- 
riage and  proceeded  on  foot. 

Behind  him  came,  laboriously  letting  themselves  down,  a 
regiment  of  cavalry  led  by  its  singers. 

A  train  of  telyegas,  full  of  men  wounded  in  the  last  even- 
ing's engagement,  met  him  on  its  way  up  the  hill.  The  peas- 
ant drivers,  shouting  at  their  horses  and  lashing  them  with 
their  knouts,  ran  from  one  side  to  the  other.  The  telyegas, 
on  which  lay  or  sat  three  and  four  wounded  soldiers,  bumped 
over  the  rough  stones  which  were  scattered  about  and  did  dut^ 
as  a  causeway  on  the  steep  road.  The  soldiers,  bandaged  with 
rags,  pale,  and  with  compressed  lips  and  knit  brows,  clung  to 
the  sides  as  they  were  bounced  and  jolted  in  the  carts. 
Nearly  all  of  them  looked  with  naive,  childlike  curiosity  at 
Pierre's  white  hat  and  green  coat. 

Pierre's  coachman  shouted  angrily  to  the  ambulance  train 
to  keep  to  one  side.  The  cavalry  regiment  with  their  singers, 
as  they  came  down  the  hill,  overtook  Pierre's  drozhsky  and 
blocked  up  the  whole  road.  Pierre  halted,  squeezing  himself 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  road,  which  was  hollowed  out  of  the 
hillside.  The  hillside  shelved  over,  and  as  the  sun  did  not 
succeed  in  penetrating  into  this  ravine,  it  was  cool  and  damp 
there.  Over  Pierre  was  the  bright  August  morning  sky,  and 
the  merry  pealing  of  the  chimes  rang  through  the  air. 

One  team  with  its  load  of  wounded  drew  up  at  the  edge  of 
the  road  near  where  Pierre  had  halted.  The  teamster,  in  his 
bast  shoes,  and  puffing  with  the  exercise,  came  running  up 
with  some  stones,  and  hastily  blocked  the  hinder  wheels,  which 
were  untired,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  the  breeching  of  his 
little,  patient  horse. 

An  old  soldier  who  had  been  wounded  and  had  one  arm  in 
a  sling  and  was  following  the  telyega  on  foot,  took  hold  of  it 
with  his  sound  hand  and  looked  at  Pierre. 

"  Say,  friend,*  will  they  leave  us  here,  or  is  it  to  Moscow  ?  " 

*  ZenUtdtchekf  affectionate  diminutive  of  zemli^bL^  cQiuitryman^  f^llov* 
countryman. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  205 

Pierre  was  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts  that  he  did  not  hear 
what  the  man  said.  He  stared  now  at  the  cavalry  regiment, 
which  had  met  face  to  face  with  the  ambulance  train,  and  now 
at  the  telyega,  which  had  halted  near  him  with  two  wounded 
men  sitting  up  and  one  lying  down,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
here  was  the  definite  solution  of  the  question  that  perplexed 
him  so. 

One  of  the  two  soldiers  sitting  in  the  cart  had  been  appar- 
ently wounded  in  tlie  cheek.  His  whole  head  was  bound  up 
in  rags,  and  one  cheek  was  swollen  up  as  big  as  the  head  of  a 
child.  His  mouth  and  nose  were  all  on  one  side.  This  soldier 
looked  at  the  cathedral,  and  crossed  himself. 

The  other,  a  young  lad,  a  raw  recruit,  blond,  and  as  pale  as 
though  his  delicate  face  was  completely  bloodless,  gazed  at 
Pierre  with  a  fixed,  good-natured  smile. 

The  third  was  lying  down,  and  his  face  was  hidden. 

The  cavalry  singers  had  now  come  abreast  of  the  telyeg^ :  — 

"  Akh!  zapropala  —  da  yezhdva  golovd. 
Da  !  na  chuzh6i  storone  zhivutchV* 

"  Yes,  living  in  a  foreign  land,"  rang  out  the  voices,  trolling 
a  soldiers'  dancing-song.  As  though  seconding  the  merry  song, 
but  in  a  different  strain,  far  up  from  the  heights  above  pealed 
the  metallic  sounds  of  the  cathedral  chimes.  And,  in  still 
another  strain  of  gayety,  the  bright  sunbeams  flooded  the 
summit  of  the  acclivity  over  opposite.  But  under  the  hill- 
side where  Pierre  stood,  near  the  telyega  with  the  wounded 
men  and  the  little  panting  horse,  it  was  damp,  and  in  shadow 
and  in  gloom. 

The  soldier  with  the  swollen  cheek  looked  angrily  at  the 
cavalry  singers. 

*^  Okh !  the  dandies ! "  he  muttered,  scornfully. 

''  I  have  seen  something  besides  soldiers  to-dav :  muzhiks 
is  what  I  have  seen !  Muzhiks,  and  whipped  into  battle, 
too  ! "  said  the  soldier  standing  behind  the  telyega,  and  turn- 
ing to  Pierre  with  a  melancholy  smile.  ''  Not  much  picking 
and  choosing  nowadays.  They  are  trying  to  sweep  in  the 
whole  nation  —  in  one  word,  Moscow.  They  want  to  do  it  at 
one  fell  swoop." 

In  spite  of  the  incoherence  of  the  soldier's  words,  Pierre 
understood  all  that  he  meant,  and  he  nodded  his  head  affirma- 
tively. 

The  road  was  at  last  cleared,  and  Pierre  walked  to  the  foot 


206  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

of  the  hill,  and  then  proceeded  on  his  way.  He  drove  along, 
glancing  at  both  sides  of  the  road,  trying  to  distinguish  some 
familiar  face,  and  everywhere  encountering  only  strangers  be- 
longing to  the  various  divisions  of  the  troops,  who,  without 
exception,  looked  with  amazement  at  his  white  hat  and  gieen 
coat. 

After  proceeding  about  four  versts  he  met  his  first  acquaint- 
ance, and  joyfully  accosted  him.  This  acquaintance  was  one 
of  the  physicians  to  the  stafP.  Pierre  met  him  as  he  came  driv- 
ing along  in  his  britchka,  accon^panied  by  a  young  doctor,  and 
when  he  recognized  Pierre  he  ordered  the  Cossack  who  was 
seated  on  the  box  in  place  of  his  coachman  to  stop. 

"  Count !  your  illustriousness  !    How  come  you  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  wanted  to  see  wliat  was  going  on." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  enough  to  see." 

Pierre  got  out  again,  and  paused  to  talk  with  the  doctor, 
to  whom  he  confided  his  intention  of  taking  part  in  the 
battle. 

The  doctor  advised  Bezukhoi  to  apply  directly  to  his  serene 
highness.  "  God  knows  what  would  become  of  you  during  a 
battle  if  you  are  not  with  friends,"  said  he,  exchanging  glanoes 
with  his  young  colleague ;  "  but  his  serene  highness,  of  course, 
knows  you,  and  will  receive  you  graciously.  I'd  do  that  if  I 
were  you,  batyushka,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  doctor  looked  tired  and  sleepy. 

"  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  But  I  was  going  to  ask  you — 
where  is  our  position  ?  "  said  Pierre. 

"  Our  position  ?  "  repeated  the  doctor.  "  That  is  something 
that  is  not  in  my  line.  Go  to  Tatariuovo.  Lot  of  them  dig* 
ging  something  or  other  there.  There  you'll  find  a  hiU, 
and  from  the  top  of  it  you  can  get  a  good  view,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  A  good  view  ?  "  repeated  Pierre.     "  If  you  would  "  — 

But  the  doctor  interrupted  him,  and  turned  to  his  britchka. 

"  I  would  show  you  the  way ;  yes,  1  would,  by  God  —  but " 
(and  the  doctor  indicated  his  throat)  "I  am  called  to  a  corps 
commander.  You  see  how  it  is  with  us  ?  You  know,  coxint, 
there's  a  battle  to-morrow :  out  of  a  hundred  thousand,  we 
must  count  on  at  least  twenty  thousand  wounded.  And  we 
have  neither  stretchers  nor  hammocks  nor  assistant  surgeons 
nor  medicines  enough  for  even  six  thousand !  We  have  ten 
thousand  telyegas,  but  something  else  is  necessary^  certainly. 
We  must  do  the  best  we  can." 

The  strange  thought  that  out  of  all  these  tho^isands  o{ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  207 

living,  healthy  men,  young  and  old,  who  looked  at  his  white 
hat  with  such  jovial  curiosity,  probably  twenty  thousand  were 
doomed  to  suffer  wounds  and  death  (maybe  the  very  men  whom 
he  that  moment  saw),  struck  Pierre. 

"  They,  very  possibly,  will  be  dead  men  to-morrow ;  why, 
then,  can  they  be  thinking  of  anything  besides  death  ?  " 

And,  suddenly,  by  some  mysterious  association  of  ideas,  he 
had  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  steep  descent  from  Mozhaisk  — 
the  telyegas  with  the  wounded,  the  chiming  bells,  the  slanting 
rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  songs  of  the  cavalrymen. 

''The  cavalry  are  going  into  action,  and  they  meet  the 
wounded,  and  not  for  a  single  instant  do  they  think  of  what 
is  awaiting  them*  but  ttey  gallop  by  and  greet  the  wounded ; 
and  out  of  all  these  men,  twenty  thousand  are  doomed  to  die, 
and  yet  they  are  interested  in  my  hat !  Strange  !  "  thought 
Pierre,  as  he  proceeded  on  his  way  to  Tatarinovo. 

At  the  mansion  of  a  landed  proprietor,  on  the  left-hand  side 
of  the  road,  stood  equipages,  baggage  wagons,  a  throng  of  den- 
shchiks  and  sentinels.  Here  his  serene  highness  was  quar- 
tered, but  when  Pierre  arrived  he  was  out,  and  almost  all  of  his 
staff.     All  were  at  a  Te  Deum  service. 

Pierre  drove  on  farther,  to  Gorki.  Mounting  the  hill,  and 
passing  beyond  the  narrow  street  of  the  village,  Pierre  saw  for 
the  first  time  the  peasant-landwehr,  with  crosses  on  their  caps, 
and  in  white  shirts,  working  with  a  will,  with  boisterous  talk 
and  laughter  at  something,  on  a  high,  grass-grown  mound  to 
the  right  of  the  road. 

Some  of  them  had  shovels,  and  were  digging  at  the  hill ; 
others  were  transporting  dirt  in  wheelbarrows,  along  planks ; 
still  others  were  standing  about,  doing  nothing.  Two  officers 
were  stationed  on  the  mound,  directing  operations. 

Pierre,  seeing  these  muzhiks  evidently  enjoying  the  novelty 
of  military  service,  again  recalled  the  wounded  soldiers  at 
Mozhaisk,  and  he  saw  still  deeper  meaning  in  what  the  sol- 
dier had  tried  to  express  when  he  said  they  are  trying  to 
sweep  in  the  whole  nation.  The  sight  of  these  bearded  mu- 
zhiks working  in  the  battle-field,  in  their  clumsy  boots,  with 
their  sweaty  necks,  and  some  with  shirt-collars  rolled  back, 
exposing  to  sight  their  sunburned  collar-bones,  made  a  deeper 
impression  on  Pierre  than  all  else  that  he  had  seen  or  heard 
hitherto  concerning  the  solemnity  and  significance  of  tb^ 
actual  crisis. 


208  ^AR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Pierre  left  his  equipage^  and,  passing  by  the  laboring  land- 
wehr,  he  directed  his  steps  to  the  mound,  from  which,  as  the 
doctor  had  told  him,  the  whole  battle-field  was  visible. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  sun  stood  a  trifle 
to  Pierre's  left  and  rear,  and  sent  its  beams  down  through  the 
pure,  rarefied  atmosphere,  brilliantly  lighting  up  the  immense 
panorama  of  hill  and  vale  that  spread  before  him^  as  in  an 
amphitheatre. 

Above,  and  to  the  left,  cutting  across  this  'amphitheatre,  he 
could  see  the  great  Smolensk  highway,  passing  through  a  vil- 
lage with  a  white  church  situated  five  hundred  paces  distant 
from  the  mound  and  below  it.  This  was  Borodino.  Near  this 
village  the  road  crossed  the  river  by  a  bridge,  and,  winding 
and  bending,  mounted  higher  and  higher,  till  it  reached  Va- 
luyevo,  visible  six  versts  away.  (Here  Napoleon  now  was.) 
Beyond  Valuyevo  the  road  was  lost  to  sight  in  a  forest,  which 
showed  yellow  against  the  horizon.  In  this  forest  of  birches 
and  firs,  to  the  left  from  the  highway,  could  be  seen  glisten- 
ing in  the  sun  the  distant  cross  and  belfry  of  the  Kolotsky 
monastery.  Over  all  this  blue  distance,  to  the  left  and  to  the 
right  of  the  forest  and  the  road,  in  various  positions,  could  be 
seen  the  smoke  of  camp-fires,  and  indeterminate  masses  of  the 
French  and  Russian  troops. 

At  the  right,  looking  down  the  rivers  Kalotcha  and  Moskva, 
the  country  was  full  of  ravines  and  hills.  Among  these  hills, 
far  away,  could  be  seen  the  villages  of  Bezzubovo  and  Zakha- 
rino.  At  the  left  the  country  was  more  level;  there  were 
cornfields,  and  the  ruins  of  a  village  that  had  been  set  oif  fire, 
Semenovskoye,  were  still  smoking. 

All  that  Pierre  saw  on  his  right  hand  and  his  left  was  so 
confused  that  he  found  nothing  that  in  any  degree  answered 
to  his  expectations.  Nowhere  could  he  find  any  such  field  of 
battle  as  he  had  counted  upon  seeing,  but  only  fields,  clearings, 
troops,  woodland,  bivouac  fires,  villages,  hills,  brooks ;  and  in 
spite  of  all  his  efforts  he  could  not  make  out  any  definite  posi- 
tion in  this  varied  landscape,  nor  could  he  even  distinguish 
our  troops  from  the  enemy's. 

^'I  must  ask  of  some  one  who  knows,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  he  addressed  himself  to  one  of  the  officers,  who  was  look- 
ing inquisitively  at  his  huge,  immilitary  figure. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  ^d 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Pierre,  turning  to  this  officer,  "what  that  ^ 
village  is  yonder  ?  " 

"Burdino,  isn't  it?"  replied  the  officer,  referring  to  hia 
comrade. 

"  Borodino,"  said  the  other,  correcting  him. 

The  officer,  evidently  pleased  to  have  a  chance  to  talk^ 
approached  Pierre* 

^  Are  those  ours  yonder  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  still  farther  are  the  French,"  said  the  officer. 
"There  they  are,  there.    Can  you  see  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  where  ?  "  asked  Pierre* 

"  You  can  see  them  with  the  naked  eye.     See  there.'* 

The  officer  pointed  at  the  columns  of  smoke  rising  at  the 
left,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  fiver,  and  his  face  assumed  that 
stem  and  grave  expression  which  Pierre  had  noticed  on  many 
faces  that  he  had  lately  seen. 

"  Ah !  is  that  the  French  ?  But  who  are  yondel?  ?  "  Pierre 
indicated  a  mound  at  the  left,  where  troops  were  also  visible. 

"  Those  are  ours." 

"  Oh,  ours !  But  there  ?  "  Pierre  pointed  to  another  hill  in 
the  distance,  where  there  was  a  tall  tree  near  a  village  show- 
ing up  in  a  valley,  and  with  smoking  bivouac  fires  and  a  strange 
black  mass. 

"  That  is  he  again,"  explained  the  officer  (this  was  the  She- 
vardino  redoubt).    "  Yesterday  it  was  ourg,  but  now  it's  Aw.'' 

"What  is  our  position  ?  " 

"  Our  position,"  repeated  the  officer,  with  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion :  "  I  can  explain  it  to  you  clearly,  because  I  arranged  almost 
all  our  defences.  There,  do  you  see  ?  our  centre  is  at  Borodino, 
over  yonder."  He  pointed  to  the  village  with  the  white  church, 
directly  in  front.  "  There  is  where  you  cross  the  Kalotcha. 
Then  here,  do  you  see,  down  in  that  bottom  land,  where  the 
windrows  of  hay  are  lying  ?  —  there  is  a  bridge  there.  That 
is  our  centre.  Our  right  flank  is  about  yonder,"  —  he  indicated 
a  place  far  distant,  between  the  hills  at  the  extreme  right,  — 
"  the  river  Moskva  is  there,  and  there  we  have  thrown  up  three 
very  strong  earthworks.  Our  left  flank" — here  the  officer 
hesitated.  "  You  see,  that  is  somewhat  hard  to  explain  to  you. 
Yesterday  our  left  flank  was  yonder  at  Shevardino ;  there,  do 
you  see,  where  that  oak-tree  is  ?  but  now  we  have  withdrawn 
the  left  wing,  and  now,  —  now  do  you  see,  yonder,  that  villajre 
and  the  smoke,  that  is  Seraenovskoye,  —  it  is  about  there." 
He  pointed  to  the  hill  of  Rayevsky.  "But  it's  hard  to  tell  if 
the  action  will  come  off  there.  Be  has  brought  his  forces  in 
VOL.  3.  — 14. 


210-  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

that  direction^  but  that's  a  ruse.  He  will  probably  try  to  oat* 
flank  us  from  the  side  of  the  Moskva.  Well,  at  all  events,  a 
good  many  of  us  will  be  counted  out  to-morrow/'  said  the  officer. 

An  old  non-commissioned  officer,  who  had  approached  the 
speaker  while  he  was  talking,  waited  until  his  superior  should 
finish,  but  at  this  juncture,  evidently  dissatisfied  with  what 
the  officer  was  saying,  interrupted  him.  "  We  must  send  for 
gabions,"  said  he  gravely. 

The  officer  seemed  to  be  abashed,  seemed  to  come  to  a  real- 
izing sense  that,  while  it  was  permissible  to  think  how  many 
would  be  missing  on  the  morrow,  it  was  not  proper  to  speak 
about  it. 

^'  All  right,  send  Company  Three  again,"  said  the  officer  hun 
riedly.    "  And  who  are  you  ?    One  of  the  doctors,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  merely  looking."  And  Pierre  again  descended 
the  hill,  past  the  men  of  the  landwehr. 

<^  Akh !  curse  'em  ! "  exclaimed  the  officer,  following  him  and 
holding  his  nose  as  he  ran  by  the  laborers. 

"  There  they  are  I "  —  "  They've  got  here,  they're  coming !  ^ 
—  "There  they  are!"  —  "They'll  be  here  in  a  minute!" — 
such  were  the  exclamations  suddenly  heard,  and  officers, 
soldiers,  and  the  men  of  the  landwehr  rushed  down  the  road. 

Up  the  long  slope  of  the  hill  came  a  church  procession  from 
Borodino.  At  the  forefront,  along  the  dusty  rosid,  in  fine  order, 
came  a  company  of  infantry  with  their  shakoes  off,  and  trail- 
ing arms.    Back  of  the  infantry  was  heard  a  church  chant. 

Soldiers  and  landwehr  men,  outstripping  Pierre,  ran  ahead 
to  meet  the  coming  procession. 

"  They  are  bringing  our  Mdtuskha !  The  Intercessor.  The 
Iverskaya  Virgin ! " 

"The  Smolensk  Mdtushka,"  said  another,  correcting  the 
former  speaker. 

The  landwehr  men,  both  those  who  belonged  to  the  village 
and  those  who  had  been  working  at  the  battery,  threw  down 
their  shovels  and  ran  to  meet  the  procession. 

Behind  the  battalion  which  came  marching  along  the  dusty 
road  walked  the  priests  in  their  chasubles,  —  one  little  old  man 
in  a  cowl,  accompanied  by  the  clergy  and  chanters.  Behind 
them,  soldiers  and  officers  bore  a  huge  ikon,  with  tarnished  fece, 
in  its  frame.  This  was  the  ikon  which  had  been  brought  away 
from  Smolensk,  and  had  ever  since  followed  the  army.  Be- 
hind it  and  around  it  and  in  front  of  it  came  hurrying  throngs 
of  soldiers,  baring  their  heads  and  making  obeisances  to  the 
very  ground. 


WAR  ANb  P^ACS.  211 

When  the  ikon  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  it  stopped.  The 
men  who  had  been  lugging  the  holy  image  on  carved  staves 
were  relieved,  the  diatchoks  again .  kindled  their  censers,  and 
the  Te  Deum  began.  The  sun  poured  his  hot  rays  straight 
down  from  the  zenith ;  a  faint,  fresh  breeze  played  with  the 
hair  on  the  uncovered  heads,  and  fluttered  the  ribbons  with 
which  the  ikon  was  adorned  \  the  chant  sounded  subdued  under 
the  vault  of  heaven. 

A  tremendous  throng  of  oflEicere,  soldiers^and^landwehr  men, 
all  with  uncovered  hei&s,  surrounded  the  ikon.  Back  of  the 
priest  and  diatchok,  on  a  space  cleared  and  reserved,  stood 
the  officers  of  higher  rank.  One  bald-headed  general,  with  the 
George  around  his  neck,  stood  directly  back  of  the  priest  and 
did  not  cross  himself,  —  he  was  evidently  a  German,  —  but 
waited  patiently  for  the  end  of  the  Te  Deum,  which  he  con- 
sidered it  necessary  to  listen  to,  probably  so  as  to  arouse  the 
patriotism  of  the  Russian  nation. 

Another  general  stood  in  a  military  position,  and  kept 
moving  his  hand  in  front  of  his  chest  and  glancing  around. 

Pierre,  who  had  taken  his  position  amid  a  throng  of  mu- 
zhiks, recognized  a  number  of  acquaintances  in  this  circle  of 
officials;  but  he  did  not  look  at  them;  his  whole  attention 
was  absorbed  by  the  serious  expression  on  the  faces  of  the 
throng  of  soldiers  and  militia,  with  one  consent  gazing  with 
zapt  devotion  at  the  wonder-working  ikon. 

"When  the  weary  sacristans  —  who  had  been  performing  the 
Te  Deum  for  the  twentieth  time —  began  to  sing  "  Save  from 
their  sorrows  thy  servants,  Holy  Mother  of  God ! "  and  the 
priest  and  diatch6k,  in  antiphonal  service,  took  up  the  strain, 
"Verily  we  all  take  refuge  in  Thee,  as  in  a  steadfast  bul- 
wark and  defence,"  Pierre  noticed  that  all  faces  wore  that 
expression  of  consciousness  of  the  solemnity  of  the  moment, 
which  he  had  marked  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  near  Mozhaisk, 
and  by  fits  and  snatches  on  many  faces  that  had  met  him  that 
morning.  Heads  were  bent  even  more  frequently,  hair  tossed 
up,  and  sighs  and  the  sounds  of  crosses  striking  chests  were 
heard. 

The  throng  surrounding  the  ikon  suddenly  opened  its  ranks 
and  jostled  against  Pierre. 

Some  one,  evidently  a  very  important  personage,  to  judge 
by  the  eagerness  with  which  they  made  way  for  him,  ap- 
proached the  ikon. 

It  was  Kutuzof,  who  had  been  out  reconnoitring  the  posi- 
tion*   On  his  way  to  Tatarinovo,  he  came  to  hear  the  Te  Deum 


210-  ^^^  ^^^  PEACE. 

that  direction,  but  that's  a  nise.  He  will  ptobably  try  to  out- 
flank us  from  the  side  of  the  Moskva.  Well,  at  all  events,  a 
good  many  of  us  will  be  counted  out  to-morrow,"  said  the  omcer. 
An  old  non-commissioned  officer,  who  had  approached  the 
speaker  while  he  was  talking,  waited  until  his  superior  should 
finish,  but  at  this  juncture,  evidently  dissatisfied  with  what 
the  officer  was  saying,  interrupted  him.     "  We  must  send  for 


Notwithstandirilf' tiie  preSeiTot;  or  the  Go-  .  think  how  many 
attracted  the  attention  of  all  those  of  higinj^  ..-.^^  ^  ^r^^ 
of  the  landwehr  and  the  soldiers,  without  looking  at  liiiii,  con- 
tinued to  offer  their  prayers. 

When  the  service  was  concluded,  Kutuzof  went  to  the  ikon, 
heavily  let  himself 'down  on  one  knee,  bowed  to  the  ground; 
then  he  tried  for  some  time  to  rise ;  his  weight  and  feebleness 
made  his  efPorts  vain.  His  gray  head  shook  from  side  to  side 
in  his  exertion. 

At  last  he  got  to  his  feet  again,  and,  with  a  childishly  naive 
thrusting-out  of  his  lips,  kissed  the  ikon  and  again  bent  over 
and  touched  the  ground  with  his  hand.  The  generals  present 
followed  his  example ;  then  the  officers,  and  then,  crowding, 
pushing,  jostling,  and  stepping  on  each  other,  with  excit^ 
{aces  came  the  soldiers  and  militia. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Extricating  himself  from  the  crowd  that  pressed  about 
him,  Pierre  looked  around. 

"  Count,  Piotr  Kiriluitch !  How  come  you  here  ?  "  cried 
some  one's  voice.  Pierre  looked  in  that  .direction.  Boris 
Bnibetskoi,  brushing  the  dust  from  his  knee,  —  he  had  ap- 
parently, like  the  rest,  been  making  his  genuflections  before 
the  ikon,  —  came  up  to  Pierre,  smiling.  Boris  was  elegantly 
attired,  with  just  a  shade  of  the  wear  and  tear  from  having 
been  on  service.  He  wore  a  long  frock  coat  and  a  whip  over 
his  shoulder  in  imitation  of  Kutuzof. 

Kutuzof,  meantime,  had  returned  to  the  village,  and  sat 
down  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  adjoining  house,  on  a  bench 
brought  out  in  all  haste  by  a  Cossack,  while  another  had 
covered  it  with  a  rug.  A  large  and  brilliant  suite  gathered 
about  him. 

The  ikon  had  gone  farther  on  its  way,  accompanied  by  a 


men 
were 


WAR  Atft)  pnAcn,  211 

Wten  the  ikon  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  it  stopped.  The 
whoh^^^^^  lugging  the  holy  image  on  carved  staves 
wer«  relieved,  the  diatchoks  again  kindled  their  censers,  and 
the  Te  Deum  began.  The  son  poured  his  hot  rays  straight 
down  from  the  zenith ;  a  faint,  fresh  breeze  ulayed  with  the 
hair  on  the  uncovered  heads,  and  fluttered  the  ribbons  with 
which  the  ikon  was  adorned ;  the  chant  sounded  subdued  under 
the  vault  of  heaven.  i,k^  ^^ 

A  tremendous  throng  of  n§icers,soMiPrs^jmd^er:  ^e  are  just 

all  with  uncovered  hf^  flank.    And  when  we  return  I  will  beg 

yoti**2t  ap^^e-the  favor  of  spending  the  night  with  me  and  we 

will  get  up  a  party.     I  think  you  are  acquainted  with  Dmitri 

Sergeyevitch.    He  lodges  over  yonder.'* 

He  indicated  the  third  house  in  Gorki. 

"  But  I  should  like  to  see  the  right  flank  ;  it  is  very  strong,''' 
protested  Pierre.  "I  should  like  to  ride  over  the  whole  posi- 
tion, from  the  Moskva  River." 

'*  Well,  you  can  do  that  afterwards;  but  the  main  thing  i» 
the  left  flank." 

"Yes,  yes.  But  where  is  Prince  Bolkonsky's  regiment? 
Can't  you  show  me  ?  "  demanded  Pierre. 

"  Andrei  Nikolayevitch's  ?  We  shall  ride  directly  past  it : 
I  will  take  you  to  him." 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  about  the  left  flank  ?  "  asked 
Pierre. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  entre  nous,  our  left  flank  is  wretch- 
edly placed,"  said  Boris,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
tone.  "  Count  Benigsen  proposed  something  entirely  different- 
He  proposed  to  fortify  that  hill  yonder ;  not  at  all  this  way ; 
but  " — Boris  shrugged  his  shoulders  —  "  his  serene  highness 
would  not  hear  to  it,  or  he  was  over-persuaded.     You  see  "  — 

But  Boris  did  not  finish  what  he  was  going  to  say,  because 
just  at  that  instant  Kafsarof,  one  of  Kutuzof's  adjutants, 
approached  Pierre. 

"  Ah !  PaKsi  Sergeyitch,"  exclaimed  Boris,  with  a  free  and 
easy  smile,  turning  to  Kaisarof.  *'  Here  I  was  just  trying  to 
explain  our  position  to  the  count.  It  is  a  marvel  to  me  how 
his  serene  highness  could  have  succeeded  so  well  in  penetrat- 
ing the  designs  of  the  French !  " 

"Were  you  speaking  of  the  left  flank  ?  "  asked  Kaisarof. 

"Yes,  yes,  just  that.  Our  left  flank  is  now  very,  very 
strong." 

Although  Kutuzof  had  dismissed  all  superfluous  mem- 
bers from  his  staff,  Boris,  after  the  changes  that  had  beea 


214  VtTAU  AND  PEACE. 

made)  had  managed  in  keeping  his  place  at  headquarters.  He 
had  procured  a  place  with  Count  Benigsen.  Count  Benigsen, 
like  all  the  other  men  under  whom  Boris  had  served,  con- 
sidered the  young  Prince  Drubetskoi  an  invaluable  man. 

In  the  headquarters  of  the  army,  there  were  two  sharply 
defined  parties :  that  of  Kutuzof  and  that  of  Benigsen,  chief 
of  staif .  Boris  belonged  to  the  latter  party ;  and  no  one  was 
more  skilful  than  he,  even  while  expressing  servile  deference 
to  Kutuzof,  to  insinuate  that  the  old  man  was  incapable,  and 
that  really  everything  was  due  to  Benigsen. 

They  were  now  on  the  eve  of  a  decisive  engagement,  which 
would  be  likely  either  to  prove  Kutuzofs  ruin,  and  put  the 
power  in  Benigsen's  hands,  or,  even  supposing  Kutuzof  were 
to  win  the  battle,  to  make  it  seem  probable  that  all  the  credit 
was  due  to  Benigsen.  In  any  case,  great  rewards  would  be 
distributed  on  account  of  the  coming  battle,  and  new  men 
would  be  brought  to  the  fore.  And,  in  consequence  of  this, 
Boris  all  that  day  had  been  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement. 

Pierre  was  joined  by  other  acquaintances,  who  came  up 
after  Ka'isarof,  and  he  had  no  time  to  answer  all  the  inquiries 
about  Moscow  with  which  they  inundated  him ;  and  he  had  no 
time  to  listen  to  the  stories  which  they  told  him.  Excitement 
and  anxiety  were  written  in  all  faces.  But  it  seemed  to  Pierre 
that  the  cause  of  these  emotions,  in  some  cases  at  least,  was 
to  be  attributed  rather  to  the  possibility  of  personal  success ; 
and  he  found  it  impossible  to  help  comparing  them  with  that 
other  expression  of  emotion  which  he  had  seen  on  other  faces, 
and  which  was  eloquent  of  something  besides  merely  personal 
matters,  but  of  the  eternal  questions  of  life  and  of  death. 

Kutuzof  caught  sight  of  Pierre's  figure,  and  the  group  that 
had  gathered  round  him. 

"  Bring  him  to  me,"  said  Kutuzof.  An  adjutant  communi- 
cated his  serene  highness's  message,  and  Pierre  started  to  the 
place  where  he  was  sitting.  But,  before  he  got  there,  a  private 
of  militia  approached  Kutuzof. 

It  was  Dolokhof. 

"  How  comes  this  man  here  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

"  He's  such  a  beast !  He's  sneaking  in  everywhere !  '*  was 
the  answer.  "  He  has  been  cashiered  again.  But  he's  on  his 
way  up  again.  He  has  all  sorts  of  schemes,  and  one  night  he 
crept  up  as  far  as  the  enemy's  picket  lines.     He's  brave." 

Pierre,  taking  off  his  hat,  made  a  low  bow  to  Kutuzof. 

"  I  had  an  idea  that  if  I  made  this  report  to  your  serene 
highness^  you  might  order  me  off,  or  tell  me  that  what  I  bad 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  216 

to  say  was  already  known  to  you,  and  then  all  would  be  up 
with  me,"  Dolokhof  was  saying. 

"  Very  true,  very  true  ! " 

"  But  if  I  am  correct,  then  I  am  doing  a  service  for  my 
country,  for  which  I  am  ready  to  die." 

"  Very  true,  very  true  ! " 

"  And  if  your  serene  highness  needs  a  man  who  would  not 
care  if  he  came  out  with  a  whole  skin  or  not,  then  please 
remember  me.  Maybe  I  might  be  of  use  to  your  serene 
highness." 

"  Very  true,  very  true  ? "  said  Kutuzof,  for  the  third  time, 
looking  at  Pierre  with  his  one  eye  squinted  up,  and  smiling. 

At  this  instant,  Boris,  with  his  usual  adroitness,  came  up  in 
line  with  Pierre  close  to  the  chief,  and,  in  the  most  natural  man- 
ner in  the  world,  said  to  Pierre,  in  his  ordinary  tone  of  voice, 
as  though  he  were  pursuing  what  he  had  already  begun  to 

say,— 

"The  landwehr  have  put  on  clean  white  shirts,  just  as 
though  they  were  preparing  for  death.     What  heroism,  count ! " 

Boris  said  this  to  Pierre  evidently  for  the  sake  of  being 
overheard  by  his  serene  highness.  He  knew  that  Kutuzof 
would  be  attracted  by  these  words,  and,  in  fact,  his  serene 
highness  turned  to  him :  — 

"  What  did  you  say  about  the  landwehr  ?  "  he  demanded 
of  Boris. 

**  I  said,  your  serene  highness,  that  they  had  put  on  white 
shirts  for  to-morrow,  as  a  preparation  for  death." 

"  Ah !  They  are  a  marvellous,  incomparable  people  ! " 
exclaimed  Kutuzof,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  he  shook  his  head. 
" An  incomparable  people,"  he  repeated,  with  a  sigh.  "So 
you  wish  to  smell  gunpowder  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  Pierre. 
"Well,  it's  a  pleasant  odor.  I  have  the  honor  of  being  one  of 
your  wife's  adorers :  is  she  well  ?  My  quarters  are  at  your 
service." 

And  as  often  happens  with  old  men,  Kutuzof  glanced  about 
absent-mindedly,  as  though  forgetting  all  that  he  ought  to  say 
or  to  do.  Then  apparently  coming  to  a  recollection  of  what  his 
memory  was  searching  for,  he  beckoned  up  Andrei  Sergeye- 
vitch  Kalsarof,  his  adjutant's  brother :  — 

"  How  —  how  —  how  do  those  verses  —  those  —  those  verses 
of  Marin's  —  how,  how  do  they  go  ?  Something  he  wrote  on 
Crerakof :  '  Thou  shalt  be  a  teacher  in  the  corpus,^  Repeat  'em, 
repeat  'em  !"  exclaimed  Kutuzof,  evidently  in  a  mood  to  have 
a  laugh. 


216  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Kaisarof  repeated  the  poem.  Kutuzof,  smiling,  nodded  his 
head  to  the  rhythm  of  the  verses. 

When  Pierre  left  Kutuzof,  Dolokhof  approached  and  took 
him  by  the  arm :  — 

"  Very  glad  to  meet  you  here,  count,"  said  he  in  a  loud  tone 
and  with  peculiar  resolution  and  solemnity,  not  abashed  by 
the  presence  of  strangers.  "  On  the  eve  of  a  day  when  God 
knows  which  of  us  may  quit  this  life,  I  am  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry  for  the  misunderstandings 
which  have  existed  between  us,  and  that  I  hope  you  bear  me 
no  grudge.    I  beg  you  to  pardon  me." 

Pierre,  smiling,  gazed  at  Dolokhof,  not  knowing  what  answer 
to  make.  Dolokhof,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  threw  his  arms 
around  Pierre  and  kissed  him. 

Boris  made  some  remark  to  his  general,  and  Count  Benigsen 
turned  to  Pierre  and  invited  him  to  join  him  in  a  ride  along 
the  lines. 

"  It  will  be  interesting  to  you,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  very  interesting,"  replied  Pierre. 

Half  an  hour  later  Kutuzof  had  gone  back  to  Tatarinovo, 
and  Benigsen  with  his  suite,  including  Pierre,  set  off  on  their 
tour  of  inspection  along  the  line. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Benigsen  set  forth  from  Gorki  along  the  highway  to  the 
bridge  to  which  Pierre's  attention  had  been  called  by  the 
officer  on  the  hill-top  as  being  the  centre  of  the  position,  and 
where,  along  the  intervale,  the  windrows  of  hay  lay  tilling  the 
air  with  perfume.  They  crossed  the  bridge  into  the  village 
of  Borodino,  whence  they  made  a  detour  to  the  left,  and,  pass- 
ing a  great  quantity  oi  troops  and  field-pieces,  they  made 
their  way  to  a  high  mound  where  the  landwehr  were  con- 
structing earthworks.  Tliis  was  the  redoubt  which  as  yet 
was  not  named,  but  was  afterwards  known  as  Rayevsky's  re- 
doubt or  the  Kurgannaya  *  battery.  Pierre  did  not  pay  any 
special  attention  to  this  redoubt.  He  could  not  know  that 
this  spot  would  come  to  be  for  him  the  most  memorable  of  all 
the  positions  on  the  field  of  Borodino. 

Then  they  rode  down  through  the  ravine  to  Semenovskoye, 
where  the  soldiers  were  dragging  off  the  last  remaining  beains 
from  the  cottages  and  corn  kilns.     Then  down  a  hill  and  up  a 

*  From  kurgdn,  a  mound  or  hiU  {mamelon). 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  217 

hill  they  rode,  forward  across  a  field  of  rye  crashed  down  and 
beaten  as  if  by  a  hail  storm,  and  over  a  road  newly  formed  by 
the  artillery  through  a  ploughed  field  until  they  reached  the 
fleches  *  which  had  just  been  started. 

Benigsen  drew  up  at  the  fleches  and  proceeded  to  scrutinize 
the  Shevardino  redoubt,  —  which  had  been  ours  the  evening 
before,  —  where  a  number  of  horsemen  could  be  distinguished. 
The  ofiicers  said  that  Napoleon  or  Murat  was  among  them, 
and  all  gazed  eagerly  at  the  little  knot  of  horsemen.  Pierre 
also  looked  in  the  same  direction,  trying  to  make  out  which  of 
these  scarcely  distinguishable  men  was  Napoleon.  At  last  the 
horsemen  descended  from  the  hill  and  disappeared. 

Benigsen  addressed  a  general  who  had  approached  him,  and 
proceeded  to  explain  the  whole  position  of  our  troops.  Pierre 
listened  to  Benigsen's  words,  exerting  all  the  powers  of  his 
mind  to  comprehend  the  natui-e  of  the  approaching  engage- 
ment, but  he  was  mortified  to  discover  that  his  intellectual 
capacities  were  not  up  to  the  mark.  He  got  no  idea  whatever. 
Benigsen  ceased  speaking,  and,  noticing  that  Pierre  was  listen- 
ing attentively,  he  said,  suddenly  turning  to  him,  — 
"I  am  afraid  this  does  not  interest  you  ?  " 
"  Oh,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  very  interesting,"  replied  Pierre, 
not  with  absolute  veracity. 

From  the  fleche  they  took  the  road  still  farther  toward  the 
left,  which  wound  through  a  dense  but  not  lofty  forest  of 
birch-trees.  In  the  midst  of  these  woods  a  cinnamon-<;olored 
hare  with  white  legs  bounded  up  before  them,  and,  startled 
by  the  trampling  of  so  many  horses'  feet,  was  so  bewildered 
that  for  some  time  it  ran  along  the  road  in  front  of  them,  ex- 
citing general  attention  and  amusement,  and  only  when  several 
of  the  men  shouted  at  it,  did  it  dart  to  one  side  and  disap- 
pear in  the  thicket. 

Having  ridden  a  couple  of  versts  through  the  wood,  they 
came  to  the  clearing  where  the  troops  of  Tutchkof  s  corps 
were  stationed,  whose  duty  it  was  to  defend  the  left  flank. 

Here,  at  the  very  extremity  of  the  left  flank,  Benigsen  had 
a  wordy  and  heated  conversation  and  made  what  seemed  to 
Pierre  a  very  important  disposition.  In  front  of  Tutchkof  s 
division  there  was  a  slight  rise  of  ground.  This  rise  had  not 
been  occupied  by  our  troops. 

Benigsen  vigorously  criticised  this  blunder,  declaring  that  it 
was  a  piece  of  idiocy  to  leave  unoccupied  a  height  command- 
ing a  locality,  and  to  draw  up  the  troops  at  the  foot  of  it, 

*  A  kind  of  fortification.  —  Author's  Kotb, 


t 
I 

I 


218  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Several  of  the  generals  expressed  the  same  opinion.  One  in 
particular,  with  genuine  military  fervor,  declared  that  the 
men  were  left  there  to  certain  destruction.  Benigsen,  on  his 
own  responsibility,  commanded  the  troops  to  occupy  this 
height. 

This  disposition  on  the  left  flank  still  further  compelled 
Pierre  to  doubt  his  capacity  to  understand  military  man- 
ceuvres.  As  he  listened  to  Benigsen  and  the  genersJs  who 
were  criticising  the  position  of  the  troops  at  the  foot  of  the 
knoll,  he  perfectly  understood  them  and  agreed  in  their  stric- 
tures ;  but  for  this  very  reason  he  found  himself  utterly  unable 
to  comprehend  how  the  one  who  had  placed  the  men  there  at 
the  foot  of  the  knoll  could  have  made  such  a  palpable  and 
stupid  blunder. 

Pierre  did  not  know  that  these  troops  had  been  stationed 
there  not  to  guard  the  position,  as  Benigsen  supposed,  but 
were  set  in  ambuscade :  in  other  words,  in  order  to  be  hidden 
and  to  fall  unexpectedly  on  the  enemy  as  they  approached. 
Benigsen  did  not  know  this,  and  he  moved  these  troops  for- 
ward by  his  own  understanding  of  the  case,  and  without  first 
informing  the  commander-in-chief. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Pbikoe  Andrei,  that  bright  September  afternoon  of  the 
sixth,  was  stretched  out  with  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  in 
a  dilapidated  cow-shed,  at  the  village  of  Kniazkovo,  at  the  end 
of  the  position  occupied  by  his  regiment.  Through  a  hole  in 
the  broken  wall  he  was  gazing  at  a  row  of  thirty-year-old  birches 
that  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  enclosure,  with  their  lower  limbs 
trimmed  off,  and  at  a  ploughed  field  over  which  were  scattered 
sheaves  of  oats,  and  at  the  coppice  where  the  smoke  of  bivouac 
fires  was  rising,  where  the  soldiers  were  cooking  their  suppers. 

Narrow  and  useless  and  trying  as  Prince  Andrei's  life  now 
seemed  to  him,  he  felt  excited  and  irritable  on  the  eve  of  the 
battle,  just  as  he  had  seven  years  before  at  Austerlitz. 

The  orders  for  the  morrow's  battle  were  g^ven  and  received 
by  him.  There  was  nothing  further  left  for  him  to  do.  But 
his  thoughts,  the  simplest,  clearest,  and  therefore  most  ter- 
rible thoughts,  refused  to  leave  him  to  repose.  He  was  aware 
that  the  morrow's  engagement  would  be  the  most  formidable 
of  all  in  which  he  had  ever  taken  part,  and  the  possibility  of 
death,  for  the  first  time  iu  his  life  without  reference  to  any 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  219 

worldly  aspect,  without  consideration  as  to  the  effect  it  might 
produce  upon  others,  but  in  its  relation  to  himself,  to  his  own 
soul,  confronted  him  with  vividness,  almost  with  certainty,  in 
all  its  gri^  reality. 

And  from  the  height  of  this  consideration,  all  that  hitherto 
tormented  and  pre-occupied  him  was  suddenly  thrown  into  a 
cold  white  light,  without  shadow,  without  perspective,  with- 
out distinction  of  features. 

All  his  life  appeared  to  him  as  though  in  a  magic  lantern, 
into  which  he  had  long  been  looking  through  a  glass  and  by 
means  of  an  artificial  light. 

Now  he  could  suddenly  see  without  a  glass,  by  the  clear 
light  of  day,  these  wretchedly  painted  pictures. 

"  Yes,  yes,  here  are  those  false  images  which  have  excited 
and  enraptured  and  deceived  me,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he 
passed  in  review,  in  his  imagination,  the  principal  pictures  of 
Iiis  magic-lantern  life,  now  looking  at  them  in  this  cold  white 
light  of  day  —  the  vivid  thought  of  death. 

"  Here  they  are,  these  coarsely  painted  figures  which  pre- 
tended to  represent  something  beautiful  and  mysterious. 
Glory,  social  advantages,  woman's  love,  the  country  itself  — 
how  tremendous  seemed  to  me  these  pictures,  what  deep  sig- 
nificance they  seemed  to  possess.  And  all  that  seems  now  so 
simple,  so  cheap  and  tawdry  in  the  cold  white  light  of  that 
morning  which,  I  am  convinced,  will  dawn  for  me  to-morrow." 

The  three  chief  sorrows  of  his  life  especially  arrested  his 
attention.  His  love  for  a  woman,  the  death  of  his  father,  and 
the  French  invasion  which  was  ingulfing  half  of  Russia. 

**Love!  —  That  young  girl  seemed  to  me  endowed  with 
mysterious  powers.  How  was  it?  I  loved  her,  I  dreamed 
poetic  dreams  of  love  and  happiness  with  her.  —  Oh,  precious 
boy  I "  he  cried  aloud  savagely.  "  How  was  it  ?  I  had  faith 
in  an  ideal  love  which  should  keep  her  faithful  to  me  during 
the  whole  year  of  my  absence.  Like  the  tender  dove  of  the 
fable,  she  should  have  pined  away  while  separated  from  me.  — 
But  the  reality  was  vastly  more  simple.  —  It  was  all  horribly 
simple,  disgusting ! 

"  My  father  was  building  at  Luisiya  (Jorui  and  supposing 
that  it  was  his  place,  his  land,  his  air,  his  peasants;  but 
Napoleon  came,  and,  not  even  knowing  of  his  existence,  swept 
him  aside  like  a  chip  from  the^oad,  and  his  Luisiya  Gorui  was 
swallowed  up  and  his  life  with  it.  But  the  Princess  Mariya 
says  that  this  is  a  discipline  sent  from  above.  For  whom  is 
it  a  discipline,  since  he  is  no  more  and  will  Qeyer  be  agaio  ? 


220  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

He  will  never  be  seen  again.  He  is  no  more.  Then  to  wlnom 
is  it  a  discipline  ? 

"  The  fatherland,  the  destruction  of  Moscow !  But  to-mo^ 
row  I  shall  be  killed  —  perhaps  not  even  by  the  French,  but 
by  one  of  our  own  men,  just  as  I  might  have  been  yesterday 
when  the  soldier  discharged  his  musket  near  my  head  —  and 
the  French  will  come,  will  take  me  by  the  legs  and  shoulders 
and  fling  me  into  a  pit,  so  that  I  may  not  become  a  stench  in 
their  nostrils,  and  new  conditions  of  existence  will  spring  up, 
to  which  other  men  will  grow  just  as  accustomed,  and  I  shall 
not  know  about  them,  for  I  shall  be  no  more ! " 

He  gazed  at  the  row  of  birches  shining  in  the  sun,  with 
their  motionless  yellow,  green,  and  white  boles. 

"  I  must  die ;  suppose  I  am  killed  to-morrow,  suppose  it 
is  the  end  of  me,  —  the  end  of  all,  and  I  no  longer  exist- 
ent ! "  He  vividly  pictured  the  world  and  himself  not  in  it 
The  birches,  with  the  lights  and  shades,  and  the  curling 
clouds,  and  the  smoke  of  the  bivouac  fires,  —  all  suddenly 
underwent  a  change,  and  assumed  for  him  something  terrible 
and  threatening.  A  cold  chill  ran  down  his  back.  Quickly  leap- 
ing to  his  feet,  he  left  the  shed,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down. 

Voices  were  heard  behind  the  shed. 

"  Who  is  there  ? "  asked  Prince  Andrei.  The  red-nosed 
Captain  Timokhin,  who  had  formerly  been  Dolokhofs  com- 
pany commander,  and  now,  owing  to  the  lack  of  officers,  had 
been  promoted  to  battalion  commander,  came  shyly  to  the 
shed.  Behind  him  came  an  adjutant  and  the  paymaster  of 
the  regiment. 

Prince  Andrei  got  up,  listened  to  what  the  officers  had  to 
report  to  him,  gave  them  a  few  extra  directions,  and  was  just 
about  to  dismiss  them  when  he  heard  from  behind  the  shed 
a  familiar,  lisping  voice. 

*^  Que  diahle  t "  exclaimed  the  voice  of  this  man,  who 
tripped  up  over  something. 

Prince  Andrei,  peering  out  of  the  shed,  saw  advancing 
toward  him  his  friend  Pierre,  who  had  just  succeeded  in 
stumbling  and  almost  falling  flat  over  a  pole  that  was  lying 
on  the  ground.  As  a  general  thing,  it  was  disagreeable  for 
Prince  Andrei  to  see  men  from  his  own  rank  in  life,  and  espe- 
cially so  in  the  case  of  Pierre,  who  brought  back  to  his  re- 
membrance all  the  trying  moments  which  he  had  experienced 
during  his  last  visit  at  Moscow. 

"  Ah  !  how  is  this  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  chance  brings 
you  here  ?    J  was  not  expecting  you," 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  221 

While  he  was  saying  these  words  his  eyes  and  his  whole 
face  expressed  something  more  than  mere  coolness  —  it  was 
rather  an  unfriendliness^  which  Pieri-e  did  not  fail  to  remark. 
He  had  approached  the  shed  in  the  most  animated  frame  of 
mind,  but  when  he  saw  Prince  Andrei's  face  he  felt  suddenly 
embarrassed  and  awkward. 

"  I  came  —  well  —  you  know  —  I  came  —  it  was  interesting 
to  me,"  stammered  Pierre,  who  had  already  used  that  word 
"  interesting "  no  one  knows  how  many  times  during  the 
coarse  of  that  dav.     "  I  wanted  to  see  a  battle." 

"  So,  so,  but  what  do  your  brotherhood  of  Masons  say  about 
war  ?  How  prevent  it  ? "  asked  Prince  Andrei  ironically. 
"  Well,  how  is  Moscow  ?  How  are  my  folks  ?  Have  they 
got  to  Moscow  at  last  ?  "  he  asked  more  seriously. 

"  Yes,  they  got  there.  Julie  Dnibetskaya  told  me.  I  went 
to  call  upon  them,  and  failed  to  find  them.  They  had  gone  to 
your  pod-Moskovnaya." 


CHAPTER  XXV, 

The  officers  were  going  to  take  their  leave,  but  Prince 
Andrei,  as  though  not  desiring  to  be  left  alone  with  his  friend, 
invited  them  to  sit  down  and  take  tea.  Stools  and  tea  were 
brought.  The  officers,  not  without  amazement,  gazed  at 
Pierre's  enormously  stout  figure,  and  listened  to  his  stories 
of  Moscow,  and  the  position  of  our  troops  which  he  had 
chanced  to  visit. 

Prince  Andrei  said  nothing,  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  so  disagreeable  that  Pierre  addressed  liimself  more  to  the 
good-natured  battalion  commander,  Timokhin,  than  to  Bol- 
konsky. 

"So  you  understood  the  disposition  of  our  forces,  did 
yon  ?  "  suddenly  interrupted  Prince  Andrei. 

"Yes — that  is,  to  a  certain  extent,"  said  Pierre;  "so  far 
as  a  civilian  can.  I  don't  mean  absolutely,  but  still,  I  under- 
stood the  general  arrangements." 

"  Then  you  are  ahead  of  any  one  else  I "  said  Prince 
Andrei.* 

"Ha?"  exclaimed  Pierre,  looking  in  perplexity  over  his 
glasses  at  Prince  Andrei.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  about 
the  appointment  of  Kutuzof  ?  "  he  asked. 

*  Eh  hien^  vou»  ites  plus  avanc^  que  qui  cela  9oU» 


222  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

<<  I  was  very  mach  pleased  with  it ;  that  is  all  I  can  say 
about  it,"  replied  Prince  Andrei. 

"  Now,  then,  please  tell  me  your  opinion  in  regard  to  Bar- 
clay de  Tolly.  Thejr  are  saying  all  sorts  of  things  about  him 
in  Moscow.     What  is  your  judgment  about  him  ?  " 

"Ask  these  gentlemen,"  suggested  Prince  Andrei,  indi- 
cating the  officers. 

Pierre  looked  at  Timokhin  with  that  indulgently  question- 
ing smile  with  which  all  treated  him  in  spite  of  themselves. 

"  It  brought  light  *  to  us,  your  illustriousness,  as  soon  as 
his  serene  highness  took  charge,"  said  Timokhin,  who  kept 
glancing  timidly  at  his  regimental  commander. 

<^  How  so  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

^^  Well,  now,  take  for  instance,  firewood  or  fodder :  I  will  ex- 

Slain  it  to  you.  We  retreated  from  Swienciany,  and  did  not 
are  to  touch  a  dry  branch  or  a  bit  o'  hay  or  anything.  You 
see,  we  marched  off  and  left  it  for  him :  wasn't  that  so,  yonr 
illustriousness?"  he  asked,  addressing  "his  prince."  "It 
was,  '  Don't  you  dare.'  In  our  regiment,  two  officers  were 
court-martialled  for  doing  such  things.  Well,  then,  when  his 
serene  highness  came  in,  it  became  perfectly  simple  as  far  as 
such  things  were  concerned.      We  saw  light." 

"  Then,  why  did  he  forbid  it  ?  " 

Timokhin  glanced  around  in  some  confusion,  not  knowing 
what  to  say  in  reply  to  this  question.  Pierre  turned  to  Prince 
Andrei,  and  asked  the  same  thing. 

"  In  order  not  to  spoil  the  country  which  we  were  leaving 
to  the  enemy,"  replied  Prince  Andrei,  with  savage  sarcasm. 
"  It  is  very  judicious  never  to  allow  the  countiy  to  be  pil- 
laged, and  soldiers  taught  to  be  marauders.  Well,  then,  at 
Smolensk,  he  also  very  correctly  surmised  that  the  French 
might  outflank  us  since  they  outnumbered  us.  But  he  could 
not  understand  this,"  screamed  Prince  Andrei,  in  a  high  key, 
lis  though  he  had  lost  control  of  his  voice. 

"  He  could  not  understand  that  we  were  for  the  first  time 
fighting  in  defence  of  Russian  soil,  that  the  troops  were  ani- 
mated by  a  spirit  such  as  I,  for  one,  had  never  seen  before ; 
that  we  had  beaten  the  French  two  days  running,  and  that 
this  victory  had  multiplied  our  strength  tenfold.  He  gave 
the  orders  to  retreat,  and  all  our  efforts  and  losses  were  ren- 
dered useless.  He  never  dreamed  of  playing  the  traitor ;  he 
tried  to  do  everything  in  the  best  possible  manner ;  his  fore- 
sight was  all-embracing,  but  for  that  very  reason  he  is  good 

*  Svyet,  light;  a  play  on  the  first  syllable  of  my^tleUhii  (most  serene). 


WAR  ANV  PEACE.  228 

for  nothing.    He  is  good  for  nothing  now,  for  the  very  reason 

that  he  lays  out  all  his  plans  heforehand  very  judiciously  and 

punctiliously,  as  it  is  natural  for  every  Qerman  to  do.     How 

can  I  make  it  clear  ?  —  See  here  !    Your  father  has  a  German 

lackey,  and  he  is  an  excellent  lackey,  and  he  serves  him  in  all 

respects  better  than  you  could  do,  and  so  you  let  him  do  his 

work ;   but  if  your  father  is  sick  unto  death,  you  send  the 

lackey  off,  and  with  your  own  unaccustomed,  unskilful  hands, 

you  look  after  your  father,  and  you  ai'e  more  of  a  comfort  to 

him  than  the  skilful  hand  of  a  foreigner  would  be.     And  that 

is   the  case  with  Barclay.     As  long  as  Kussia  was   well,  a 

stranger  could  serve  her,  and  was  an  excellent  servant ;  but 

as  soon  as  she  was  in  danger,  she  needs  a  man  of  her  own 

blood.     Well,  you  have  accused  him  at  the  club  of  being  a 

traitor.     The  only  effect  of  traducing  him  as  a  traitor  will  be 

that  afterwards,  becoming  ashamed  of  such  a  false  accusation, 

the  same  men  will  suddenly  make  a  hero  or  a  genius  of  him, 

which  would  be  still  more  unjust.     He  is  an  honorable  and 

very  punctilious  German" — 

"  At  all  events,  they  say  he  is  a  skilful  commander,"  inter- 
posed Pierre. 

'^  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  a  skilful  commander," 
said  Prince  Andrei,  with  a  sneer. 

"  A  skilful  commander,"  explained  Pierre,  "  well,  is  one  who 
foresees  all  contingencies,  reads  his  enemy's  intentions." 

"  Well,  that  is  impossible,"  said  Prince  Andrei,  as  though 
the  matter  had  been  long  ago  settled. 

Pierre  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

<^  Certainly,"  said  he,  '<  it  has  been  said  that  war  is  like  a 

('game  of  chess." 
"Yes,"  replied  Prince  Andrei,  "only  with  this  slight  differ- 
ence :  that  in  chess  you  can  think  over  each  move  as  long  as 
.you  wish,  that  you  are  in  that  case  freed  from  conditions  of 
^  time ;  and  with  this  difference  also,  that  the  knight  is  always 
vstronger  than  the  pawn,  and  two  pawns  are  always  stronger 
yiian  one,  while  in  war  a  single  battalion  is  sometimes  stronger 
ban  a  division,  and  sometimes  weaker  than  a  company.  The 
lative  strength  of  opposing  armies  can  never  be  predicted, 
elieve  me,"  said  he,  "  if  it  depended  on  the  dispositions  made 
>y  the  staff  officers,  then  I  should  have  remained  on  the  staff 
nd  made  my  dispositions,  while  as  it  is,  instead,  1  have  the 
onor  of  serving  here  in  the  regiment  with  these  gentlemen,  and 
take  it  that,  in  reality,  the  affair  of  to-morrow  will  depend 
on  us^  and  not  upon  them.    Success  never  has  depended^ 


224  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

and  never  will  depend,  either  on  position  or  on  armament  or 
on  numbers,  but  least  of  all  on  position." 

"  What  does  it  depend  on,  then  ?  " 

"  On  the  feeling  that  is  in  me  and  in  him,"  —  he  indicated 
Timokhin,  —  "and  in  every  soldier." 

Prince  Andrei  glanced  at  Timokhin,  who  was  staring  at 
his  commander,  startled  and  perplexed.  Contrary  to  his  ordi- 
nary silent  self-restraint,  Prince  Andrei  seemed  now  excited. 
He  apparently  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  the  thoughts 
which  had  unexpectedly  occurred  to  him. 

"  The  battle  will  be  gained  by  the  one  who  is  resolutely  bent 
on  gaining  it.  Why  did  we  lose  the  battle  of  Austerlitz  ?  Our 
loss  was  not  much  greater  than  that  of  the  French,  but  we 
said  to  ourselves  very  early  in  the  engagement  that  we  should 
lose  it,  and  we  did  lose  it.  And  we  said  this  because  there  was 
no  reason  for  being  in  a  battle  there,  and  we  were  anxious  to 
get  away  from  the  battle-field  as  soon  as  possible.  *  We  haw 
lost,  so  let  us  run,'  and  we  did  run.  If  we  had  not  said  this 
till  evening,  God  knows  what  would  have  happened.  But  to- 
morrow we  shall  not  say  that.  You  have  just  said  our  posi- 
tion, the  left  flank,  is  weak,  the  right  flank  too  much  extended," 
he  pursued,  '^  but  that  is  all  nonsense.  It  is  not  so  at  alL  For 
what  is  before  us  to-morrow  ?  A  hundred  millions  of  the  most 
various  possibilities,  which  will  be  decided  instantaneously. 
They,  or  our  men,  will  start  to  run ;  this  one  or  that  one  will 
be  killed.  All  that  is  being  done  now,  though,  is  mere  child's- 
play.  The  fact  is,  those  with  whom  you  rode  round  inspecting 
the  position,  instead  of  promoting  the  general  course  of  events. 
rather  hinder  it.  They  are  occupied  with  their  own  petty 
interests,  and  nothing  else." 

"  At  such  a  moment  ?  "  asked  Pierre  reproachfully. 

"  Yes,  even  at  such  a  tnomentj^  repeated  Prince  Andrei.    **  Forj 
them  this  is  only  a  propitious  time  to  oust  a  rival  or  win  an] 
extra  cross  or  ribbon.     I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  to-morrowj 
means.     A  hundred  thousand  Russian  and  a  hundred  thousand 
French  soldiers  meet  in  battle  to-morrow,  and  the  result  will 
that  of  these  two  hundred  thousand  soldfiers,  the  side  will  wii 
that  fights  most  desperately  and  is  least  sparing  of  itself.    Ani 
if  you  will,  I  will  tell  you  this :  whatever  happens,  whatevi 
disagreements  there  may  be  in  the  upper  circles,  we  shall  wi( 
the  battle  to-morrow.    To-morrow,  whatever  happens,  we  sh; 
win." 

"  You  are  right  there,  your  illustriousness,  perfectly  right 
echoed  Timokhin.     "Why  should  we  spare  ourselves  no^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  225 

fhe  men  in  my  battalion — would  you  believe  it?  —  would 
bot  drink  their  vodka.  ^  It  is  not  the  time  for  it/  said  they." 
All  were  silent.  The  officers  got  up.  Prince  Andrei  went 
rith  them  behind  the  shed,  giving  his  final  directions  to  his 
idjutant. 

When  the  officers  had  gone,  Pierre  went  to  Prince  Andrei, 
md  was  just  about  to  renew  his  conversation  with  him,  when 
ilong  the  road  that  ran  not  far  from  the  shed  they  heard  the 
bnunpling  hoofs  of  three  horses,  and,  looking  in  that  direction. 
Prince  Andrei  recognized  Woltzogen  and  Klauzewitz,  accom- 
panied by  a  Cossack.  They  rode  rapidly  by,  talking  as  they 
went,  and  Pierre  and  Andrei  heard  involuntarily  the  following 
snatches  of  their  conversation :  — 

"  The  war  must  spread  into  the  country.    I  cannot  sufficiently 
advocate  this  plan,^'  said  one. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  other,  "our  only  object  is  to  weaken 
the  enemy,  so  of  course  we  cannot  consider  the  loss  of  single 
individuals."  * 
"  Oja  !  "  echoed  the  first  again. 

"  Yes,  *•  spread  into  the  country,'  "  repeated  Prince  Andrei, 
^th  an  angry  snort,  after  they  had  ridden  past.     "  *  The  coun- 
try ! '    And  there  my  father  and  son  and  my  sister  have  had  to 
b«tt  the  brunt  of  it  at  Luisiya  Gorui.     It  is  all  the  same  to 
Mm.    Now,  that  illustrates  the  very  thing  I  was  telling  you. 
These  German  gentlemen  will  not  win  the  battle  to-morrow, 
Wj  will  only  muddle  matters  so  far  as  they  can,  for  in  their 
German  heads  there  are  only  arguments  which  aren't  worth  a 
tt>w  of  pins,  while  in  their  hearts  they  have  nothing  of  what  is 
alone  useful  at  such  a  time  —  not  one  atom  of  what  is   in 
Timokhin.    They  have  abandoned  all  Europe  to  Am,  and  now 
they  come  here  to  teach  us.     Splendid  teachers  I "  and  again 
kis  voice  became  high  and  sharp. 

"  So  you  think  that  we  shall  win  a  victory  to-morrow  ?  " 
Mked  Pierre. 

"Certainly  I  do,"  replied  Prince  Andrei,  absently.  "One 
i  thing  I  should  have  done  if  I  could,"  he  began,  after  a  short 
pause:  "I  would  have  allowed  no  prisoners  to  be  taken. 
^J^t  does  the  taking  of  prisoners  mean  ?  It  is  chivalry. 
»e  French  have  destroyed  my  home,  and  they  are  coming  to 
jtteatToy  Moscow ;  they  have  insulted  me,  and  they  go  on  in- 
[»uting  ine  every  second.     They  are  my  enemies,  they  are  in 

p  "  I)«r  Krieii  tnuM  im  Ravm  verUgt  werden,  Der  Ansicht  kann  ich  ffenvg 
^Myc6en."—  •*  0  ja,  der  Zweck  ist  nur  den  Feind  zu  schwachen,  «o  kann 
Y'*^^ gewi»9  nicht  den  Verlust  der  privat-Personen  in  Achtung  nehmen." 

VOL.  3. —  15. 

R 


526  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

my  opinion  criminals.  And  that  expresses  the  feeling  ti 
Timokhin  and  the  whole  army.  They  must  be  punished.  If 
they  are  my  enemies,  they  cannot  be  my  friends,  in  spite  of 
all  they  might  say  at  Tilsit;" 

"  Yes,  yon  are  right,"  assented  Pierre,  with  gleaming  eyes 
glancing  at  Prince  Andrei.     "  I  entirely  agree  with  you. " 

The  question  which  had  been  troubling  Pierre  ever  since 
his  delay  on  the  hillside  of  Mozhaisk,  and  all  that  long  dar, 
now  became  to  him  perfectly  clear  and  settled  beyond  a  per- 
adventure.  He  now  comprehended  all  the  meaning  and  sig- 
hificance  of  this  war  and  of  the  impending  battle.  All  that  he 
liad  seen  that  day,  all  the  stem  faces  full  of  thoughtfulness^ 
of  which  he  had  caught  a  cursory  glimpse,  now  were  illami- 
nated  with  a  new  light  for  him.  He  comprehended  that  latent 
heat  of  patriotism  —  to  use  a  term  of  physics  —  which  was 
hidden  in  all  these  men  he  had  seen,  and  this  explained  to  him 
why  it  was  all  these  men  were  so  calm^  and,  as  it  were,  heed- 
less, in  their  readiness  for  death. 

"Let  no  prisoners  be  taken,"  pursued  Prince  Andrei 
"  That  alone  would  change  all  war,  and  would  really  make  it 
less  cruel.  But,  as  it  is,  we  play  at  making  war.  That's  the 
wretchedness  of  it ;  we  are  magnanimous  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  This  magnanimity  and  sensibility  — it  is  like  the  mag- 
nanimity and  sensibility  of  a  high-born  lady,  who  is  ofiPended 
if  by  chance  she  sees  a  calf  killed ;  she  is  so  good  that  she 
cannot  see  the  blood,  but  she  eats  the  same  cadf  with  good 
appetite  when  it  is  served  with  sauce.  They  prate  to  us 
about  the  laws  of  warfare,  chivalry,  flags  of  truce,  humanity 
to  the  wounded  and  the  like.  It's  all  nonsense.  I  saw  what 
chivalry,  what  our  *  parliamentarianism '  was  in  1805 ;  they 
hocus-pocused  us,  we  hocus-pocused  them.  Homes  are  pil- 
laged, counterfeit  assignats  are  issued,  and,  worse  than  all. 
they  kill  our  children  and  our  fathers,  and  then  talk  about 
the  laws  of  warfare  and  generosity  to  our  enemies.  Give  no 
quarter,  but  kill  and  be  killed !  Whoever  has  reached  this 
conclusion,  as  I  have,  by  suffering  "  — 

Prince  Andrei,  who  had  believed  that  it  was  a  matter  of  in- 
difference to  him  whether  Moscow  were  taken  or  not  taken,  — 
just  as  Smolensk  had  been  —  suddenly  stopped  short  in  the 
middle  of  his  argument  owing  to  an  unexpected  cramp  that 
took  him  in  the  throat.  He  walked  up  and  down  a  few  times 
in  silence ;  but  his  eyes  gleamed  fiercely,  and  his  lip  trembled,, 
when  he  again  resumed  the  thread  of  his  discourse. 

**  If  there  were  none  of  this  magnanimity  in  warfare,  then 


WAR  AND  PEACe.  22t 

we  should  only  undertake  it  when,  as  now,  it  was  a  matter  for 
which  it  was  worth  while  to  meet  one's  death.  Then  there 
wonld  not  be  war  because  Pavel  Ivanuitch  had  insulted 
Mikhail  Ivanuitch.  But  if  there  must  be  war  like  the  pres- 
ent one,  let  it  be  war.  Then  the  zeal  and  intensity  of  the 
troop  would  always  be  like  what  it  is  now.  Then  all  these 
Westphalians  and  Hessians,  whom  Napoleon  has  brought  with 
him,  would  not  have  come  against  us  to  Russia,  and  we  should 
liever  have  gone  to  fight  in  Austria  and  Prussia  without  knowing 
why.  War  is  not  amiability,  but  it  is  the  most  hateful  thing 
in  the  world,  and  it  is  necessary  to  understand  it  so  and  not 
to  play  at  war.  It  is  necessary  to  take  this  frightful  necessity 
sternly  and  seriously.  This  is  the  pith  of  the  matter ;  avoid 
falsehood,  let  war  be  war  and  not  sport.  For  otherwise  war 
becomes  a  favorite  pastime  for  idle  and  frivolous  men.  The 
military  are  the  most  honorable  of  any  class. 

^'  But  what  is  war,  and  what  is  necessary  for  its  success,  and 
what  are  the  laws  of  military  society  ?  The  end  and  aim  of 
war  is  murder;  the  weapons  of  war  are  espionage,  and  treach- 
ery and  the  encouragement  of  treachery,  the  ruin  of  the  in- 
habitants, and  pillage  and  robbery  of  their  possessions  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  troops,  deception  and  lies  which  pass 
under  the  name  of  finesse;  the  privileges  of  the  military 
class,  the  lack  of  freedom,  that  is  discipline,  enforced  inactiv- 
ity, ignorance,  rudeness,  debauchery,  drunkenness.  And  yet, 
this  is  the  highest  caste  in  society,  respected  by  all.  All  rulers, 
except  the  Emperor  of  China,  wear  military  uniforms,  and 
the  one  who  has  killed  the  greatest  number  of  men  gets  the 
greatest  reward. 

^^  Tens  of  thousands  of  men  meet,  just  as  they  will  to-mor- 
row, to  murder  one  another,  they  will  massacre  and  maim ; 
and  afterwards  thanksgiving  Te  Deums  will  be  celebrated, 
because  many  men  have  been  killed  —  the  number  is  always 
exaggerated  —  and  victory  will  be  proclaimed  on  the  supposi- 
tion that  the  more  men  killed,  the  greater  the  credit.  Think 
of  God  looking  down  and  listening  to  them ! "  exclaimed 
Prince  Andrei,  in  his  sharp,  piping  voice.  "  Ah !  my  dear  fel- 
low,* of  late  life  has  been  a  hard  burden.  I  see  I  have  obtained 
too  deep  an  insight  into  things.  It  is  not  for  a  man  to  t«nste 
of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  of  evil  —  well,  it  is  not  for 
long,  now,"  he  added.  "  However,  it  is  your  bedtime ;  and  it 
is  time  for  me  to  turn  in  too.  —  Go  back  to  Gorki  I"  sud- 
denly exclaimed  Prince  Andrei. 

*  Akhf  duMha  moya. 


228  WAR  AND  PEACe. 

"Oh,  no/'  cried  Pierre,  looking  at  Prince  Andrei  with 
frightened,  sympathetic  eyes. 

"  Go,  go  ;  before  an  engagement  one  must  get  some  sleep  " 
insisted  Prince  Andrei.  He  came  swiftly  up  to  Pierre,  threw 
his  arms  around  him  and  kissed  him.  "Good-by, — prash- 
chm  ;  go  now,"  he  cried.  "  We  may  meet  again  —  no  "  —  and, 
hurriedly  turning  his  back  on  his  friend,  he  went  into  the 
shed. 

It  was  already  dark,  and  Pierre  could  not  make  out  the 
expression  of  Prince  Andrei's  face,  whether  it  was  angry  or 
tender. 

Pierre  stood  for  some  time  in  silence,  deliberating  whether 
to  follow  him  or  to  go  to  his  lodgings. 

"No,  he  does  not  want  me,"  Pierre  decided,  "and  I  know 
that  this  is  our  last  meeting."  He  drew  a  deep  sigh  and  went 
back  to  Gorki. 

Prince  Andrei  retiring  into  his  shed,  threw  himself  down  on 
a  rug,  but  he  could  not  sleep. 

He  closed  his  eyes.  One  picture  after  another  rose  before 
him.  One  in  particular  held  him  long  in  rapt,  joyous  atten- 
tion. He  had  a  vivid  remembrance  of  an  evening  at  Peters- 
burg. Katasha,  with  her  eager,  vivacious  face,  was  telling  him 
how,  the  summer  before,  while  she  was  out  after  mushrooms, 
she  had  lost  her  way  in  the  great  forest.  She  gaye  him  a  dis- 
connected description  of  the  darkness  of  the  woods,  and  her 
sensations,  and  her  conversation  with  a  bee-huiiter  whom  she 
had  met ;  and  every  little  while  she  had  interrupted  her  story 
and  said :  "  No,  I  can't  tell  you,  you  won't  understand,''  al- 
though Prince  Andrei  had  tried  to  calm  her  by  assunng  her 
that  he  understood ;  and  in  reality  be  had  understood  all  that 
she  meant  to  convey. 

Natasha  had  been  dissatisfied  with  her  own  words;  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  express  the  passionately  poetioal  sen- 
sation which  she  had  felt  that  day,  and  which  she  desired  to 
express  in  words. 

<'  The  old  man  was  so  charming,  and  it  was  so  dark  in  the 
forest, — and  he  had  such  good  —  but  oh,  dear,  I  can't  tell 
you,"  she  had  said,  blushing  and  becoming  agitated. 

Prince  Andrei  smiled  even  now  the  same  joyous  smile  which 
he  had  smiled  then  as  he  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"I  understood  her,"  said  he  to  himself;  "not  only  did  T 
understand  her,  but  I  loved  that  moral  power  of  hers,  that 
frankness,  that  perfect  honesty  of  soul,  —  yes,  her  soul  itself, 
which  seemed  to  dominate  her  body,  —  her  soul  itself  I  loved 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  229 

^— so  powerfnlly,  so  happily  I  loved."  —  And  suddenly  he  re- 
called what  it  was  that  had  put  an  end  to  his  love. 

"  He  needed  nothing  of  the  sort.     He  saw  nothing,  under- 
,  stood  nothing  of  all  this.     All  he  saw  was  a  very  pretty  and 
•  fresh  young  girl,  with  whom  he  did  not  even  deign  to  join  his 
fate.     But  I  ?  —  And  he  is  still  alive  and  enjoying  life !  " 

Prince  Andrei,  as  though  something  had  scalded  him,  sprang 
up  and  once  more  began  to  pace  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
shed. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

On  the  sixth  of  September,  the  day  before  the  battle  of 
Borodino,  M.  de  Beausset,  Grand  Chamberlain  to  the  Em- 
peror  of  the  French,  and  Colonel  Fabvier  arrived,  the  tirst 
iTom  Paris,  the  other  from  Madrid,  to  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
at  his  camp  at  Valuyevo. 

M.  de  Beausset  sent  on  ahead  a  packet  which  he  had 
brought  to  the  emperor,  and,  after  he  had  changed  his  travel- 
ling dress  for  a  court  uniform,  he  entered  the  outer  division 
of  Napoleon's  tent,  where,  while  talking  with  Napoleon's 
aides-de-camp  who  crowded  round  him,  he  busied  himself  with 
undoing  the  wrapper  of  the  case. 

Fabvier,  not  entering  the  tent,  paused  at  the  entrance,  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  generals  of  his  acquaintance. 

The  Emperor  Napoleon  had  not  yet  quitted  his  bedroom, 
where  he  was  engaged  in  making  his  toilet.  Sniffing  and 
grunting,  he  was  turning  first  his  stout  back,  then  his  fat 
chest  to  the  valet  who  was  plying  the  brush.  A  second  valet, 
holding  his  fingers  over  the  bottle,  was  sprinkling  the  em- 
peroi'^s  neatly  arrayed  person  with  eau  de  cologne,  his  expres- 
sion intimating  that  he  was  the  only  one  who  knew  how  much 
cologne  to  use,  and  where  it  should  be  applied.  Na])oleon's 
8hort<;ropped  hair  was  wet  and  pasted  down  upon  his  fore- 
head. But  his  face,  though  puffy  and  sallow,  expressed 
physical  satisfaction.  "  AUez  ferme  —  allez  taiijmirs — steady 
np — put  more  energy  in,''  —  he  was  saying  as  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  grunted  while  the  valet  brushed  him. 

One  of  his  aides-de-camp  who  had  been  admitted  into 
his  sleeping-room  to  submit  a  report  to  the  emperor  as  to 
the  number  of  prisoners  taken  during  the  engagement  of  the 
preceding  day,  having  accomplished  his  errand,  was  standing 
by  the  door,  awaiting  permission  to  retire.  Napoleon  scowled 
And  glared  at  the  aide  from  under  his  brows. 


280  WAk  AND  PEACE. 

"  No  prisoners/'  said  he,  repeating  the  aide-de-camp's  words. 
"  They  compel  us  to  annihilate  them.  So  much  the  worse  for 
the  liussian  army.  —  Go  on,  more  energy ! "  he  exclaimed, 
hunching  up  his  back,  and  offering  his  squabbish  shoulders.* 
'*  That'll  do.     Show  in  M.  de  Beausset  and  Fabvier  as  well." 

"  Yes,  sire,"  and  the  aide-de-camp  disappeared  through  the 
door  of  the  tent. 

The  two  valets  de  ckambre  quickly  dressed  his  majesty, 
and  he,  in  the  blue  uniform  of  the  Guards,  with  firm,  swift 
steps,  entered  the  anteroom.  Beausset  was  at  that  instant 
engaged  in  placing  the  gift  which  he  had  brought  from  the 
empress  on  two  chairs  directly  in  front  of  the  entrance.  But 
the  emperor  had  dressed  and  come  out  with  such  unexpected 
promptness  that  he  had  not  time  to  get  the  surprise  arranged 
to  his  satisfaction. 

Napoleon  instantly  remarked  what  he  was  doing,  and  con- 
jectured that  they  were  not  quite  ready  for  him.  He  did  not 
want  to  spoil  their  pleasure  in  surprising  him.  He  pretended 
not  to  see  M.  Beausset,  and  addressed  himself  to  Fabvier. 

Napoleon,  with  a  deep  frown,  and  without  speaking,  listened 
to  what  Fabvier  said  about  the  bravery  and  devotion  of  his 
troops  who  had  been  fighting  at  Salamanca,  at  the  other  end 
of  Europe,  and  who  had  only  one  thought  —  to  be  worthy  of 
their  emperor ;  and  one  fear  —  that  of  not  satisfying  him. 

The  result  of  the  engagement  was  disastrous.  Napoleon, 
during  Fabvier's  report,  made  ironical  observations,  giving  to 
understand  that  the  affair  could  not  have  resulted  differently, 
he  being  absent.  ^ 

"  I  must  regulate  this  in  Moscow,"  said  Napoleon.  "  .4 
tantot  —  Good-by  for  now,"  he  added,  and  approached  I)e 
Beausset,  who  by  this  time  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  sur- 
prise ready  —  some  object  covered  with  a  cloth  having  been 
placed  on  the  chairs. 

De  Beausset  bowed  low  with  that  courtly  French  bow  whioli 
only  the  old  servants  of  the  Bourbons  could  even  pretend  to 
put  into  practice,  and,  advancing,  he  handed  Napoleon  the 
envelope. 

Napoleon  approached  him  and  playfully  took  him  by  the 
ear. 

"  You  have  made  good  time ;  I  am  very  glad.  Well,  what 
have  they  to  say  in  Paris  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly  changing  his 
former  stern  expression  into  one  of  the  most  genial  character. 

"  Point  de  priBonniers.  Tant  pis  pour  Varm^e  rtisse.  Allez  iotyotirt— 
alUzferme,    Cut  bien  :    Faites  entrer  M,  de  Beauaet,  ain$i  que  Fabvier. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  281 

"  SirSj  tout  Paris  regrette  voire  absence"  replied  De  Beausset, 
as  in  duty  bound. 

But  though  Napoleon  knew  that  De  Beausset  was  bound  to  say 
this,  or  something  to  the  same  effect,  though  in  his  lucid  inter- 
vals he  knew  that  this  was  not  true,  it  was  agreeable  to  him 
to  hear  this  from  De  Beausset.  He  again  did  him  the  honor 
of  taking  his  ear. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you  such  along  journey,"  said  he. 

"  Sire,  I  expected  nothing  less  than  to  find  you  at  Moscow,"* 
said  Beausset. 

Napoleon  smiled,  and,  raising  his  head,  heedlessly  he  glanced 
to  the  right. 

An  aide-de-camp  with  a  gliding  gait  approached  with  a  gold 
snuff-box,  and  presented  it.     Napoleon  took  it. 

"  Yes,  it  has  turned  out  luckily  for  you,"  he  said,  putting 
the  open  snuff-box  to  his  nose.  "  You  enjoy  travelling ;  in 
three  days  you  will  see  Moscow.  You  really  could  not  have 
expected  to  see  the  Asiatic  capital.  You  will  have  had  a 
pleasant  journey." 

Beausset  made  a  low  bow  to  express  his  gratitude  for  this 
discovery  of  this  proclivity  for  travelling,  till  now  unknown 
to  him. 

"  Ah,  what  is  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Napoleon,  noticing  that  all 
the  courtiers  were  glancing  at  the  something  \\\{[.(\.en  by  a  covering. 

Beausset,  with  courtier-like  dexterity,  not  turning  his  back 
on  his  sovereign,  took  a  couple  of  steps  around  and  at  the  same 
time  snatched  off  the  covering,  saying,  — 

"  A  gift  to  your  majesty,  from  the  empress." 

This  was  Gerard's  brilliantly  painted  portrait  of  the  little 
lad  bom  to  Napoleon  and  the  Austrian  emperor's  daughter  — 
the  child  whom  all,  for  some  occult  reason,  called  the  King  of 
Home. 

The  perfectly  rosy,  curly-haired  boy,  with  a  face  like  the 
face  of  the  child  in  the  Sixtine  Madonna,  was  represented 
playing  bilboquet.  The  ball  represented  the  earth,  and  the 
cup  in  his  other  hand  represented  a  sceptre.  Although  it  was 
not  perfectly  clear  why  the  artist  wished  to  represent  the  so- 
called  King  of  Rome  transfixing  the  earth-ball  with  a  stick, 
still  this  allegory  seemed  perfectly  clear  to  all  who  saw  the 
picture  in  Paris,  as  well  as  to  Napoleon,  and  greatly  delighted 
them. 

"^ot  de  Rome  I"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  graceful  gesture 

•"Je  ftiiB/acMde  votts  avoir  fait  /aire  tant  de  chemin.^*  —  "  Sir€fje  ne 
Vi'attendais  pas  a  moins  qu^  a  vous  trouver  auzportes  de  Moscoii." 


232  WAR  A\D  PEACE. 

pointing  to  the  portrait.  **  Admirable."  With  that  facility, 
characteristic  of  Italians,  of  changing  at  will  the  expression  of 
his  countenauce,  he  a]>proached  the  portrait  and  assumed  a 
look  of  thoughtful  tenderness. 

He  was  conscious  that  what  he  was  saying  and  doing  at 
that  moment  was  history.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  now  was  to  display  the  simplest  pater- 
nal affection,  as  being  most  of  a  contrast  to  that  majesty  the 
consequence  of  which  was  that  his  son  played  bilboquet  with 
the  earth  for  the  ball. 

His  eyes  grew  dim ;  he  drew  near  it,  he  looked  round  for  a 
chair — the  chair  sprang  forward  and  placed  itself  under  him  — 
and  he  sat  down  in  front  of  the  portrait.  He  waved  his  hand, 
and  all  retired  on  their  tiptoes,  leaving  the  great  man  to  him- 
self and  his  feelings. 

After  sitting  there  for  some  time  and  letting  his  attention, 
he  knew  not  why,  be  attracted  by  the  roughness  with  which 
the  picture  was  painted,  he  got  up  and  again  beckoned  to 
Beausset  and  the  aide  on  duty. 

He  gave  orders  to  have  the  portrait  carried  out  in  front  of 
his  tent,  so  that  his  old  guard,  who  were  stationed  around  his 
tent,  might  not  be  deprived  of  the  bliss  of  seeing  the  King  of 
Rome,  the  son  and  heir  of  their  beloved  monarch.  As  he 
anticipated,  while  he  was  eating  breakfast  with  Beausset, 
whom  he  vouchsafed  this  honor,  he  heard  the  enthusiastic 
shouts  of  the  officers  and  soldiers  of  the  old  guards,  who  came 
to  view  the  portrait. 

"  Vive  VEmperetir  !  Vive  le  Roi  de  Rome !  Vive  VEm- 
'pereur^^  shouted  the  enthusiastic  voices. 

After  breakfast,  Napoleon,  in  Beausset's  presence,  dictated 
his  address  to  the  army. 

**  Courte  et  energiqne  !  —  short  and  to  the  point ! "  exclaimed 
Xapoleon,  as  he  read  it  aloud,  the  proclamation  which  had 
been  written  down  word  for  word  without  a  change.  The 
proclamation  said,  — 

"  Soldiers  !  the  battle  which  you  have  so  eagerly  desired  is 
at  hand.  Victory  depends  on  you,  but  victory  is  indispensable 
for  us ;  it  will  give  you  all  that  you  need,  comfortable  quarters, 
and  a  speedy  return  to  jyour  native  land.  Behave  as  you  be- 
haved at  Austerlitz,  Fnedland,  Vitebsk,  and  Smolensk.  Let 
your  remotest  posterity  recall  with  pride  your  exploits  on  this 
day.  And  it  will  be  said  of  each  one  of  you,  *  He  was  present 
at  the  great  battle  at  Moscow.' " 

"  De  la  Moskowa^^  repeated  Napoleon,  and,  taking  M.  de 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  238 

Beausset  with  him,  who  was  so  fond  of  travelling,  he  left  the 
tent  and  mounted  his  horse,  that  was  waiting  already  saddled. 

"  Votre  majeste  a  trap  de  honte  !  —  Your  majesty  is  too  kind," 
said  Beausset,  in  reply  to  the  emperor^s  invitation  to  accompany 
him  on  his  ride ;  he  would  have  preferred  to  go  to  sleep,  and 
he  did  not  like,  nay,  he  even  feared,  to  ride  on  horseback. 

But  Napoleon  nodded  his  head  to  the  traveller,  and  Beausset 
had  to  go. 

When  Napoleon  left  the  tent,  the  acclamations  of  his  guards 
in  front  of  the  portrait  were  more  eager  than  ever.  Napoleon 
frowned. 

"  Take  it  away,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  portrait  with  a 
graceful  and  imperious  gesture.  "  He  is  too  young  yet  to  see 
a  battle." 

Beausset,  closing  his  eyes  and  bending  his  head,  drew  a 
deep  sigh,  signifying  thereby  how  he  could  appreciate  and 
prize  his  emperoi^s  words. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Napoleon,  according  to  his  historians,  passed  the  entire 
day  of  September  6  on  horseback,  inspecting  the  battle-field, 
examining  the  plans  suggested  by  his  marshals,  and  person- 
ally giving  orders  to  his  generals. 

The  original  position  of  the  Russian  army  along  the  Kalotcha 
had  been  broken,  and  the  capture  of  the  Shevardino  redoubt 
on  the  fifth  had  forced  a  portion  of  this  line,  particularly  the 
left  flank,  to  retreat.  This  part  of  the  line  had  not  been  for- 
tified, nor  was  it  protected  any  longer  by  the  river,  and  before 
it  extended  a  more  open  and  level  ground. 

It  was  evident  to  any  one,  whether  soldier  or  civilian,  that 
this  part  of  the  line  was  where  the  French  must  make  their 
attack.  To  reach  this  conclusion  it  would  seem  that  there 
was  no  need  of  many  combinations,  no  need  of  such  sedulous 
and  solicitous  preparations  on  the  part  of  the  emperor  and 
his  mai-shals.  That  high  and  extraordinary  capacity  called 
genius,  which  men  so  like  to  attribute  to  Napoleon,  was  en- 
tirely superfluous.  But  the  historians  who  have  most  recently 
described  these  events,  and  the  men  who  at  that  time  sur- 
rounded Napoleon,  and  Napoleon  himself,  thought  otherwise. 

Napoleon  rode  over  the  ground,  inspected  the  battle-field 
profoundly  absorbed  in  thought,  moved  his  head  in  silent 
approval  or  disapproval,  and,  without  deigning  to  reveal  to 


284  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  generals  about  him  the  profound  ideas  that  influenced  his 
decisions,  he  gave  them  only  definite  deductions  in  the  form 
of  orders. 

Davoust,  called  the  Duke  of  Eckmiihl,  having  proposed  to 
turn  the  left  flank  of  the  Russians,  Napoleon  declared  that  it 
was  unnecessary,  without  explaining  why  it  was  unnecessary. 

To  the  proposition  of  General  Canipan  (who  was  to  attack 
the  fleches)  to  lead  his  division  through  the  woods,  Napoleon 
gave  his  consent ;  the  so-called  Duke  of  Elchingen  (that  is, 
Ney)  permitted  himself  to  observe  that  the  march  through 
the  woods  would  be  dangerous,  and  might  throw  the  division 
into  disorder. 

Napoleon,  having  inspected  the  ground  over  against  the 
Shevardino  redoubt,  remained  for  some  time  in  silent  medita- 
tion ;  then  he  pointed  out  the  positions  where  two  batteries 
were  to  be  placed  for  the  bombardment  of  the  Eussian  forti- 
fications on  the  next  day,  and  he  selected  positions  on  the 
same  line  for  the  field  artillery. 

Having  given  these  and  other  orders,  he  retired  to  his  tent, 
and  at  his  dictation  the  plan  of  battle  was  committed  to 
writing. 

This  plan,  of  which  French  historians  speak  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  which  the  historians  of  other  nations  treat  with 
deep  respect,  was  as  follows :  — 

At  daybreak  the  two  new  batteries  established  during  the  night  on  the 
plateau  by  the  Prince  of  Eckmiihl  will  open  fire  upon  the  two  opposing 
batteries  of  the  enemy. 

At  the  same  moment,  General  Pemety,  commanding  the  First  Corps  of 
artillery,  with  thirty  cannon  from  Campan's  division,  and  all  the  howitz- 
ers of  Dessaix's  and  Friant's  divisions,  will  advance  and  begin  shellbig 
the  enemy's  battery,  which  will  thus  have  opposed  to  It,  — 

24  pieces  of  the  artillery  of  the  Guard, 
30  pieces  from  Campan's  division,  and 
8  pieces  from  Friant's  and  Dessaix's  divisions. 

Total :  62  cannon. 

General  Fouchd,  commanding  the  Third  Corps  of  artillery,  will  place 
himself  with  all  the  howitzers  of  the  Third  and  Eighth  Corps,  sixteen  in 
number,  on  the  flanks  of  the  battery  attacking  the  left  redoubt,  giving 
this  battery  an  effective  of  40  pieces. 

General  Sorbier  will  stand  ready,  at  the  first  word  of  command,  with 
all  the  howitzers  of  the  Guard,  to  bring  to  bear  against  one  or  the  other 
redoubt. 

During  the  cannonade,  Prince  Poniatowski  will  move  against  the 
Tillage  in  the  woods,  and  turn  the  position  of  the  enemy. 

General  Campan  will  move  along  the  edge  of  the  woods  to  cairy  the 
first  redoubt. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  236 

The  battle  thus  begun,  orders  will  be  given  according  to  the  enemy's 
movementa. 

The  cannonade  on  the  left  ilauk  will  begin  at  the  moment  when  that 
on  the  right  is  heard.  A  heavy  infantry  fire  will  be  opened  by  Morand's 
division,  and  by  the  divisions  of  the  viceroy,  as  soon  as  they  see  that  the 
attack  on  the  right  has  begun. 

The  viceroy  will  take  possession  of  the  village,*  and  debouch  by  its 
three  bridges  upon  the  heights,  while  Generals  Morand  and  Gerard  will 
deploy  under  command  of  the  viceroy  to  seize  the  enemy^s  redoubt  and 
form  the  line  of  battle  with  the  other  troops. 

All  this  must  be  done  with  order  and  method  {le  tout  se  fera  avec 
ordre  et  methode),  taking  care  to  hold  the  troops  in  reserve  so  far  as 
possible. 

At  the  imperial  camp,  near  Mozhaisk,  Sept.  6,  1812. 

This  order — very  far  from  clear  in  its  style,  and  confusing 
to  any  one  who  is  sufficiently  lacking  in  religious  awe  for  the 
genius  of  Napoleon  as  to  dare  analyze  its  meaning  —  contains 
four  points,  four  commands.  Not  one  of  these  commands  could 
have  been  executed ;  not  one  of  them  was  executed. 

In  the  order  of  battle  the  first  command  read  as  follows :  — 

The  batteries  established  at  the  points  selected  by  Napoleon,  with  the 
cannon  of  Pemetyand  Fouch^,  will  place  themselves  in  line,  one  hundred 
and  two  pieces  in  all,  and,  opening  nre,  will  storm  the  Kussian  outworks 
SDd  redoubts  with  shot  and  shell. 

This  could  not  be  done,  because  from  the  place  selected  by 
Napoleon  the  missiles  did  not  reach  the  Russian  works,  and 
these  one  hundred  and  two  cannon  thundered  in  vain  until 
the  nearest  commander  ordered  them  forward,  contrary  to 
Napoleon's  decree. 

The  second  command  was  to  this  effect :  — 

Poniatowski  will  move  against  the  village  in  the  woods,  and  turn  the 
left  wing  of  the  Bussians. 

This  could  not  be  done  and  was  not  done,  because  Ponia- 
towski, on  moving  toward  the  village  in  the  woods,  found 
Tutchkof  there  blocking  the  way,  and  he  could  not  and  did 
not  turn  the  position  of  the  Russians. 

The  third  command,  — 

General  Campan  will  move  along  the  edge  of  the  woods  to  carry  the 
flnt  redoubt. 

Campan's  division  did  not  carry  the  first  redoubt,  but  it 
was  repulsed,  because,  on  emerging  from  the  woods,  it  was 

*  Borodino. 


286  W''^^  ^ND  PEACE. 

obliged  to  close  up  under  the  Eussiau  grapeshoty  something 
that  Napoleon  had  not  foreseen. 
Fourth,  — 

The  viceroy  will  take  possession  of  the  village  [Borodino],  and  deboadi 
by  it8  three  bridges  upon  tlie  heights,  while  Generals  Moraud  and  G^ranl 
[toho  are  told  neither  where  nor  when  to  go]  will  deploy  under  command 
of  the  viceroy  to  seize  the  enemy's  redoubt  and  form  the  line  of  battle 
witli  the  other  troops. 

So  far  as  it  is  possible  to  understand  this  (not  from  the 
vague  phraseology  employed,  but  from  the  viceroy^s  attempt 
to  carry  out  the  orders  he  received),  it  seems  he  was  to  move 
through  Borodino  from  the  left  upon  the  redoubt,  and  that 
Morand  and  Gerard's  divisions  were  at  the  same  time  to 
advance  from  the  front. 

This  command,  like  all  the  rest,  was  not  carried  out^ 
because  it  was  impracticable. 

When  he  had  got  beyond  Borodino,  the  viceroy  was  forced 
back  upon  the  Kalotcha,  and  found  it  impossible  to  advance. 
Morand  and  Gerard's  divisions  did  not  take  any  redoubts,  but 
were  repulsed,  and  the  redoubt  was  carried  by  the  cavaliy  at 
the  close  of  the  battle,  a  contingency  that  Napoleon  appar- 
ently had  not  foreseen. 

Thus  not  one  of  the  commands  in  this  order  was  performed 
or  could  have  been. 

The  order  further  announced  that  "  during  the  battle  thus 
begun  "  instructions  would  be  given  in  accordance  with  the 
enemy's  movements,  and  therefore  we  might  infer  that  Napo- 
leon, during  the  battle,  made  all  the  suggestions  that  were 
necessary.  He  did,  and  could  have  done,  nothing  of  the  sort, 
because  throughout  the  engagement  Napoleon  happened  to 
be  so  far  away  from  the  field  of  action  that  the  progress  of 
the  battle  could  not  even  have  been  known  to  him,  and  not 
one  of  his  orders  during  the  time  of  the  engagement  oonld 
have  been  carried  out. 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

A  NUMBER  of  historians  assert  that  the  battle  of  Borodino 
was  not  gained  by  the  French  because  Napoleon  had  a  cold  in 
the  head,  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  cold,  his  arrange- 
ments before  and  during  the  battle  would  have  displayed  still 
more  genius,  and  Bussia  would  have  been  conquered,'  and  the 
face  of  the  world  would  have  been  changed. 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  237 

Historians  who  believe  that  Russia  was  formed  at  the  will 
of  one  man,  Peter  the  Great,  and  that  France  was  changed 
from  a  republic  to  an  empire  and  that  the  French  armies 
invaded  Russia  at  the  will  of  one  man,  Napoleon,  inevitably 
think  that  Russia  retained  power  after  the  battle  of  Borodino 
because  Kapoleon  had  a  bad  cold  in  his  head  on  September  7 ; 
—and  such  historians  are  logically  consistent. 

If  it  had  depended  on  Napoleon's  will  to  give  or  not  to  give 
battle  at  Borodino,  on  his  will  to  make  or  not  to  make  such 
and  such  dispositions  of  his  forces,  then  evidently  the  cold  in 
his  head,  which  had  such  influence  on  the  manifestation  of 
his  will,  may  have  been  the  cause  of  the  salvation  of  Russia, 
and  the  valet  who,  on  September  5,  forgot  to  provide  Napoleon 
with  waterproof  boots  was  the  savior  of  Russia. 

When  we  have  once  started  on  this  line  of  reasoning,  this 
conclusion  is  inevitable ;  just  as  inevitable  as  that  reached  by 
Voltaire  when  in  jest — himself  not  knowing  what  he  was  driv- 
ing at  —  he  demonstrated  that  the  Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholo- 
mew was  due  to  the  fact  that  Charles  IX.  suffered  from  an 
indigestiori. 

But  to  men  who  do  not  grant  that  Russia  was  formed  at  the 
will  of  one  man,  Peter  I.,  and  that  the  French  empire  arose 
or  that  the  campaign  in  Russia  was  undertaken  at  the  bidding 
of  a  single  man.  Napoleon,  such  reasoning  will  appear  to  be 
not  only  false,  but  contrary  to  all  human  experience.  To  the 
question,  What  is  the  cause  of  historical  events  ?  a  very 
different  answer  presents  itself,  and  one  that  implies  that  the 
progress  of  events  on  earth  is  pre-ordained ;  that  it  depends 
on  the  combined  volition  of  all  who  participate  in  these 
events,  and  that  the  influence  of  Napoleons  upon  the  progress 
of  these  events  is  superficial  and  fictitious. 

How  strange  seems  at  first  glance  the  proposition  that  the 
Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  the  order  for  which  was  given 
by  Charles  IX.,  did  not  come  from  his  own  volition,  but  that  it 
merely  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  ordered  it  to  be  done ;  or 
that  the  battle  of  Borodino,  which  cost  the  lives  of  eighty 
thousand  men,  was  not  fought  through  Napoleon's  volition, 
though  he  gave  the  orders  for  the  beginning  and  course  of  the 
engagement,  but  that  it  merely  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
ordered  it  —  how  strange  seems  this  proposition;  but  the 
dignity  of  humanity,  which  tells  me  that  each  of  us,  if  he  be 
not  more  of  a  man,  is  at  least  not  less  than  every  Napoleon, 
directs  me  to  this  solution  of  the  problem,  and  it  is  powerfully 
justified  by  historical  facts. 


238  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

At  the  battle  of  Borodino,  Napoleon  did  not  shoot  anybody 
or  kill  anybody.  All  that  was  done  by  his  soldiers.  Of 
course  he  did  not  do  any  killing  himself. 

The  soldiers  of  the  French  army  went  into  the  battle  of 
Borodino  to  kill  Russian  soldiers,  not  in  consequence  of 
Napoleon's  orders,  but  of  their  own  impulses.  The  whole 
army,  French,  Italians,  Germans,  Polyaks,  famished  and  in 
rags,  worn  out  by  the  campaign,  felt,  at  sight  of  the  Bnssian 
army  barring  the  road  to  Moscow,  that  the  wine  was  uncorked, 
and  they  had  only  to  drink,  — qtie  le  vin  est  tire  et  qu^Ufaut 
le  boire.  If  at  this  moment  Napoleon  had  forbidden  them 
to  light  the  Russians  they  would  have  killed  him  and  fought 
with  the  Russians ;  for  this  was  inevitable  for  them. 

When  they  heard  Napoleon's  proclamation  which  offered 
them  in  exchange  for  mutilation  and  death,  the  consoling 
testimony  of  posterity  that  they  had  been  in  the  battle  at 
Moscow,  they  cried,  "Fire  VEmpereur !^^ — just  as  they  cried 
"  Vive  VEmpereiir  !  "  at  seeing  the  picture  of  the  child  piercing 
the  terrestrial  globe  with  the  bilboquet  stick;  and  just  as 
they  would  have  shouted  "  Vive  VEmpereur ! "  to  any  non- 
sense proffered  to  them. 

There  was  nothing  more  for  them  to  do  than  to  cry  "  Vine 
VEmpereur  I  "  and  go  into  battle  in  order  to  reach  food  and 
the  repose  of  victors  at  Moscow.  Of  course  it  was  not  at 
Napoleon's  order  that  they  killed  their  fellow-men. 

And  Napoleon  did  not  direct  the  progress  of  the  battle,  for 
no  part  of  his  plan  was  carried  out ;  and  during  the  engage- 
ment he  did  not  know  what  was  going  on  before  him. 

Of  course,  how  these  men  killed  each  other  had  nothing  to 
do  with  Napoleon,  but  was  independent  of  his  will ;  it  was 
determined  by  the  will  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men 
who  took  part  in  the  combat.  It  only  seemed  to  Napoleon 
that  it  proceeded  by  his  will. 

Thus  the  question,  "  Did  or  did  not  Napoleon  have  a  cold 
in  his  head  ?  "  is  of  no  more  importance  to  history  than  the 
question  whether  the  most  insignificant  train-hand  had  a  cold 
in  the  head. 

The  fact  that  Napoleon  was  afflicted  with  a  cold  in  the  head 
on  September  7  is  still  more  insignificant  because  the  asser- 
tions made  by  writers  that  this  cold  in  the  head  caused  Napo- 
leon's dispositions  and  orders  at  the  time  of  the  battle  to  be 
less  skilful  than  those  in  times  past,  are  perfectly  false. 

The  plan,  here  described,  was  not  at  all  inferior — it  was 
even  superior  —  to  all  the  plans  by  which  his  previous  battles 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  239 

had  been  won.  The  imaginary  combinations  during  this 
battle  were  not  in  the  least  inferior  to  those  of  previous 
battles ;  they  were  just  the  same  as  always.  But  these  dis- 
positions and  combinations  seem  less  fortunate  because  the 
battle  of  Borodino  was  the  iirst  battle  that  Napoleon  did  not 
win.  The  best  plans  and  the  most  sagacious  dispositions  and 
combinations  in  the  world  seem  very  poor,  and  every  scien- 
tific soldier  does  not  hesitate  to  criticise  them  with  solemn 
face,  when  they  do  not  end  in  victory !  And  the  feeblest  dis- 
positions and  combinations  seem  very  excellent,  and  learned 
men  devote  entire  volumes  to  the  demonstration  of  the 
superiority  of  wretched  plans  when  they  are  crowned  with 
success. 

The  plan  proposed  by  Weirother  for  the  battle  of  Auster- 
litz  was  a  model  of  its  kind,  but  it  was  nevertheless  condemned 
for  its  very  perfection,  for  its  superabundance  of  details. 

Napoleon  at  the  battle  of  Borodino  played  his  part  as 
representative  of  power  as  well  as  in  other  battles  —  even 
better.  He  did  nothing  that  could  hinder  the  successful 
course  of  the  battle ;  he  accepted  the  most  reasonable  advice ; 
he  did  not  confuse  his  orders,  he  did  not  contradict  himself, 
he  did  not  lose  heart,  he  did  not  abandon  the  field  of  battle, 
but  with  all  his  tact  and  his  great  experience  in  war  he  played 
with  calmness  and  dignity  the  part  of  a  fictitious  commander. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

On  returning  from  his  second  solicitous  tour  of  inspection 
along  the  line.  Napoleon  said,  — 

"  The  chessmen  are  set,  the  game  will  begin  to-morrow." 

Calling  for  a  glass  of  punch,  and  summoning  Beausset,  he 
began  to  talk  with  him  about  Paris,  and  discuss  various  altera- 
tions which  he  proposed  to  make  in  the  empress's  household, 
—  la  maison  de  VImperatrice,  —  causing  wonder  at  the  atten- 
tion which  he  gave  to  the  minutest  details  of  court  manage- 
ment. 

He  displayed  great  interest  in  trifles,  he  jested  at  Beausset's 
fondness  for  travel,  and  with  perfect  coolness  he  chatted  just 
as  a  famous  and  self-confident  surgeon,  who  knew  his  busi- 
ness, might  do,  even  while  he  rolls  up  his  cuffs  and  puts  on 
his  apron  and  the  patient  is  fastened  to  the  operating-table. 

"The  whole  thing  is  in  my  hands  and  in  my  head,  clearly 
^d  definitely.    When  the  time  comes  to  act,  I  will  do  my 


240 


WAR  AND  PEACE. 


work,  as  no  one  else  could,  but  now  I  can  jest ;  and  the  more  I 
jest  and  appear  calm  and  collected,  the  more  should  you  be 
confident,  trustful,  and  amazed  at  my  genius." 

After  drinking  a  second  glass  of  punch,  Napoleon  went  to 
rest  before  the  serious  affair  which,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  was 
waiting  for  him  on  the  next  day. 

He  was  so  much  interested  in  this  affair  that  was  before 
him,  that  he  could  not  sleep,  and,  in  spite  of  his  cold,  which 
had  been  increased  by  the  evening  dampness,  he  got  up  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and,  loudly  blowing  his  nose, 
passed  into  the  outer  division  of  his  tent.  He  asked  if  the 
Kussians  had  not  retreated.  He  was  told  that  the  enemy's 
iires  were  still  burning  in  the  same  places.  He  nodded  his 
liead  approvingly.  The  aide-de-camp  on  duty  entered  the 
tent. 

"  Well,  Rapp,  do  you  think  we  shall  have  good  luck  to-day  ?  " 

"Certainly,  your  majesty,"  replied  Eapp.  Kapoleon  gave 
him  an  attentive  look.  "You  remember,  your  majesty,  that 
you  did  me  the  honor  of  remarking  at  Smolensk,  —  *  The  wine  is 
uncorked,  we  have  only  to  drink  it.' "  ♦ 

Napoleon  frowned,  and  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  resting 
his  head  on  his  hands.  "  This  poor  army,"  he  exclaimed  sud- 
denly, "  has  been  seriously  diminishing  since  we  left  Smolensk. 
Portune  is  a  fickle  jade,  Rapp ;  I  always  said  so,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  experience  it.  But  the  Guard,  Rapp,  the  Guard 
is  undiminished  ?  "  t  he  said,  with  a  questioning  reflection. 

"  Yes,  your  majesty,"  replied  Rapp. 

Napoleon  took  a  lozenge,  put  it  in  his  mouth,  and  glanced 
at  his  watch.  He  felt  no  inclination  to  sleep,  though  it  was 
still  long  before  morning ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  issue  any 
more  orders  for  the  sake  of  killing  time,  for  they  had  all  been 
made,  and  were  even  then  being  executed. 

"  Have  the  biscuits  and  rice  been  distributed  among  the  regi^ 
ments  of  the  Guard  ?  "  demanded  Napoleon,  sternly. 

"  Out,  sire" 

«  But  the  rice  ?  " 

Rapp  replied  that  he  had  issued  the  emperor's  orders  in 
regard  to  the  rice,  but  Napoleon  shook  his  head  angrily,  as 
though  he  had  no  confidence  in  his  orders  having  been  j^ilmled. 

•  **Eh  bierif  Rappt  croyez-vous  que  notis  ferons  de  bonne*  affaires  ai^/ovr- 
d*hui?"  —  **  Sans  aucun  doute,  sire.  Vovs  rappelez-vous,  stre^  ce  que  rous 
nCavezfait  Vhonneur  de  dire  a  Smolensk,  *Le  vin  est  tir4,  ilfant  le  ooire*f" 

t  *'  Uette  pauvre  artnee!  elle  a  bien  diminuie  depuis  Smolensk.  lAtfoHviu 
est  une/ranche  courtisane;  je  le  disais  toiijours,  et  je  pommeiice  k  I'^ftrouv^r. 
Mais  la  garde,  Rapp,  la  garde  est  intacte  f  " 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  241 

The  servant  came  in  with  the  punch.  Napoleon  commanded 
another  glass  to  be  given  to  Eapp^  and  silently  sipped  from 
his  own. 

'^  I  have  no  taste  or  smell,"  said  he,  sniffing  at  the  glass. 
'^  This  influenza  is  a  nuisance.  They  talk  about  medicine. 
What  does  medicine  amount  to  when  they  can't  even  cure  a 
cold  !  Corvisart  gave  me  these  lozenges,  but  they  don't  help 
me  any.  What  can  they  cure  ?  What  can  physic  do  ?  Notli- 
ing  at  all !  Our  body  is  a  living  machine  It  is  organized  for 
that  purpose,  that  is  its  nature ;  let  the  life  in  it  be  left  to 
itself;  let  it  defend  itself;  it  will  do  more  than  if  you 
paralyze  it  by  loading  it  down  with  remedies.  Our  body  is 
like  a  perfect  watch  which  is  meant  to  go  a  certain  time ;  the 
watchmaker  cannot  open  it ;  he  can  only  regulate  it  by  his  sense 
of  feeling  and  with  his  eyes  shut.  Our  tody  is  a  living  ma* 
chine,  that  is  all  it  is."  * 

And  Napoleon  having  got  upon  the  subject  of  definitions, 
of  which  he  was  very  fond,  he  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
made  still  a  new  one. 

"  Rapp,  do  you  know  what  the  art  of  war  is  ?"  he  asked. 
'<  It  is  the  art  of  being  stronger  than  the  enemy  at  a  given 
moment  —  Voila  tout !  " 

Rapp  made  no  reply. 

"  To-morrow  we  shall  have  Kutuzof  to  deal  with,"  said 
Napoleon.  "We  shall  see.  You  remember  he  commanded 
the  armies  at  Braunau,  and  not  once  during  three  weeks  did 
he  mount  a  horse  to  inspect  the  fortifications.     We  shall  see ! " 

He  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  four  o'clock.  He 
still  hsid  no  desire  to  sleep ;  the  punch  was  drunk  up,  and  still 
there  was  nothing  to  do.  He  got  up,  began  to  pace  up  and 
down ;  then  he  put  on  his  thick  overcoat  and  hat  and  went 
outside  the  tent.  The  night  was  dark  and  damp ;  one  could 
almost  hear  the  moisture  falling.  The  bivouac  fires,  even 
those  near  at  hand,  burned  far  from  brightly,  and  those  in  the 
distance,  in  the  Russian  lines,  gleamed  dimly  through  the 
wrack.  Through  the  silence  clearly  could  be  heard  the  bustle 
and  trampling  of  the  French  troops,  already  beginning  to 
move  to  their  designated  positions. 

Napoleon  walked  out  in  front  of  his  tent,  gazed  at  the 

•  ^^ Noire  corps  e$t  une  machine-ii'Vivre.  II  est  organise  pour  cela ;  (^est  aa 
nature  ;  laisseZ'-y  la  vie  a  son  aise,  qu'elle  s'y  defende  elie-meme ;  elle  /era 
plus  que  $i  vovs  la  paralysiez  en  Vencombrant  de  rem^des.  Notre  corps  est 
une  montre  parfaite  qui  doit  aller  un  certain  temps :  Vhorloqer  n^a  pas  in 
faculte  de  VouvHr ;  il  ne  pent  la  manier  qxi'a  tdtons  et  les  yeux  handes,  Notre 
corps  est  tine  machine'g-vivre :  voila  tout !  ** 

VOL.  8.  — 16. 


242  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

fires,  listened  to  the  growing  tumult,  and,  as  he  passed  by  I 
tall  grenadier  in  a  dampened  hat,  who  was  on  duty  as  sentinel 
by  his  tent,  and  standing  stiff  and  straight  like  a  pillar  when  the 
emperor  appeared,  Napoleon  paused :  — 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  the  service  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
his  ordinary  affectation  of  hearty  and  affectionate  militaxy 
bluntness,  which  he  always  employed  when  dealing  with  his 
soldiers.     The  soldier  answered  him,  — 

"  Ah  !  un  des  vieux  "  —  a  veteran. 

"  Has  your  regiment  received  the  rice  ?  " 

"  We  have,  your  majesty.'' 

Napoleon  nodded  and  left  him. 

At  half-past  five.  Napoleon  mounted  and  rode  to  the  village 
of  Shevardino. 

It  was  beginning  to  grow  light ;  the  skv  Was  clearing ;  only 
a  single  cloud  lay  against  the  east  The  deserted  biyouae 
fires  were  dying  out  in  the  pale  light  of  the  morning. 

Jtt  the  right  thundered  a  single  heavy  cannon-shot,  prolonged 
by  the  echoes,  and  finally  dying  away  amid  the  general  silence. 

There  was  an  interval  of  several  minutes.  A  second  shot, 
then  a  third  rolled  out,  shaking  the  veiy  air ;  a  fourth,  a  fifth 
answered  near  at  hand,  and  solemnly,  somewhere  at  the  right 

The  echoes  of  the  first  cannon  shots  had  not  died  away 
when  still  others  joined  in,  then  more  and  more,  mingling  and 
blending  in  one  continuous  roar. 

Napoleon  galloped  with  his  suite  to  the  Shevardino  redoubt 
and  there  dismounted. 

The  game  had  begun. 


CHAPTER  TCYY 

Having  returned  to  Gorki  from  his  visit  to  Prinoe  Andrei, 
Pierre  gave  his  orders  to  his  equerry  to  have  his  horses  ready, 
and  to  waken  him  early  in  the  morning,  and  then  immediately 
went  to  sleep  behind  the  screen  in  the  comer  which  Boris  had 
kindly  offered  him. 

When  Pierre  was  fairly  awake  the  next  morning  there  was 
not  a  soul  in  the  cottage.  The  window-panes  in  the  little 
windows  were  rattling.  His  equerry  was  standing  by  him, 
shaking  him. 

"  Your  illustriousness,  your  illustriousness,  your  illustrious- 
ness ! "  —  exclaimed  the  equerry,  stubbornly  shaking  him  by 


WA&  ANb  PEACe.  243 

the  shoulder,  and  apparently  Iiopeless  of  being  able  to  wake 
bim. 

"  What  ?  Has  it  begun  ?  Is  it  time  ?  "  demanded  Pierre, 
opening  his  eyes. 

**  Be  good  enough  to  listen  to  the  firing,"  said  the  equerry, 
nrho  had  once  been  a  soldier. 

^*  The  gentlemen  have  all  gone.  His  serene  highness  went 
long  ago.^' 

Pierre  hurriedly  dressed  and  went  out  on  the  steps.  Out- 
side it  was  bright,  cool,  dewy,  and  cheerful.  The  sun  was  just 
making  its  way  out  from  under  the  cloud  which  had  obscured 
it  momentarily,  and  poured  its  i-ays  through  the  breaking 
clouds,  across  the  roofs  of  the  opposite  houses,  over  the  dusty 
roiad  covered  with  dew,  on  the  walls  of  the  houses,  on  the 
windows  of  the  cathedral,  and  Pierre's  horses  standing  near 
the  cottage.  Out  of  doors  the  rolling  of  the  cannon  was  heard 
more  distinctly.  An  adjutant,  followed  by  his  Cossack,  was 
galloping  down  the  street. 

"  It  is  time,  count,  time,"  cried  the  adjutant. 

Ordering  the  man  to  follow  him  with  his  horse,  Pierre  walked 
along  the  road  to  the  mound  from  the  top  of  which,  the  day 
before,  he  had  surveyed  the  field  of  battle.  Here  were  col- 
lected a  throng  of  military  men,  and  he  could  hear  the  mem- 
bers of  the  staff  talking  French,  and  he  could  see  Kutuzof  s 
gray  head  covered  with  a  white  hat  with  red  band,  and  the 
gray  nape  of  his  neck  sunk  between  his  shoulders.  He  was 
gazing  through  his  field-glass  to  the  front  along  the  highway. 
As  Pierre  mounted  the  steps  that  led  to  the  top  of  the  mound, 
he  looked  out  over  the  prospect,  and  was  overwhelmed  at  the 
beauty  of  the  spectacle. 

It  was  the  same  panorama  which  he  had  surveyed  the  day 
before  from  the  same  elevation ;  but  now  all  those  localities 
were  covered  with  troops  and  the  smoke  of  the  cannon,  find 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  bright  sun  rising  behind  Pierre  at  the 
left  fell  upon  it  through  the  clear  morning  atmosphere  in 
floods  of  light,  shot  with  golden  and  rosy  tones  and  intermin- 
gled with  long,  dark  shadows. 

The  distant  forests  which  bounded  the  panorama,  just  as 
though  it  were  hewn  out  of  some  precious  yellow-green  gem, 
traced  the  curving  line  of  the  tree-tops  against  the  horizon,  and 
between  them,  beyond  Valuyevo,  the  great  Smolensk  highway, 
now  all  covered  with  troops,  cut  its  way. 

Still  nearer  gleamed  the  golden  fields  and  groves.  Every- 
where, in  ^nt  and  behind,  at  the  right  hand  and  at  the  leit; 


244  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  armies  were  swarming.  The  whole  scene  was  animated, 
majestic,  and  marvellous;  but  what  surprised  Pierre  more 
than  all  was  the  spectacle  of  the  battle-field  itself ,  Borodino/ 
and  the  valley  through  which  the  Kalotcha  River  ran. 

Over  the  Kalotcha  at  Borodino,  and  on  both  sides  of  the 
river,  more  noticeably  on  the  left  bank,  where,  through  marshy 
intervales,  the  Vonla  falls  into  the  Kalotcha,  was  that  mist 
which  so  mysteriously  veils,  spreads,  and  grows  transparent  as 
the  bnght  sun  moimts,  and  magically  colors  and  transforms 
everything  which  is  seen  through  it. 

The  smoke  of  the  cannon  was  blending  with  this  mist,  and 
over  this  blended  mist  and  smoke,  everywhere,  gleamed  the 
lightning  flashes  of  the  morning  brilliancy,  here  over  the 
water,  there  on  dewy  meadows,  there  on  the  bayonets  of 
the  infantry  swarming  along  the  banks  and  in  the  village. 

Through  this  mist  could  be  seen  a  white  church,  a  few  roofs 
of  Borodino  cottages,  here  and  there  compact  masses  of  sol- 
diers, here  and  there  green  caissons,  cannons.  And  this  scene 
was  in  motion,  or  seemed  to  be  in  motion,  because  this  mist 
and  smoke  was  stretched  over  the  whole  space.  On  these 
lowlands  around  Borodino  covered  with  mist,  so  also  above, 
and  especially  at  the  left,  over  the  whole  line,  over  the  woods, 
over  the  fields,  in  the  hollows,  on  the  summits  of  the  rising 
ground,  constajitly  bom,  self-evolved  from  nothing,  rose  the 
pufEs  of  cannon-smoke ;  now  singly,  now  in  groups  ;  now  scat- 
tered, now  clustered;  and  as  they  formed,  and  grew,  and 
coalesced,  and  melted  together,  they  seemed  to  cover  the  whole 
space.  These  puffs  of  caunon-smoke  and,  strange  to  say,  the 
sounds  that  accompanied  them,  constituted  the  chief  chs^m  of 
the  spectacle. 

Puff  I  suddenly  appeared  a  round,  compact  ball  of  smoke 
playing  in  violet,  gray,  and  milk-white  hues,  and  —  bummf 
would  follow  in  a  second  the  report  of  this  smoke-ball. 

JPuff,puff/  arose  two  balls  of  smoke  jostling  and  blending, 
and — bummf  bummf  came  the  coalescing  sounds  that  eon- 
firmed  what  the  eye  had  seen. 

Pierre  gazed  at  the  first  puff  of  smoke  which  he  still  saw  as 
a  round,  compact  ball,  and  before  he  knew  it,  its  place  was 
taken  by  two  balls  of  smoke  borne  off  to  one  side,  and  ptiff — 
with  an  interval — jpuff,  puff,  rose  three  others,  then  four 
others,  and  each  was  followed  at  intervals  with  the  bummj 
butnmy  bumm  —  genuine,  beautiful,  satisfying  sounds.  Some- 
times it  seemed  as  though  these  puffs  of  smoke  were  flying, 
sometimes  as  though  they  were  standing  still,  while  past  them 
flew  the  forests,  the  fields,  and  the  glittering  bayonets. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  245 

On  the  lefty  over  the  meadows  and  clumps  of  trees,  these 
great  balls  of  smoke  were  constantly  rising  with  their  solemn 
voices,  and  still  nearer,  over  the  lowlands  and  along  the  forests, 
burst  forth  the  little  puffs  of  musket-smoke  which  had  no  time 
to  form  into  balls,  and  yet  these,  in  precisely  the  same  way, 
uttered  their  little  resonances.  Trakh'ta-ta'4akh  I  rattled  the 
musketry,  though  irregularly  and  frequent  and  pale  in  com- 
parison with  the  cannon-shots. 

Pierre  had  an  intense  longing  to  be  where  those  puffs  of 
smoke  originated,  those  glittering  bayonets,  that  movement, 
those  sounds. 

He  looked  at  Kutuzof  and  at  his  suite,  so  as  to  compare  his 
own  impressions  with  those  of  others.  All,  exactly  the  same 
as  he  himself,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  with  the  same  senti- 
ment, were  gazing  down  upon  the  field  of  battle.  All  faces 
now  wei-e  lighted  up  by  that  latent  heat  which  Pierre  had 
observed  the  day  before,  and  which  he  undei*stood  perfectly 
after  his  conversation  with  Prince  Andrei. 

"  Go  on,  my  dear,*  go  on ;  Christ  be  with  you,"  Kutuzof 
was  saying  to  a  general  standing  near  him,  but  he  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  battle-field. 

On  hearing  this  command,  the  general  went  past  Pierre  on 
his  way  to  the  descent  down  the  hill. 

"  To  the  crossing,"  replied  the  general  coldly  and  sternly, 
to  one  of  the  staff,  who  asked  where  he  was  going. 

"  I  too,  I  too,"  said  Pierre  to  himself,  and  he  followed  in  the 
direction  taken  by  the  general. 

The  general  mounted  his  horse,  which  his  Cossack  led  for- 
ward. Pierre  went  to  his  equerry,  who  had  his  horses  in 
charge.  Asking  which  was  the  gentlest,  Pierre  mounted, 
grasped  his  mane,  gouged  his  heels  into  the  horse's  flanks,  and 
feeling  that  his  spectacles  were  going  to  tumble  off,  and  that 
he  could  not  possibly  remove  his  hands  from  the  mane  and 
bridle,  he  went  cantering  after  the  general,  arousing  the  laugh- 
ter of  the  staff,  who  were  looking  at  him  from  the  hill-top. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Thk  general  whom  Pierre  was  following  rode  down  the 
hillside  the  shortest  way  and  then  turned  to  the  left,  and 
Kerre,  losing  him  from  sight,  came  full  upon  a  file  of  infantry 
who  were  marching  in  his  direction.    He  tried  to  get  past 

«  Qdubehik, 


246  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

them  in  front,  then  at  the  left,  and  then  at  the  right ;  but 
evejy  where  there  were  soldiers,  all  with  anxious,  eager  ^ices; 
all  engaged  in  some  invisible  but  evidently  important  action. 
All,  with  similarly  involuntarily  questioning  glances,  looked 
at  this  portly  man  in  the  white  hat,  who,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  insisted  on  trampling  them  down  with  his  horse. 

"  What  makes  you  ride  in  front  of  the  battalioii  ?  "  cried 
one  to  him.  Another  poked  his  horse  with  the  but-end  of 
his  musket,  and  Pierre,  clinging  to  the  saddle  and  scarcely  able 
to  restrain  his  plunging  horse,  galloped  ia  front  of  the  soldiers 
where  there  was  room. 

In  front  of  him  there  was  a  bridge,  and  near  the  bridge 
other  soldiers  were  stationed,  firing.  Pierre  rode  up  to  them. 
Not  knowing  why  he  did  so,  Pierre  had  approached  the  bridge 
over  the  Kalotcha,  between  Borodino  and  Gorki,  where  in  the 
first  action  of  the  battle  (called  Borodino)  the  French  made  a 
^charge. 

Pierre  saw  that  there  was  a  bridge  before  him,  and  that  on 
both  ends  of  the  bridge,  and  on  the  meadow,  among  the  haycocks 
which  he  had  noticed  the  day  before,  the  soldiers  were  doing 
something ;  but,  in  spite  of  the  incessant  firing  going  on  in  this 
place,  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  that  here  was  the  battle- 
field. He  heard  not  the  sounds  of  the  bullets  whi23dng  on  all 
sides,  or  the  projectiles  flying  over  his  head ;  he  saw  not  the 
enemy  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  it  was  long  before  he 
saw  the  killed  and  wounded,  although  many  were  falling  not 
far  from  him.  With  a  smile  that  did  not  leave  his  lips,  he 
glanced  around  him. 

"  What  makes  that  man  ride  in  front  of  the  line  ?  "  again 
cried  some  one. 

"Take  the  right  —  take  the  left!"  they  cried  to  him. 

Pierre  took  the  left,  and  unexpectedly  fell  in  with  one  of 
General  Rayevsky's  adjutants  whom  he  knew.  This  adjutant 
looked  fiercely  at  Pierre,  evidently  with  the  intention  of 
shouting  some  command,  but  then,  recognizing  him,  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  How  come  you  here  ?  "  he  cried  and  dashed  away. 

Pierre,  feeling  that  he  was  out  of  place  and  useless,  and 
fearing  lest  he  should  be  a  hinderance  to  some  one,  galloped 
after  the  adjutant. 

"  What  is  this  here  ?    Can  I  go  with  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  replied  the  adjutant,  and,  riding  up  to  a 
stout  colonel  who  was  stationed  on  the  meadow,  he  gave  him 
some  order,  and  immediately  turned  back  to  Pierre. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  247 

"How  do  you  happen  to  get  here,  count?"  he  demanded 
with  a  smile.     "  Is  it  out  of  curiosity  ?  " 
"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Pierre. 

But  the  adjutant,  wheeling,  started  to  gallop  away.  "Here 
it  is  all  right,  thank  God,"  said  he,  "but  on  the  left  flank, 
where  Bagration  is,  there's  frightfully  hot  work  going  on." 
"  Really  ?  "  exclaimed  PieiTe.  "  Where  is  that  ?  " 
"  Gome  with  me  to  the  hill :  you  can  see  very  well  from 
there,  and  at  our  battery  there  it  is  still  endurable,"  said  the 
adjutant. 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  with  you,"  returned  Pierre,  looking  around 
him  and  trying  to  discover  his  equerry.  Then  only  for  the 
first  time  Pierre  caught  sight  of  the  wounded,  dragging  them- 
selves to  the  rear  on  foot  or  borne  on  stretchers.  On  the  same 
plot  of  meadow  land,  with  the  wind-rows  of  fragrant  hay,  over 
which  he  had  ridden  the  evening  before,  there  lay,  right  amidst 
the  ranks,  a  soldier  motionless,  with  his  head  awkwardly 
thrown  back  and  his  shako  knocked  off. 

"  But  why  have  they  not  carried  him  off  ?  "  Pierre  was  going 
to  ask,  but,  seeing  the  adjutant's  stern  face  turned  to  the  same 
spot,  he  refrained. 

Pierre  could  not  discover  his  equerry,  and  so  he  rode  in 
oompany  with  the  adjutant  down  across  the  hollow  to 
Rayevsky's  hill.  Pierre's  horse  could  not  keep  up  with  the 
adjutant's,  and  shook  him  at  every  step. 

"You  are  apparently  not  used  to  riding  on  horseback, 
count  ?  "  suggested  the  adjutant. 

"  No,  it's  nothing ;  but  somehow  he  limps  badly,"  said  Pierre 
in  perplexity. 

"  E  —  e !  but  he's  wounded,"  said  the  adjutant,  "  right  fore- 
leg, above  the  knee.  Must  have  been  a  bullet.  I  congratulate 
you,  count,"  said  he,  *  le  hapthne  dufeu  !  '  " 

Making  their  way  through  the  wrack  to  the  Sixth  Corps, 
behind  the  artillery,  which,  unlimbered  forward,  was  blazing 
away  with  a  stunning  thunder  of  discharges,  they  reached  a 
grove.  Here  in  the  grove  it  was  cool  and  still,  and  smelt  like 
autumn.  Pierre  and  the  adjutant  dismounted  and  went  up 
the  hill  on  foot. 

"  Where  is  the  general  ?  "  asked  the  adjutant,  as  he  reached 
the  top. 

"  He's  just  gone,  he  went  yonder,"  was  the  answer,  the  men 
pointing  to  the  right. 

The  adjutant  glanced  at  Pierre,  as  though  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  him  now. 


248  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"Don't  disturb  yourself  on  my  account,"  said  Pierre.  "1 
win  go  to  the  top  of  the  hill ;  can't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  do  so;  you  can  see  everything  from  there,  and  it 
Won't  be  so  dangerous.     And  I  will  come  back  after  you." 

Pierre  went  to  the  battery,  and  the  adjutant  went  on  his 
way.  They  did  not  meet  again,  and  it  was  not  till  long  after 
that  Pierre  learned  that  this  adjutant  lost  an  arm  on  that  day. 

The  kurgdn  or  hill  on  which  Pierre  had  come,  became  after- 
wards known  to  the  Kussians  as  the  Kurg&n  battery  or 
Rayevsky's  battery,  and  to  the  French  as  la  grande  redotUey  la 
fatale  redoufe,  la  redoute  du  centre.  It  was  the  place  around 
which  tens  of  thousands  of  men  were  slain,  and  the  French 
considered  it  the  most  important  point  of  the  whole  position. 

This  redoubt  consisted  of  the  kurgan,  on  three  sides  of 
which  trenches  had  been  dug.  In  this  place,  surrounded  by 
the  trenches,  were  stationed  ten  active  cannon,  discharging 
through  the  embrasures  of  the  earthworks. 

In  a  line  with  the  kurgan  cannon  were  stationed,  on  either 
side,  also  belching  forth  continuous  discharges.  A  little  to 
the  rear  of  the  cannon  stood  the  infantry. 

Pierre,  on  reaching  this  kurgan,  never  once  dreamed  that  this 
small  space  intrenched  with  earthworks  where  he  was  stand- 
ing, and  where  a  few  cannon  were  in  full  blast,  was  the  most 
important  point  of  the  whole  battle.  On  the  contrary,  it 
seemed  to  Pierre  that  this  place,  simply  because  he  had  come 
to  it,  was  one  of  the  most  unimportant  places  of  the  battle- 
field. 

On  reaching  the  kurgan,  Pierre  sat  down  at  one  end  of  a 
trench  which  enclosed  the  battery,  and  with  a  smile  of 
unconscious  satisfaction  gazed  at  what  was  going  on  around 
him.  Occasionally  with  the  same  smile  he  would  get  to  his 
feet,  and,  at  the  same  time  trying  not  to  be  in  the  way  of  the 
soldiers  who  were  loading  and  pushing  forward  the  guns  or 
constantly  passing  him  with  powder  and  shot,  he  would  walk 
through  the  battery.  The  cannon  in  this  battery  were  con- 
stantly fired  one  after  another  with  an  overwhelming  crash, 
and  the  whole  place  was  swathed  in  gunpowder  smoke. 

In  contradistinction  to  that  sense  of  gloom  which  is  always 
felt  among  the  infantry  soldiers  of  a  covering  force,  in  a  bat- 
tery where  a  small  band  of  men  are  limited  and  shut  off  from 
the  rest  by  a  trench,  here  there  is  a  sort  of  family  feeling, 
which  is  shared  equally  by  all. 

The  appearance  of  Pierre's  unmilitary  figure,  in  his  white 
hat,  at  first  struck  these  men  unpleasantly.     The  soldiers  pass- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  249 

ing  him  looked  askance  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  amazement 
and  timidity.  The  senior  artillery  officer,  —  a  tall,  long-legged, 
pock-marked  man,  —  under  the  pretence  of  inspecting  the  be- 
havior of  the  endmost  cannon,  came  where  Pierre  was  and  gazed 
inquisitively  at  him. 

A  young,  i-ound-faced  little  officer,  still  a  mere  lad,  who  had 
evidently  just  come  out  of  the  "  Korpus,"  and  who  was  very 
zealously  commanding  the  two  guns  committed  to  his  charge, 
looked  fiercely  at  Pierre. 
"  We  must  ask  you,  sir,  to  go  ayay ;  you  cannot  remain  here." 
The  soldiers  shook  their  heads  disapprovingly  as  they  looked 
at  Pierre.  But  when  all  were  convinced  that  this  man  in  the 
white  hat  was  not  only  doing  no  harm  as  he  sat  calmly  on  the 
talus  of  the  trench  or  walked  up  and  down  the  battery,  facing 
the  missiles  as  steadily  as  though  he  were  on  the  boulevard, 
and  with  his  genial  smile  politely  making  way  for  the  soldiers, 
then  gradually  this  feeling  of  disapproval  and  perplexity  be- 
gan to  give  place  to  an  affectionate  and  jocose  sympathy  such 
as  soldiers  are  apt  to  manifest  for  dogs,  cocks,  goats,  and  other 
animals  that  are  found  in  their  ranks.  These  soldiers  instantly 
adopted  Pierre  into  their  family,  and  gave  him  a  nickname. 
"  Nash  baHn  "  —  "  Our  Gentleman  "  —  was  what  they  called 
him,  and  they  good-naturedly  laughed  about  him  among  them- 
selves. 

A  round  shot  tore  up  the  earth  within  two  paces  of  Pierre. 
Shaking  off  the  dirt  which  the  missile  scattered  over  him, 
Pierre  glanced  around  with  a  smile. 

"  Didn't  that  frighten  you,  barin  ?  truly,  didn't  it  ?  "  asked  a 
hroad  soldier  with  a  rubicund  face,  displaying  his  strong  white 
teeth. 
**  Why,  are  you  afraid  ?  "  retorted  Pierre. 
"  How  can  one  help  it  ?  "  replied  the  soldier.  "  You  see,  she 
has  no  mercy.  If  she  strikes,  your  innards  fly !  So  one  can't 
help  being  afraid,"  said  he  with  a  laugh. 

Several  soldiers  with  jovial,  friendly  faces  were  standing 
near  Pierre.  They  seemed  not  to  have  expected  him  to  speak 
like  other  men,  and  to  find  that  he  did  surprised  them. 

"  Soldiering's  our  business.  But  this  man  is  a  barin,  so  it's 
wonderful !     What  a  barin  he  is  ! " 

"  To  your  places,"  commanded  the  young  officer  to  the  sol- 
diers collecting  round  Pierre.  This  young  officer  was  evidently 
ior  the  first  or  perhaps  the  second  time  on  duty  of  this  kind, 
and  accordingly  he  behaved  to  his  men  and  his  superiors  with 
especial  preciseness  ^nd  formality.     The  rolling  thunder  oi 


260  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  cannon  and  of  the  musketry  was  intensified  all  over  tiie 
field,  noticeably  at  the  left,  where  Bagration's  fleches  were 
situated,  but  l*ierre,  owing  to  the  smoke  of  the  discharges, 
could  see  nothing  at  all  from  where  he  was. 

Moreover,  Pierre's  entire  attention  was  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing what  was  going  on  in  this  little  circle,  this  adopted  family 
as  it  were  —  separated  from  all  the  rest.  Unconsciously  his 
first  feeling  of  gratification  aroused  by  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  the  battle-field  had  changed  character,  now,  especially  since 
he  had  seen  that  soldier  lying  by  himself  on  the  meadow. 
As  he  sat  now  on  the  talus  oi  the  trench  he  contemplated  the 
faces  around  him. 

It  was  only  ten  o'clock,  but  a  score  of  men  had  been  already 
carried  from  the  battery  ;  two  of  the  cannon  were  dismounted, 
and  the  missiles  were  falling  into  the  battery  with  greater  and 
greater  frequency,  and  the  shot  flew  over  their  heads  with 
screeching  and  whizzing.  But  the  men  who  were  serving  the 
battery  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to  this ;  on  all  sides  were 
heard  only  gay  talk  and  jests. 

"  Old  stuffing !  "  *  cried  a  soldier  to  a  shell  that  flew  close 
over  his  head  with  a  whiz. 

"This  is  the  wrong  place.  Go  to  the  infantry,"  added  a 
second,  perceiving  that  the  shell  flew  over  and  struck  in  the 
ranks  of  the  covering  forces. 

"  What  is  that,  an  acquaintance  of  yours  ?  "  asked  another 
with  a  laugh,  as  a  muzhik  bowed  under  a  round  shot  that 
went  flying  over. 

A  few  soldiers  collected  around  the  breastwork,  trying  to 
make  out  what  was  going  on  at  the  front. 

"  Well,  they've  captured  the  lines,  do  you  see ;  they're  re- 
treating," said  they,  pointing  across  the  breastwork. 

"Mind  your  own  business,"  cried  an  old  sergeant.  "If 
they're  retiring,  of  course  it's  because  they're  needed  else- 
where." , 

And  the  non-commissioned  officer,  seizing  one  of  the  soldiers 
by  the  shoulder,  gave  him  a  boost  with  his  knee.  A  roar  of 
laughter  was  heard. 

"  Serve  Np.  5  !    Forward ! "  rang  out  on  one  side. 

"  A  long  pull,  and  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  all  together," 
cheerfully  shouted  the  men  who  were  pushing  the  cannon 
forward. 

"  Ai !  that  one  almost  took  our  barin's  hat  off,"  cried  the  rubi- 
cund jester,  with  a  laugh  that  showed  his  teeth.  —  "  Ekh !  you 

•  Chinydnka :  any  object  fiUed  with  anything. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  261 

beastly  thing/'  he  added  reproachfully  to  the  ball,  which  car- 
ried off  a  gan-wheel  and  a  man's  leg. 

"  Well,  you  foxes ! "  cried  another  with  a  laugh  to  the  land-^ 
wehr  men,  who,  all  bent  double,  came  forward  to  the  battery,, 
to  remove  the  wounded.  **  Isn't  this  gruel  to  your  taste  ? 
Akh !  you  crows  !  *  are  you  frozen  stiff  ?  "  cried  the  soldiers 
to  the  militiarmen,  who  were  dismayed  at  the  sight  of  the  soU 
dier  with  the  leg  torn  off.  "  That's  only  a  little  one ! "  said 
they,  imitating  the  dialect  of  the  peasants.  "  Don't  like  to  be 
afraid,  do  you  ?  " 

Pierre  observed  how  after  the  fall  of  each  new  missile,  after 
each  new  loss,  the  general  excitement  became  more  and  more 
intensified. 

Just  as  when  a  heavy  thunder  shower  is  approaching,  more 
and  more  frequently,  more  and  more  dazzlingly,  flashed  forth 
on  the  faces  of  all  these  men  the  lightnings  of  that  latent  but 
now  developing  heat.  It  was  as  though  called  forth  by  resist^ 
ance. 

Pierre  did  not  look  out  on  the  battle-field,  and  he  was  not 
interested  in  knowing  what  was  going  on  there :  he  was  en- 
tirely  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  this  ever  more  and 
more  developing  fire,  which  now  in  exactly  the  same  way  — 
he  was  conscious  —  was  also  kindling  in  his  own  soul. 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  infantry,  who  had  been  in  front  of  the 
battery,  in  the  thickets,  and  along  the  Kamenka,  or  Stony 
Brook,  retreated.  From  the  battery  they  could  be  seen  run-, 
ning  back  past  it,  carrying  their  wounded  on  their  muskets. 

A  general  with  his  suite  dashed  up  the  kurgdn,  and,  after 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  the  colonel  and  giving  Pierre  a 
fierce  look,  rode  back  down  again,  ordering  the  covering  infan- 
try who  were  stationed  behind  the  battery,  to  lie  down,  so  as 
not  to  expose  themselves  to  the  missiles.  Immediately  after 
this,  in  the  ranks  of  the  infantry,  at  the  right  of  the  batteiy 
vere  heard  the  rolling  of  a  drum  and  shouts  of  command,  and 
they  in  the  battery  could  see  how  the  ranks  of  infantry 
moved  forward. 

Pierre  looked  over  the  breastworks.  One  face  especially 
struck  his  eye.  This  was  a  pale-faced  young  officer,  who  waa 
marching  with  them  backwards,  holding  his  sword-point  down 
and  looking  anxiously  around. 

The  ranks  of  infantry  disappeared  in  the  smoke,  their  pro- 
longed cheer  was  heard  and  the  continuous  rattle  of  their 
musketry  fire.  After  a  few  minutes  a  throng  of  wounded  men 
Walking  and  on  stretchers  came  straggling  back. 

*  Vonfnui:  orowsj  means  also  sixnpletono* 


252  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

The  missiles  kept  falling  with  greater  and  greater  frequencj 
on  the  battery.  A  number  of  soldiers  lay  unattended.  The 
men  around  the  cannon  were  working  with  renewed  vigor  and 
zeal.  No  one  any  longer  paid  attention  to  Pierre.  Twice  be 
was  angrily  told  that  he  was  in  the  way.  The  senior  officer, 
with  a  frowning  face,  strode  with  long,  swift  steps  from  gmi 
to  gun.  The  young  officer,  with  his  face  more  flushed  than 
ever,  gave  his  command  to  his  men  with  ever  increasing 
vehemence.  The  soldiers  came  and  went  with  the  projectiles, 
and  loaded  and  did  their  duty  with  ever  more  zealously  bam- 
ing  activity  and  dash.  They  jumped  about  as  though  they 
were  moved  by  springs. 

The  thunder-cloud  had  come  close  at  hand,  and  brightly  on 
all  faces  burned  that  iire  the  kindling  of  which  Pierre  had 
been  watching.  He  was  standing  near  the  senior  officer.  The 
young  officer  came  hastening  to  the  elder  and  saluted  him, 
finger  at  visor. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  reporting,  Mr.  Colonel,  that  there  an 
only  eight  shot  left.     Do  you  order  us  to  go  on  ?  " 

^'  Grape ! "  cried  the  old  officer,  gazing  over  the  rampart,  and 
not  giving  any  definite  answer. 

Suddenly  something  happened :  the  little  officer  shrieked, 
and  fell  upon  the  ground  all  of  a  heap,  like  a  bird  shot  on  the 
wing.  Everything  became  strange,  dark,  and  gloomy  in 
Pierre's  eyes. 

One  following  another  the  projectiles  came  screaming,  and 
buried  themselves  in  the  breastwork,  among  the  soldiersy 
among  the  cannon.  Pierre,  who  before  had  not  heard  these 
sounds,  now  heard  nothing  except  these  sounds.  At  one  side, 
at  the  right  of  the  battery,  with  their  cheers  —  hurrah!  the 
soldiers  were  running,  not  forward  as  it  seemed  to  Pierre,  but 
back  to  the  rear. 

A  shot  struck  on  the  very  edge  of  the  rampart  where  Pierre 
was  standing,  scattered  the  earth,  and  a  black  ball  flashed  in 
front  of  his  eyes  and  at  the  same  instant  fell  with  a  dull  thud 
into  something.  The  landwehr,  who  had  been  coming  up  to 
the  battery,  were  in  full  retreat. 

"  All  grape  ! "  cried  the  officer. 

The  sergeant  hastened  up  to  his  senior,  and  in  a  frightened 
whisper  —  just  as  at  dinner  the  butler  reports  to  his  master 
that  the  wine  called  for  is  all  out  —  reported  that  all  the 
fijnmunition  was  used  up. 

"The  villains!  what  are  they  doing?"  cried  the  officer, 
turning  round  to  Pierre.    The  old  officer's  face  was  flushed 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  253 

and  sweaty^  his  eyes  were  gleaming  fiercely.  ^'  Btin  back  to 
the  reserves,  have  the  caissons  brought,"  he  cried,  crossly  avoid- 
ing Pierre's  glance  and  addressing  his  command  to  his  orderly^ 

"I  ¥riU  go,"  cried  Pierre.  The  officer,  not  heeding  him, 
went  with  long  strides  to  the  other  side. 

"  Don't  fir© !  —  Wait ! "  he  shouted. 

The  orderly  who  had  been  commanded  to  go  after  ammuni- 
tion ran  into  Pierre. 

» 

'^Ekh !  barin,  this  is  no  place  for  you  here,"  said  he,  and  he 
started  on  the  run  down  the  slope. 

Pierre  ran  after  the  soldier,  avoiding  the  place  where  the 
young  officer  lay. 

One  shot,  a  second,  a  third  flew  over  his  head ;  they  struck 
in  front  of  him,  on  both  sides  of  him,  and  behind  him.  Pierre 
ran  down  the  slope.  "  Where  am  I  going  ?  "  He  suddenly 
lemembered,  even  while  he  was  hastening  up  to  the  green 
caissons.  He  stopped  irresolutely,  undecided  whether  to  go 
forward  or  back.  Suddenly  a  terrible  shock  threw  him  back 
on  the  ground.  At  the  same  instant  a  sheet  of  a  mighty  fire 
flashed  into  his  eyes,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  noise  like  a 
thunder-clap,  stunning  and  terrific,  a  crash  and  a  whiz,  over- 
whelmed hun. 

Pierre,  having  recovered  his  senses,  sat  up,  supporting  him- 
self on  his  hands.  The  caisson  near  which  he  had  been 
standing  had  disappeared;  only  on  the  scorched  grass  were 
scattered  a  few  pieces  of  the  green  painted  wood  of  the  car- 
n^e,  and  smoking  rags ;  and  one  horse,  shaking  off  the  frag- 
ments of  the  shafts,  was  galloping  off,  while  another — like 
Pierre  himself — was  lying  on  the  ground,  and  screaming  in 
its  long  agony. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

PiBRBE,  in  his  terror,  not  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  ran  back  to  the  battery,  as  though  it  were  the 
only  refuge  from  the  horrors  surrounding  him. 

When  he  reached  the  intrenchment,  he  observed  that  there 
was  no  sound  of  firing  any  longer  from  the  battery,  but  that 
Bien  were  engaged  in  doing  something  there.  Pierre  had  no 
tune  to  make  out  who  these  men  were.  He  saw  the  old 
wlonel  leaning  over  the  breastwork,  with  his  back  to  him,  as 
though  he  were  watching  something  below,  and  he  saw  one  of 
the  artillerists,  whom  he  had  already  observed,  struggling  to 


254  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

get  away  from  some  men  who  had  him  by  the  arm,  and  crying^ 
«  Brothers !     Brothers ! " 

He  also  saw  something  else  that  was  strange.  Bat  he  had 
no  time  to  realize  that  the  colonel  was  killed,  and  that  the 
man  was  crying  for  help,  and  that  under  his  very  eyes  a 
second  soldier  was  stabbed  in  the  back  by  a  bayonet  thmst 
He  had  hardly  set  foot  in  the  intrenchment  liefore  a  lean, 
sallow,  sweaty-faced  man,  with  a  sword  in  his  hand,  leaped 
upon  him,  shouting  something.  Pierre  instinctively  aToided 
the  shock,  as  men  do  who  are  about  to  run  into  each  other, 
and,  putting  out  his  hand,  he  seized  this  man  —  he  was  a 
French  officer  — by  the  shoulder  with  one  hand  and  grasped 
his  throat  with  the  other.  The  officer,  dropping  his  sword, 
seized  Pierre  by  the  collar. 

For  some  seconds  they  each  gazed  with  startled  eyes  into 
each  other's  faces,  and  both  were  uncertain  as  to  what  they 
had  done  and  what  they  were  going  to  do.  ''Has  he  taken 
me  prisoner,  or  have  I  taken  him  prisoner  ?  "  each  of  them 
was  wondering.  But  apparently  the  French  officer  was  rather 
inclined  to  believe  that  he  was  taken  prisoner,  for  the  reason 
that  Pierre's  powerful  hand,  involuntarily  clinching  under  the 
influence  of  fear,  was  squeezing  his  throat  ever  tighter  and 
tighter.  The  Frenchman  was  lust  trying  to  say  something, 
when  suddenly  over  their  very  heads,  narrowly  missing  them 
and  terribly  screeching,  flew  a  projectile,  and  it  seemed  to 
Pierre  that  the  French  officer's  head  was  torn  off,  so  quickly 
he  ducked  it. 

Pierre  also  ducked  his  head,  and  released  his  hand.  No 
longer  puzzling  over  the  question  which  had  taken  the  other 
prisoner,  the  Frenchman  ran  back  to  the  battery,  while  Pierre 
ran  down  the  hill,  stumbling  over  the  dead  and  wounded,  who, 
it  seemed  to  him,  grasped  after  his  feet.  But  he  had  not 
more  than  reached  the  bottom  before  he  came  full  upon  a 
dense  mass  of  Russian  soldiers,  who,  stumbling  and  falling 
and  cheering,  full  of  dash  and  spirit,  were  on  the  double-quick 
toward  the  battery. 

This  was  the  cnarge  for  which  Yermolof  took  the  credit, 
declaring  that  only  by  his  gallantry  and  good  fortune  was  it 
possible  to  have  achieved  this  success:  the  charge  during 
which  one  might  say  he  scattered  over  the  kurg&  the  St 
Greorge  crosses  that  had  been  in  his  pockets. 

The  French  who  had  taken  the  battery  fled.  Our  troops, 
with  cheers,  drove  the  French  so  far  beyond  the  botteiy  that 
it  was  hard  to  bring  them  to  a  halt. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  255 

The  prisoners  were  led  away  from  the  battery,  in  their  num- 
ber a  wounded  French  general,  around  whom  the  officers 
crowded. 

A  throng  of  wounded,  Eussians  and  French,  some  of  them 
known  and  many  unknown  to  Pierre,  their  faces  distorted  with 
agony,  crawled  or  limped,  or  were  carried  away  on  stretchers. 

Pierre  went  up  on  the  kurgan  again,  where  he  had  spent 
more  than  an  hour  already,  and  of  that  little  "  family  circle," 
which  had,  as  it  were,  adopted  him,  he  found  not  one.  There 
were  many  dead  lying  there,  but  they  were  strangers.  Some 
he  recognized.  The  young  officer  was  lying,  all  in  a  heap,  as 
before,  in  a  little  pool  of  blood  at  the  edge  of  the  parapet. 
The  rubicund  soldier  was  twitching  a  little,  but  they  had  not 
carried  him  away. 

Pierre  went  back  again. 

"  No,  now  they  must  surely  put  an  end  to  this ;  now  they 
must  begin  to  feel  remorse  for  what  they  have  been  doing," 
thought  Pierre,  aimlessly  taking  the  same  direction  as  the 
line  of  litters  that  was  slowly  moving  from  the  battle-field. 

But  the  sun,  obscured  by  smoke,  was  still  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  at  the  front,  and  especially  at  the  left  at  Seme- 
novskoye,  there  was  a  great  commotion  in  the  smoke,  and  the 
thunder  of  guns  and  cannon  not  only  did  not  slacken,  but 
rather  increased,  even  to  desperation,  like  a  man  who,  perish- 
ing, collects  his  forces  to  utter  one  last  cry. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Thb  principal  action  in  the  battle  of  Borodino  took  place  on 
a  space  of  a  thousand  sazhens,*  between  Borodino  and  Bagra- 
tion's  earthworks. 

Outside  of  this  space  there  had  occurred,  about  noon,  on 
one  side,  a  demonstration  on  the  part  of  Uvarofs  Russian 
cavalry ;  on  the  other,  beyond  Utitsa,  the  skirmish  between 
Poniatowski  and  Tutchkof  had  taken  place ;  but  these  were 
two  distinct  engagements  and  insignificant  in  comparison  with 
what  went  on  in  the  middle  of  the  battle-field. 

On  this  field,  between  Borodino  and  the  fleches,  near  the 
forest,  on  an  open  tract  visible  from  both  sides,  the  principal 
action  of  the  battle  was  fought  in  the  simplest,  most  artless 
nianner  imaginable. 

*  A  gathen  is  seven  leet ;  five  hundred  sazhena  make  a  venfc. 


256  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  action  began  with  a  cannonade  from  both  sides, 
several  hundred  cannon. 

Then,  when  the  smoke  had  settled  down  on  the  whole  field, 
forwaJxL  through  it,  on  the  side  of  the  French,  at  the  rightj 
moved  the  two  divisions  of  Dessaix  and  Campan  against  the 
earthworks,  and  at  the  left  moved  the  viceroy's  regiments 
against  Borodino. 

From  the  Shevardino  redoubt,  where  Napoleon  had  taken 
up  his  position,  the  distance  to  Bagration's  fleches  was  about 
a  verst,  while  Borodino  was  upwai'ds  of  two  versts  distant  in 
a  bee-line,  and,  consequently,  Napoleon  could  not  have  seen 
what  was  going  on  there,  the  more  from  the  fact  that  the 
smoke,  mingling  with  the  mist,  covered  the  whole  locality. 

The  soldiers  of  Dessaix's  division,  as  they  moved  against  the 
fleches,  were  visible  only  until  they  began  to  descend  the 
ravine  which  separated  them  from  the  earthworks.  As  soon 
as  they  descended  into  the  ravine,  the  smoke  of  the  cannon 
and  miisketry  from  the  earthworks  was  so  dense  that  it  wholly 
curtained  off  everything  on  the  farther  side  of  the  ravine. 

Through  the  wrack,  here  and  there,  gleamed  some  blade 
object,  apparently  a  body  of  men,  and  from  time  to  time  the 
glittering  of  bayonets.  But  whether  they  were  moving  or 
standing  still,  whether  they  were  French  or  Russians,  it  was 
impossible  to  distinguish  from  the  Shevardino  redoubt. 

The  sun  came  out  bright,  and  shone  with  its  slanting  lays 
full  into  Napoleon's  face,  as  he  looked  from  under  the  shade 
of  his  hand  toward  the  fleches. 

The  smoke  hung  like  a  curtain  in  front  of  them,  and  some- 
times it  seemed  as  though  the  smoke  were  in  motion,  some- 
times as  though  the  troops  were  in  motion.  OccasionaUj, 
above  the  noise  of  the  musketry,  the  shouts  of  men  could  be 
heard ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  know  what  they  were  doing. 

Napoleon,  standing  on  the  knoll,  gazed  through  his  field- 
glass,  and  in  the  small  circlet  of  the  instrument  he  could  see 
smoke  and  men,  sometimes  his  own,  sometimes  Russians ;  but 
when  he  came  to  use  his  naked  eye,  he  could  not  find  even 
where  he  had  been  looking  but  the  moment  before. 

He  went  down  from  the  redoubt,  and  began  to  pace  back 
and  forth  in  front  of  it.  Occasionally  he  paused  and  listened 
to  the  firing,  or  strained  his  sight  to  see  the  battle-field.  Not 
only  from  that  lower  ground  where  he  was  standing,  not  only 
from  the  mound  on  which  some  of  his  generals  were  left,  but 
likewise  from  the  fleches  themselves,  where,  now  together  and 
now  alternately,  Ilussiaus  and  French  were  in  the  fore,  crowded 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  267 

Irith  soldiers,  dead  and  wounded,  panic-stricken  or  frenzied^ 
was  it  impossible  to  make  out  what  was  going  on  in  that  place. 

For  several  hours,  amid  the  incessant  firing  of  musketry 
and  cannon,  now  the  Eussians  appeared  in  the  ascendant,  and 
now  the  French ;  now  the  infantry,  and  now  the  cavalry ; 
they  showed  themselves,  they  fell,  they  fired,  they  struggled 
hand  to  hand ;  not  knowing  what  they  were  doing  to  each 
other,  they  shouted  and  they  retreated. 

Napoleon's  aides  and  his  marshals'  orderlies  kept  galloping 
up  from  the  battle-field  with  reports  as  to  the  progress  of 
affairs  \  but  all  these  reports  were  false  for  the  reason  that, 
in  the  heat  of  the  engagement,  it  was  impossible  to  say  what 
was  taking  place  at  a  given  moment,  and  for  the  reason  that 
many  of  the  aides  did  not  reach  the  actual  place  of  conflict, 
but  reported  what  they  had  heard  from  others ;  and  again  for 
the  reason  that,  while  any  aide  was  traversing  the  two  or 
three  versts  which  separated  his  starting-point  from  Napo- 
leon, circumstances  must  have  changed,  and  the  tidings  have 
become  false. 

Thus  the  viceroy  sent  an  aide  post-haste  with  the  tidings 
that  Borodino  had  been  captured  and  the  bridge  over  the 
Kalotcha  was  in  the  hands  of  the  French.  The  aide  asked 
Napoleon  whether  he  would  command  the  troops  to  make  a 
flank  movement. 

Napoleon  commanded  them  to  be  drawn  up  into  line  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  and  to  wait,  but  at  the  time  when 
Napoleon  issued  this  command — nay  more,  even  before  the 
aide  had  fairly  left  Borodino  —  the  bridge  was  recaptured  and 
burned  by  the  Russians,  —  in  fact,  during  that  very  skirmish 
in  which  Pierre  had  participated  at  the  beginning  of  the 
battle. 

Another  aide,  galloping  up  from  the  fleches  with  frightened 
face,  reported  to  Napoleon  that  the  charge  had  been  repulsed, 
and  that  Campan  was  wounded  and  Davoust  killed;  but,  in 
wality,  the  fleches  had  been  recaptured  by  another  division 
of  the  troops  at  the  very  moment  that  the  aide  was  told  that 
the  French  were  defeated,  and  Davoust  was  alive  and  only 
slightly  contused. 

Drawing  his  own  conclusions  from  such  unavoidably  false 
^^ports.  Napoleon  made  his  dispositions,  which  either  were 
J^ady  fulfilled  before  he  had  made  them,  or  else  could  not 
oe,  and  never  were,  fulfilled. 

The  marshals  and  generals,  who  were  at  closer  touch  with 
™  battle-field,  but  who,  nevertheless,  just  like  Napoleon^  did 
VOL.3.  — 17. 


258  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

not  actually  take  part  in  the  battle  itself,  and  only  raiely 
came  actually  under  lire,  did  not  ask  Napoleon,  but  made 
their  dispositions,  and  gave  their  orders  as  to  where  and 
whence  to  fire,  and  when  to  have  the  cavalry  charge  and 
the  infantry  take  to  the  double-quick. 

But  even  their  dispositions,  exactly  like  Kapoleon's,  were 
only  in  small  measure  and  rarely  carried  out.  For  the  most 
part,  exactly  the  opposite  happened  to  what  they  enjoined. 
Soldiers  commanded  to  advance  would  fall  under  a  fire  of 
grape  and  retreat ;  soldiers  commanded  to  hold  their  grou&d, 
suddenly  seeing  an  unexpected  body  of  Russians  coming  down 
upon  them,  would  sometimes  rush  on  to  meet  them,  and  the 
cavalry  without  orders  would  gallop  off  to  cut  down  the  fleeing 
Russians. 

Thus  two  regiments  of  cavalry  dashed  down  through  the 
ravine  of  Semenovskoye,  and  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  hill- 
top they  faced  about  and  galloped  back  at  breakneck  speed. 

In  the  same  way,  the  infantry  soldiers  oftentimes  went  fly- 
ing about  in  entirely  different  directions  from  what  they 
were  ordered  to  go. 

All  dispositions  as  to  where  and  when  cannon  were  to  be 
unlimbered,  when  the  infantry  were  to  be  sent  forward,  when 
to  lire,  when  the  cavalry  were  to  hammer  down  the  Russian 
infantry,  —  all  these  dispositions  were  made  on  their  own 
responsibility  by  the  subordinate  heads  who  were  close  at 
hand,  in  the  ranks,  and  they  did  not  stop  to  consult  either 
with  Ney  or  Davoust  or  Murat,  and  certainly  not  with  Napo- 
leon. They  had  no  fear  of  their  commands  not  being  carried 
out,  or  of  issuing  arbitrary  orders,  because  in  a  battle  the 
issue  at  stake  is  man's  most  precious  possession  —  his  own 
life,  and  often  it  seems  that  his  safety  lies  in  retreating,  often 
in  advancing  at  the  double-quick,  and  on  the  issue  of  a 
moment  these  men  must  act  who  are  found  in  the  very  tiilck 
of  the  battle. 

In  reality,  all  these  movements  back  and  forth  did  not 
relieve  and  did  not  change  the  positions  of  the  troops.  All 
their  collisions  and  charges,  one  against  the  other,  produced 
very  little  injury,  but  the  injuries,  the  deaths,  and  the  mutilar 
tions  were  brought  by  the  projectiles  and  shots  which  were 
flying  in  all  directions  over  that  space  where  these  men  were 
pelting  each  other.  As  soon  as  these  men  left  that  space 
where  the  shot  and  shell  were  flying,  then  immediately  their 
nachalniks,  stationed  in  the  rear,  would  bring  them  into  order 
again,  subject  them  to  discipline,  and,  under  the  influence  of 


WAk  AltD  PEACE.  259 

this  discipline,  lead  them  back  to  the  domain  of  the  proiec- 
tiles,  where  again  under  the  influence  of  the  fear  of  death  tney 
vould  lose  their  discipline  and  become  subject  to  whatever 
disposition  was  paramount  in  the  throng. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Kapoleon's  generals, — Davoust,  Ney,  and  Murat, — finding 
themselves  near  to  this  domain  of  fire,  and  sometimes  even 
riding  up  into  it,  more  than  once  led  into  this  domain  of  fire 
enormous  and  well-ordered  masses  of  troops.  But,  contrary 
to  what  had  invariably  happened  in  all  their  former  engage- 
ments, instead  of  the  expected  report  that  the  enemy  were 
fleeing,  these  well-ordered  masses  of  troops  returned  thence 
in  disorderly,  panic-stricken  throngs. 

Then  again  they  would  collect  them,  but  each  time  in 
diminished  numbers.  In  the  afternoon  Murat  sent  his  aide 
to  Napoleon  for  re-enforcements. 

Napoleon  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  mound,  drinking 
punch,  when  Murat^s  aide-de-camp  came  galloping  up  with  the 
report  that  the  Russians  would  be  defeated  if  his  majesty 
would  send  one  more  division. 

"Re-enforcements?"  exclaimed  Napoleon,  in  grim  amaze- 
ment, as  though  not  realizing  the  meaning  of  his  words,  and 
looking  at  the  handsome  young  aide,  who  wore  his  dark  hair  in 
long  curls  just  as  Murat  wore  his.  "  Re-enforcements ! "  mut- 
tered Napoleon.  "How  can  they  ask  for  re-enforcements 
when  they  already  have  in  their  hands  half  of  the  army  to 
throw  against  the  weak,  unfortified  Russian  fiank  !  Tell  the 
King  of  Naples,"  said  Napoleon,  sternly,  "tell  the  King  of 
Naples  that  it  is  not  noon,  and  that  I  do  not  yet  see  clearly 
on  my  chess-board.  —  Go ! "  * 

The  handsome  young  aide-de-camp  with  the  long  hair,  not 
removing  his  hand  from  his  hat,  drew  a  heavy  sigh  and  gal- 
loped back  again  to  the  place  where  they  were  slaughtering 
men. 

Napoleon  got  up,  and,  calling  Caulaincourt  and  Berthier, 
began  to  discuss  with  them  concerning  matters  that  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  battle. 

In  the  midst  of  this  conversation  which  began  to  engross 
Napoleon,  Berthier's  eyes  were  attracted  to  a  general  with 

*  Ditu  Qu  roi  de  Naples  qu*il  n'est  pas  midi  et  que  Je  ne  vois  pas  encore 
«air  sur  mon  echiquier.  —  Allez  ! 


260  ^^^R  ^^^  PEACE. 

his  suite  who  came  galloping  up  to  the  kurgin  on  a  swea;^ 
horse. 

This  was  Belliard.  Throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  he 
approached  the  emperor  with  swift  strides,  and  boldly,  in  a 
loud  voice,  began  to  show  forth  the  imperative  necessity  of 
re-enforcements. 

He  swore  on  his  honor  that  the  Russians  were  beaten  if 
the  emperor  would  only  give  them  one  division  more. 

Kapoleon  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  without  making  any 
reply,  proceeded  with  his  promenade.  Belliard  beg^an  to  talk 
loud  and  earnestly  with  the  generals  of  the  suite  gathered 
round  him. 

"  You  are  very  hot-headed,  Belliard,"  exclaimed  Napoleon, 
again  approaching  the  general.  '^  It  is  easy  to  make  a  mis- 
take in  the  thick  of  battle.  Go  back  and  look  again  and  then 
return  to  me." 

Hardly  had  Belliard  time  to  disapi>ear  from  sight  when, 
from  the  other  side,  a  new  messenger  came  hastening  up  from 
the  battle-field.  "  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Napoleon,  in 
the  tone  of  a  man  annoyed  by  importunate  difficulties. 

"  Sire,  le  prince  "  —  began  the  aide-de-camp. 

"  Wants  re-enforcements  ?  "  said  Napoleon,  with  a  furious 
gesture,  taking  the  words  out  of  his  mouth.  The  aide-de- 
camp bowed  his  head  affirmatively,  and  began  to  make  his 
report ;  but  the  emperor  turned  away,  took  a  couple  of  steps, 
paused,  turned  back,  and  addressed  Berthier. 

"  We  must  give  them  the  reserves,"  said  he,  slightly  throw- 
ing open  his  hands.  "  Which  shall  we  send,  think  you,"  he 
asked,  addressing  Berthier,  '^  that  gosling  which  I  made  into 
an  eagle  —  oison  que  fai  fait  aigle?'*  —  as  he  was  of  late  in 
the  habit  of  expressing  it. 

"  Sire,  send  Claparede's  division,"  suggested  Berthier,  who 
knew  by  heart  every  division,  regiment,  and  battalion. 

Napoleon  nodded  approval. 

The  aide-de-camp  dashed  off  to  Cla4)arMe's  division,  and, 
within  a  few  minutes,  the  Young  Guard,  who  were  drawn  up 
back  of  the  kurgdn,  were  on  the  way.  Napoleon  looked  on  in 
silence  at  this  movement. 

"No,"  he  cried,  suddenly  turning  to  Berthier,  "I  cannot 
send  Claparede.     Send  Friant's  division,"  said  he. 

Although  there  was  no  choice  whereby  it  was  better  to  send 
Friant's  division  rather  than  Claparede's,  and  the  delay  of 
recalling  Claparede  and  sending  Friant  was  even  on  its  face 
disadvantageous,  still  this  order  was  carried  out  to  the  letter. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  261 

Napoleon  did  not  see  that  in  thus  treating  his  forces  he  was 
playing  the  part  of  a  doctor  who  by  his  very  remedies  hinders 
recovery  —  a  part  which  he  thoroughly  appreciated  and  criti-> 
.cised. 

Friant's  division,  like  the  others,  also  vanished  in  the  smoke 
that  hung  over  the  battle-field.  From  all  sides  aides  kept  gal- 
loping up  with  reports,  and  all,  as  though  from  previous  agree- 
ment, had  one  and  the  same  story  to  tell.  All  demanded 
Te-enfoTcements,  all  declared  that  the  Russians  were  holding 
desperately  to  their  positions  and  that  they  were  returning  an 
infernal  fire — un  feu  (Tenfer — under  which  the  French  troops 
were  fairly  melting  away. 
Napoleon,  in  deep  thought,  sat  down  on  a  camp-chair. 
M.  de  Beausset,  who  was  so  fond  of  travelling,  and  had  been 
&sting  since  early  morning,  came  up  to  the  emperor,  and  per- 
mitted himself  the  boldness  of  respectfully  proposing  to  his 
majesty  to  eat  some  breakfast. 

'^I  hope  that  I  am  not  premature  in  congratulating  your 
majesty  on  a  victory,"  said  he. 

Napoleon  silently  shook  his  head.  M.  de  Beausset,  taking 
it  for  granted  that  this  negation  was  a  disclaimer  of  victory 
and  did  not  refer  to  breakfast,  permitted  himself  in  a  play- 
fully respectful  manner  to  remark  that  there  was  no  reason  on 
earth  why  they  should  not  have  some  breakfast  when  they 
could  have  some. 

"  Allez  vous  "  —  suddenlv  cried  Napoleon  gruffly,  and  turned 
his  back  on  him.  A  beatific  smile  of  pity,  regret,  and  enthu- 
Hiasm  irradiated  M.  Beausset's  face,  and  with  a  swaggering 
step  he  rejoined  the  other  generals. 

Napoleon  was  under  the  sway  of  a  gloomy  feeling  like  that 
experienced  by  a  universally  fortunate  gamester,  who  has 
senselessly  staked  his  money  because  he  was  always  sure  of 
"  vinning,  and  suddenly,  just  at  the  time  when  he  has  calcu- 
lated all  the  chances  of  the  game,  is  brought  to  the  knowledge 
that  the  more  he  puzzles  over  its  course,  the  more  surely  he  is 
losing. 

The  troops  were  the  same,  the  generals  the  same,  the  prep- 
arations were  the  same,  the  same  dispositions,  the  same  pro- 
damation  ctmrte  et  energique;  he  himself  was  the  same,  —  he 
knew  it;  he  knew  that  he  was  vastly  better  in  experience  and 
skill  than  he  had  ever  been  before  ;  even  the  enemy  were  the 
same  as  at  Austerlitz  and  Friedland,  but  the  terrible,  crushing 
Wow  of  the  hand  fell  powwless  as  though  magic  interfered. 
All  those  former    measures  which  had    been   invariably 


262  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

crowned  with  success  —  the  concentration  of  all  the  batteries 
on  one  spot,  and  the  attack  of  the  reserves  for  crushing  the 
lines,  and  the  charge  of  the  cavalry — ses  fiommes  defery  — all 
these  measures  were  employed,  and  not  only  there  ^vras  no 
victory,  but  from  all  sides  the  same  stories  about  g^enerals 
killed  and  wounded,  about  the  necessity  of  re-^nfoicements, 
about  the  impossibility  of  defeating  the  Russians,  and  about 
the  demoralization  of  the  troops. 

Hithei-to,  after  two  or  three  moves,  two  or  three  hasty  or- 
ders, marshals  and  aides-de*camp  would  come  galloping  up 
with  congratulations  and  joyous  faces,  annouucing  whole  corps 
of  prisoners  as  trophies,  des  faisceaux  de  drapeaiix  et  cTaigles 
ennemis  —  sheaves  of  standards  and  eagles  taken  from  the  foe 
—  and  cannon,  and  provision  trains;  and  Murat  would  only 
ask  for  permission  to  let  the  cavalry  set  forth  to  gather  in  the 
booty.  This  was  the  case  at  Lodi,  Marengo,  Arcole,  Jena, 
Austerlitz,  Wagram,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  But  now^  some- 
thing strange  had  happened  to  his  warriors ! 

Notwithstanding  the  report  that  the  Heches  had  been  cap- 
tured, Napoleon  saw  that  this  success  was  different,  entirely 
different  from  what  had  been  the  case  in  all  his  other  battles. 
He  saw  that  the  feeling  which  he  experienced  was  also  expe- 
rienced by  all  the  men  around  him,  who  were  familiar  with 
military  affairs.  All  faces  were  gloomy,  all  eyes  were  averted. 
Beausset  alone  failed  to  understand  the  significance  of  w^hat 
was  happening. 

Napoleon,  after  his  long  experience  of  war,  well  knew  what 
it  meant  that,  after  eight  hours'  steady  fighting,  after  the  ex- 
penditure of  such  efforts,  victory  had  not  crowned  the  attack 
ing  columns.  He  knew  that  it  was  almost  a  defeat,  and  that 
the  slightest  mischance  might  now,  at  this  critical  point  on 
which  the  battle  was  balancing,  ruin  him  and  his  army. 

When  he  passed  in  review  all  this  strange  Russian  cam- 
paign, in  which  not  one  victory  had  been  won, — in  which,  for 
two  months,  not  a  standard,  not  a  cannon,  not  a  squad  of  men 
had  been  captured ;  when  he  looked  at  the  openly  dejected 
faces  of  those  around  him,  and  heard  the  reports  that  the 
Eussians  still  stood  their  ground,  —  a  teiTible  feeling,  like  that 
experienced  in  nightmares,  seized  him,  and  all  the  unfor> 
tunate  circumstances  that  might  ruin  him  came  into  his  mind. 

The  Russians  might  fall  upon  his  left  wing,  might  break 
through  his  centre,  a  wanton  projectile  might  even  kill  him- 
self  I  All  this  was  possible.  In  his  previous  battles,  he  con- 
sidered only  the  chances  of  success ;  now,  an  infinite  number 


\ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  26S 

of  possible  mischances  rose  up  before  him,  and  he  expected 
them  all.  Yes,  this  was  just  as  in  a  dream,  when  a  man  imagines 
that  a  murderer  is  attacking  him,  and  the  man,  in  his  dream, 
brandishes  his  arms,  and  strikes  his  assailant  with  that  tre- 
mendous force  which  he  knows  must  annihilate  him,  and  then 
feels  that  his  arm  falls  weak  and  limp  as  a  rag,  and  the  hor- 
ror of  inevitable  destruction^  because  h»  is  helpless,  seizes 
him. 

The  report  that  the  Kussians  were  really  charging  the  left 
ilank  of  the  French  army  awoke  in  Napoleon  this  horror. 
He  sat  in  silence  at  the  foot  of  the  mound,  on  his  camp-chair, 
with  his  head  bent,  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  Berthier 
came  to  him,  and  proposed  to  him  to  ride  around  the  line,  so 
as  to  assure  himself  how  affairs  really  stood. 

"  What  ?  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Napoleon.  "  Yes, 
have  my  horse  brought." 

He  mounted,  and  rode  toward  Semenovskoye.  In  the 
slowly  dissipating  gunpowder  smoke  that  spread  all  over  this 
space  where  Napoleon  was  riding,  in  the  pools  of  blood  lay 
horses  and  men,  singly  and  in  heaps.  Such  a  horror,  such  a 
collection  of  slaughtered  men,  neither  Napoleon  nor  any  of  his 
generals  had  ever  seen  on  so  small  a  space.  The  thunder  of 
the  cannon,  which  had  not  ceased  rolling  for  ten  hours,  and 
had  become  a  torment  to  the  ear,  gave  a  peculiar  significance 
to  this  spectacle  (like  music  to  tableaiix-invants). 

Napoleon  rode  to  the  height  over  Semenovskoye,  and 
through  the  smoke  he  could  see  ranks  of  men  in  uniforms 
whose  colors  were  unfamiliar  to  his  eyes.  They  were  the 
Kussians. 

The  Kussians,  in  dense  rows,  were  posted  behind  Semenov- 
skoye and  the  kurgan,  and  their  cannon,  all  along  the  line, 
were  incessantly  roaring,  and  filling  the  air  with  smoke.  This 
was  not  a  battle.  It  was  wholesale  butchery,  incapable  of 
bringing  any  advantage  to  either  the  Russians  or  the  French. 
Napoleon  reined  in  his  horse,  and  again  fell  into  that 
•brown  study  from  which  Berthier  had  aroused  him.  He 
could  not  put  an  end  to  this  affair  which  was  going  on  in 
front  of  him  and  around  him,  and  which  seemed  to  have  been 
regulated  by  him,  and  to  have  been  contingent  upon  his  fiat ; 
and  this  affair,  in  consequence  of  this  his  first  failure,  for  the 
first  time,  made  him  realize  all  its  uselessness  and  horror. 

One  of  the  generals  who  came  galloping  up  to  Napoleon 
permitted  himself  to  propose  that  the  Old  Guard  should  be 
sent  into  the  battle.     Ney  and  Berthier,  who  were  standing 


264  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

near  Napoleon,  exchanged  glances,  and  smiled  scomfullj  al 
this  general's  senseless  proposal. 

Napoleon  let  his  head  sink  on  his  breast,  and  was  long 
silent. 

"^  huit  cent  lieux  de  France,  je  ne  ferai  pas  dimolir  ma 
garde  !  —  We  are  eight  hundred  leagues  from  Prance,  and  I 
will  not  have  my  ^uard  destroyed ! "  said  he ;  and,  turning 
his  horse,  he  rode  back  to  Shevardino. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

KuTuzoF,  with  his  gray  head  sunk  down,  and  his  heavy 
body  sprawled  out  on  a  rug-covered  bench,  was  sitting  in  the 
same  place  where  Pierre  had  seen  him  that  morning.  He 
gave  no  definite  orders,  but  merely  approved  or  disapproved 
of  what  was  reported  to  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  do  so,"  he  would  answer  to  the  various  sugges- 
tions. "Yes,  yes,  go,  my  dear,  go  and  see!"  he  would  say 
to  this  one  or  that  of  those  near  him ;  or,  "  No,  it  is  not 
necessary,  we  would  better  wait,"  he  would  say.  He  would 
listen  to  the  reports  brought  to  him,  give  his  commands 
when  this  was  considered  necessary  by  his  subordinates ;  but 
even  while  he  was  listening  to  what  was  said  to  him,  he  was 
apparently  not  interested  in  the  sense  of  the  words  so  much 
as  in  the  expression  of  the  faces,  in  the  tone  of  voice  of  those 
who  brought  the  reports.  Long  experience  in  war  had  taught 
him,  and  his  vears  of  discretion  had  made  him  realize,  that  it 
was  impossible  for  one  man  to  direct  a  hundred  thousand  men 
engaged  in  a  death  struggle,  and  he  knew  that  the  issue  of  a 
battle  is  determined  not  by  the  plans  of  the  commander-in- 
chief,  not  by  the  place  where  the  troops  are  stationed,  not  by 
the  number  of  the  cannon  or  the  multitude  of  the  slain,  but 
by  that  imponderable  force  called  the  spirit  of  the  army ; 
and  he  made  use  of  this  force,  and  directed  it,  so  far  as  it  was 
in  his  power. 

The  general  expression  of  KutuzoPs  face  was  one  of  con- 
centrated attention  and  energy,  scarcely  able  to  overcome  the 
weariness  of  his  old  and  feeble  frame. 

At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  was  informed  that  the- 
fleches  captured  by  the  French  had  been  retaken,  but  that 
Prince  Bagration  was  wounded.  Kutuzof  groaned,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  Gk)  to  Prince  Piotr  Ivanovitch,  and  learn  the  particulars, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  266 

what  and  how/'  said  he  to  one  of  his  adjutants ;  and  immedi- 
ately after  he  turned  to  the  Prince  of  Wttrttemberg,  who  was 
standing  just  back  of  him. 

'<  Would  not  your  highness  take  command  of  the  first 
division  ?  " 

Soon  after  the  prince's  departure,  so  soon,  in  fact,  that  he 
could  not  have  reached  Semenovskoye,  the  prince's  aide  came 
back,  and  informed  his  serene  highness  that  the  prince  wished 
more  troops. 

Kutuzof  frowned,  and  sent  word  to  Dokhturof  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  first  division,  and  begged  the  prince  to  return  to 
him,  as,  so  he  said,  he  could  not  do  without  him  at  this 
important  crisis. 

When  the  report  was  brought  that  Murat  was  taken  pris- 
oner, and  the  staff  hastened  to  congratulate  Kutuzof,  he 
smiled.  ^ 

"  Wait,  gentlemen,"  said  he.  "  There  is  nothing  extraordi- 
nary in  the  victory  being  won,  and  Murat  being  a  prisoner. 
But  it  is  best  to  postpone  our  elation."  Nevertheless,  he  sent 
one  of  his  adjutants  to  ride  along  the  lines,  and  announce  this 
news  to  the  troops. 

When  Shcherbinin  came  spurring  up  from  the  left  flank  to 
leport  that  the  French  had  captured  the  Heches  and  Seme- 
novskoye,  Kutuzof,  judging  from  the  sounds  on  the  battle-field 
and  by  Shcherbinin's  face  that  he  was  bringing  bad  news,  got 
up,  as  though  to  stretch  his  legs,  and,  taking  Shcherbinin  by 
the  arm,  he  led  him  to  one  side. 

"Go,  my  dear,"*  said  he  to  Yermolof,  "go  and  see  if  it  is 
impossible  to  do  anything." 

Kutuzof  was  at  Gorki,  the  centre  of  the  position  of  the 
Kussian  troops.  The  assaults  on  our  left  flank,  directed  by 
Napoleon,  had  been  several  times  repulsed.  At  the  centre  the 
French  liad  not  pushed  beyond  Borodino.  On  the  right 
Uvarof  s  cavalry  had  put  the  French  to  flight. 

At  three  o'clock  the  French  attack  began  to  slacken  in  vio- 
lence. On  the  faces  of  all  who  came  from  the  battle-field  and 
of  all  who  stood  around  him,  Kutuzof  read  an  expression  of 
the  most  intense  excitement.  Kutuzof  was  satisfied  with  the 
success  of  the  day,  which  surpassed  his  expectations.  But  the 
old  man's  physical  strength  began  to  desert  him.  Several 
times  his  head  sank  forward,  as  though  out  of  his  control,  and 
^^  dozed.  Something  to  eat  was  brought  to  him. 
^^gel-adjutant  Woltzogen,  the  one  who,  as  he  rode  past 

*  Qolvhchik, 


266  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Prince  Andrei,  had  declared  that  the  war  must  spread  into  the 
country  —  im  Raum  verlegen,  —  and  whom  Bagration  so  de- 
«  tested,  came  riding  up  wliile  Kutuzof  was  eating  his  dinner. 
Woltzogen  came  from  Barclay  with  a  report  as  to  the  course 
of  affairs  on  the  left  wing.  The  prudent  Barclay  de  Tolly 
seeing  the  throngs  of  wounded  hastening  to  the  rear,  and  the 
ragged  ranks  of  the  army,  and  taking  all  circumstances  into 
consideration,  decided  that  the  battle  was  lost,  and  sent  his 
favorite  with  this  news  to  the  general-in-chief. 

Kutuzof  laboriously  mumbled  a  piece  of  roasted  chicken  and 
gazed  at  Woltzogen  with  squinting,  jocose  eyes. 

Woltzogen,  stretching  his  legs  negligently,  with  a  half-soom- 
ful  smile  on  his  lips,  came  to  Kutuzof,  barely  lifting  his  hand 
to  his  visor.  He  behaved  to  his  serene  highness  with  a  cer- 
tain affectation  of  indifference,  which  was  intended  to  show 
that  he,  as  a  highly  cultured  military  man,  permitted  the 
Bussians  to  make  an  idol  of  this  good-for-nothing  old  man, 
but  that  he  knew  with  whom  he  was  dealing.  "  Der  alte  Herr  " 
—  "the  old  gentleman,"  as  Kutuzof  was  called  by  the  Ger- 
mans in  his  circle  —  *^macht  sich  ganz  hequem — is  taking 
things  very  easy,"  said  Woltzogen  to  himself,  and,  casting  a 
stern  glance  at  the  platter  placed  in  front  of  Kutuzof,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  report  to  the  old  gentleman  the  position  of  affairs 
on  the  left  flank,  as  Barclay  had  told  him  to  do,  and  as  he 
himself  had  seen  and  understood  them. 

"  All  the  points  of  our  position  are  in  the  enemy's  hands, 
and  we  cannot  regain  them,  because  we  have  no  troops ;  they 
are  in  full  retreat,  and  there  is  no  possibility  of  stopping  them," 
was  his  report. 

Kutuzof,  ceasing  to  chew,  stared  at  Woltzogen  in  amaze- 
ment, as  though  not  comprehending  what  was  said  to  him. 

Woltzogen,  observing  the  alter  Hernia  excitement,  said,  ivith 
a  smile,  —  "I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  right  to  conceal  from 
your  serene  highness  what  I  have  been  witnessing.  The 
troops  are  wholly  demoralized  "  — 

"  You  have  seen  it  ?  You  have  seen  it  ?  "  screamed  Ku- 
tuzof, scowling,  and  leaping  to  his  feet,  and  swiftly  approach- 
ing Woltzogen.  "  How  —  how  dare  you  ?  "  —  and  he  made  a 
threatening  gesture  with  his  palsied  hands,  and,  choking,  he 
cried  :  "  How  dare  you,  dear  sir,  say  this  to  me  ?  You  know 
nothing  about  it.  Tell  General  Barclay  from  me  that  his  ob- 
servations are  false,  and  that  the  actual  course  of  the  battle  is 
better  known  to  me,  the  commander-in-chief,  than  it  is  to 
him ! "  Woltzogen  was  about  to  make  some  remark|  but 
Xutuzof  cut  him  short :  — 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  267 

"  Hie  enemy  are  beaten  on  the  left  and  crushed  on  the  right 
If  you  saw  things  wrong,  my  dear  sir,  still  you  should  not 
permit  yourself  to  say  what  you  know  nothing  about.  Be 
good  enough  to  go  to  General  Barclay  and  tell  him  that  it  is 
my  absolute  intention  to  attack  the  enemy  to-morrow/'  said 
Kutuzof  sternly. 

All  was  silent,  and  all  that  could  be  heard  was  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  excited  old  general. 

'^  They  are  beaten  all  along  the  line,  thank  God  and  the 
gallantry  of  the  Russian  army  for  that !  The  enemy  are 
crushed,  and  to-morrow  we  will  drive  them  from  the  sacred 
soil  of  Russia,"  said  Kutuzof,  crossing  himself,  and  suddenly 
the  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes  and  he  sobbed. 

Woltzogen,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  pursing  his  lips, 
silently  went  to  one  side,  expressing  his  amazement  at  the  old 
gentleman's  conceited  stubbornness  —  uber  diese  Eingenort^ 
menheit  des  alten  Herrn* 

"  Ah,  here  comes  my  hero,"  exclaimed  Kutuzof,  to  a  stal- 
wart, handsome,  dark-haired  general,  who  at  this  moment  ap- 
proached the  kurgan. 

This  was  Rayevsky,  who  had  been  all  that  day  at  the  criti- 
cal point  of  the  field  of  Borodino. 

Rayevsky  reported  that  the  troops  were  unmoved  in  their 
positions,  and  tnat  the  French  did  not  dare  to  attack  them  any 
more. 

On  hearing  this,  Kutuzof  said  in  French,  —  "  Then  you  do 

not  think,  cbs  some  others  do,  that  we  are  forced  to  withdraw  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  your  highness,  in   drawn  battles  it  is 

always  the  stubbomest  who  can  be  called  victorious,"  replied 

Rayevsky,  —  "  and  my  opinion  "  —  * 

"  Kaisarof ! "  cried  Kutuzof,  summoning  his  adjutant.  "  Sit 
down  and  write  an  order  for  to-morrow.  And  you  "  —  he  said, 
addressing  another,  **  hasten  down  the  lines  and  have  them 
understand  that  we  attack  to-morrow." 

While  Kutuzof  was  talking  with  Rayevsky  and  dictating 
Ids  order  of  the  day,  Woltzogen  came  back  from  Barclay  and 
announced  that  General  Barclay  de  Tolly  would  like  a  written 
eonfirmation  of  the  order  which  the  field-marshal  had  delivered 
to  him. 

Kutuzof,  not  looking  at  Woltzogen,  commanded  this  order 
to  be  written,  which  the  former  commander-in-chief  desired  to 

*  "  Vov»nepenMez  pas  done  comme  les  autres  que  nous  sommes  obliges  de 
'WW*  rettrerf'*^—  **  Au  corUraire,  voire  altesse,  dans  les  affaires  ind^cUes,  (^est 
^vjours  leplus  opinidtre  qui  reste  victorieux  —  et  mon  opinion  "  — 


268  l^^iJ  AND  PEACE. 

hare  since  it  completelj  relieved  him  of  personal  responsi- 
bility. 

And  by  that  intangible,  mysterious  connection  which  pie- 
serves  throughout  a  whole  army  one  and  the  same  disposition, 
the  so-called  esprit  du  corps,  and  constitutes  the  chief  sinew  of 
an  army,  Kutuzof s  words  and  his  order  for  renewing  the 
battle  on  the  following  day  were  koown  simidtaneously  from 
one  end  of  the  force  to  the  other. 

The  exact  words  or  the  absolute  form  of  the  order  were  not 
indeed  carried  to  the  utmost  limits  of  this  organization  ;  in 
the  stories  which  were  repeated  in  the  widely  separated  ends 
of  the  lines  there  was  very  likely  nothing  like  what  Kutuzof 
really  said;  but  the  gist  of  his  words  was  conveyed  every- 
where, for  the  reason  that  what  Kutuzof  said  sprang  not  from 
logical  reasoning,  but  was  the  genuine  outcome  of  the  senti- 
ment  that  was  in  the  heart  of  the  commander-in-ehief,  find- 
ing a  response  in  the  heart  of  every  Russian. 

And  when  they  knew  that  on  the  next  day  they  were  going 
to  attack  the  enemy,  and  heard  from  the  upper  circles  of  the 
army  the  confirmation  of  what  they  wished  to  believe,  these 
men,  tortured  by  doubt,  were  comforted  and  encouraged. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Prince  Andrei's  regiment  was  among  the  reserves,  which 
had  been  stationed  until  two  o'clock  behind  Semenovskoye, 
doing  nothing  under  the  severe  fire  of  the  artillery.  At  two 
o'clock,  the  regiment,  which  had  already  lost  more  than  two 
hundred  men,  was  moved  forward  upon  the  trampled  field  of 
oats,  on  that  space  between  Semenovskoye  and  the  '^Koigan  " 
battery,  whereon  thousands  of  men  were  killed  that  day,  and 
toward  which  was  now  concentrated  a  tremendous  fire,  from 
several  hundreds  of  the  enemy's  guns. 

Without  stirring  from  that  spot,  and  not  themselves  reply- 
ing with  a  single  shot,  the  regiment  lost  here  two-thirds  of  its 
effective.  In  front  and  especially  at  the  right-hand  side, 
amid  the  perpetual  smoke,  the  cannons  were  booming,*  and 
from  that  mysterious  domain  of  smoke  which  shrouded  all 
the  space  in  front  constantly  flew  the  hissing  and  swiftly 
screaming  projectiles,  and  the  more  deliberately  sputtering 
shells.  Sometimes,  as  though  to  give  a  respite,  a  quarter-hour 
would  pass  during  which  all  the  shot  and  shells  would  fly 

*  BubukhcUi. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  269 

overhead,  but  then,  again,  several  men  would  be  struck  down 
in  the  course  of  a  moment,  and  they  were  constantly  engaged 
in  dragging  the  dead  to  one  side,  and  carrying  the  wounded 
to  the  rear. 

With  each  new  casualty  the  chances  of  life  were  diminished 
for  those  who  were  as  yet  unscathed.  The  regiment  was 
posted  in  battalion  columns  at  intervals  of  three  hundred  paces, 
but,  nevertheless,  all  the  men  were  swayed  by  one  and  the 
same  impidse.  All  the  men  of  the  regiment  were  without 
exception  silent  and  melancholy.  Once  in  a  while  a  few 
wordis  were  spoken  in  the  ranks,  but  this  conversation  was 
always  abruptly  cut  short  each  time  when  the  thud  of  the 
falling  missile  was  heard,  and  the  cry  of  "  Stretchers ! " 

The  larger  part  of  the  time,  the  men  of  the  regiment,  by 
their  chief's  orders,  lay  low  on  the  ground.  One  man,  having 
taken  off  his  shako,  was  assiduously  untying  and  again  tying 
up  the  strings ;  another,  with  dry  clay  fashioned  into  a  ball 
in  his  palms,  was  polishing  up  his  bayonet ;  another  had  taken 
off  the  strap  and  was  buckling  his  bandolier ;  still  another  was 
carefully  untwisting  his  leg-wrappers  and  tying  them  on 
again,  and  changing  his  shoes. 

Some  dug  sheltera  out  of  the  ploughed  land,  or  plaited 
wattles  out  of  the  stubble  straw.  All  seemed  entirely  absorbed 
in  their  occupations.  When  any  of  them  were  killed  or 
wounded,  when  the  litters  were  brought  into  requisition,  when 
onr  men  were  forced  back,  when  the  smoke  opened  a  little 
and  disclosed  great  masses  of  the  enemy,  no. one  paid  any 
attention  to  these  circumstances. 

When,  though,  the  artillery  or  the  cavalry  were  moved  for- 
ward, or  our  infantry  could  be  seen  executing  some  manoeuvre, 
approving  remarks  were  heard  on  all  sides.  But  the  most 
attention  was  excited  by  incidents  entirely  extraneous,  which 
had  absolutely  no  relation  to  the  battle.  It  would  seem  as 
though  the  attention  of  these  morally  exhausted  men  were 
relieved  by  the  contemplation  of  the  events  of  every-day  life. 

A  battery  of  artillery  passed  in  front  of  the  regiment.  The 
off  horse  attached  to  one  of  the  caissons  got  entangled  in  the 
traces. 

"  Hey !  look  out  for  your  off  horse ! " — "  Take  care !  He'll  be 
down ! "  —  "Ekh !  Haven't  they  any  eyes  ?  "  Such  were  the 
remarks  shouted  all  along  the  line. 

Another  time,  general  attention  was  attracted  by  a  small 
cinnamon-colored  puppy  which,  with  its  tail  stiffly  erect,  came 
from  God  knows  where,  and  went  flying  at  a  desperate  pace 
in  front  of  the  ranks,  and,  frightened  by  the  sudden  plunge  of 


270  WAIl  AND  PEACE. 

a  round  shot  which  fell  near  it,  set  up  a  yelp,  and  sprang  to 
one  side  with  its  tail  between  its  legs.  A  roar  of  laughter 
and  shouts  ran  along  the  line. 

But  diversions  of  this  sort  lasted  only  for  a  few  minutes, 
while  the  men  had  been  standing  there  for  more  than  eight 
hours,  without  food,  and  inactive,  under  that  ceaseless  honor  of 
death,  and  their  pallid  and  anxious  faces  grew  ever  more  pallid 
and  more  anxious. 

Prince  Andrei,  like  all  the  other  men  in  his  regiment  anx- 
ious and  pallid,  paced  back  and  forth  along  the  meadow,  next 
the  oat-iield,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  with  his  arms  behind 
his  back,  and  with  bent  head.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to 
do  or  to  order.  Everything  went  like  clockwork.  The  dead 
were  dragged  to  one  side,  away  from  the  front ;  the  wounded 
were  carried  to  the  rear ;  the  ranks  were  closed  up.  If  the 
soldiers  stood  aside,  they  instantly  hastened  back  to  their 
places  again. 

At  first  Prince  Andrei,  considering  it  incumbent  upon  him 
to  encourage  his  men  and  to  set  them  an  example  of  gallantry, 
kept  walking  up  and  down  along  the  ranks ;  but  afterwards 
he  became  convinced  that  they  had  nothing  to  learn  from 
him.  The  whole  energies  of  his  soul,  like  those  of  every  one 
of  the  soldiers,  were  unconsciously  bent  on  avoiding  the  hor- 
rors of  their  situation. 

He  marched  along  the  meadow,  dragging  his  feet,  trampling 
down  the  grass  and  contemplating  the  dust  that  covered  his 
boots ;  then  again  with  long  strides  he  would  try  to  step  from 
ridge  to  ridge  left  by  the  mowers'  scythes  along  the  meadow; 
or,  counting  his  steps,  he  would  calculate  how  many  times  he 
must  go  from  one  boundary  to  the  other  in  order  to  make  a 
verst.  He  would  pluck  up  the  wormwood  growing  on  the 
edge  of  the  field,  and  rub  the  flowers  between  his  palms,  and 
sniff  the  powerful,  penetrating  bitter  of  their  odor. 

Nothing  remained  of  the  fabric  of  thought  which  he  had  so 
painfully  elaborated  the  evening  before.  He  thought  of  noth- 
ing at  all.  He  listened  with  weary  ears  to  that  perpetual  repe- 
tition of  sounds,  distinguishing  tne  whistling  of  the  missiles 
above  the  roar  of  the  musketry.  He  gazed  at  the  indifferent 
faces  of  the  men  in  the  fii-st  battalion,  and  waited. 

"Here  she  comes!  —  That's  one  for  us,"  he  would  say  to 
himself  as  he  caught  the  approaching  screech  of  something 
from  that  hidden  realm  of  smoke.  "  One,  a  second!  Thexe's 
another  I    It  struck  !  " 

He  paused,  and  looked  along  the  ranks*  "  Jf  o,  it  went  orer. 
Ah  1  but  that  one  struck !  '^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  271 

And  once  more  he  would  take  np  his  promenade,  trying  to 
measure  long  steps,  so  as  to  reach  the  boundary  in  sixteen 
strides. 

A  screech,  and  a  thud !  Within  half  a  dozen  steps  from  him 
a  projectile  flung  up  the  dry  soil  and  buried  itself.  An  involun- 
tary chill  ran  down  his  back.  Once  more  he  looked  along  the 
ranks :  evidently  many  had  been  struck  down ;  a  great  crowd 
had  come  together  in  the  second  battalion. 

**Mr.  Adjutant,"  he  cried,  "tell  those  men  not  to  stand  so 
close  together." 

The  adjutant,  having  fulfilled  the  command,  returned  to 
Prince  Andrei.  From  the  other  side  the  battalion  commander 
rode  up  on  horseback. 

*'  Liook  out ! "  cried  a  soldier  in  a  terrified  voice ;  and  like  a 
bird  rustling  in  its  swift  flight  and  settling  earthward,  a  shell 
came  plunging  down,  not  noisily,  within  two  paces  of  Prince 
Andrei,  and  near  the  battalion  commander's  horse. 

The  horse,  not  pausing  to  consider  whether  it  were  well  or 
ill  to  manifest  fear,  snorted,  shied,  and,  almost  unseating  the 
major,  darted  off.  The  horse's  panic  was  shared  by  the  men. 
^Lie  down!"  cried  the  adjutant,  throwing  himself  on  the 
ground. 

Prince  Andrei  stood  undecided.  The  shell,  with  its  fuse 
smoking,  was  spinning  like  a  top  between  him  and  the  adju- 
tant, on  the  very  edge  between  the  ploughed  land  and  the 
meadow,  near  the  clump  of  wormwood. 

"  Can  this  be  death  ?  "  wondered  Prince  Andrei,  casting  a 
fleeting. glance  full  of  a  newly  born  envy  at  the  grass,  the 
wormwood,  and  the  thread  of  smoke  that  escaped  from  the 
whirling  black  ball.  "  I  cannot,  I  will  not  die  5  I  love  life,  I 
love  this  grass,  the  earth,  the  air  "  — 

All  this  flashed  through  his  mind,  and  at  the  same  time  he 
remembered  that  they  were  looking  at  him.  "  For  shame,  Mr. 
Officer ! "  he  started  to  say  to  the  adjutant.     "  Any  "  — 

He  did  not  finish.  There  came  simultaneously  a  crash,  a 
whizzing  of  fragments,  as  of  broken  glass,  a  powerful  odor 
of  gunpowder  smoke,  and  Prince  Andrei  was  struck  in  the 
side,  and,  throwing  his  arms  up,  he  fell  on  his  face. 

Several  officers  hastened  to  him.  From  the  right  side  of 
his  abdomen  a  great  gush  of  blood  stained  the  grass. 

The  infantry  who  acted  as  bearera  came  up  with  their 
stretchers,  and  stood  behind  the  officers.  Prince  Andrei  lay 
with  his  face  buried  in  the  grass,  gasping  painfully, 

f*JS'ow,  then,  why  loiter  ?  come  on  I" 


272  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  muzhiks  came  close  and  lifted  him  by  the  shoulders 
and  legs ;  but  he  groaned  piteously,  and  the  men^  exchangiog 
glances,  laid  him  down  again. 

''Bear  a  hand  there!  Up  with  him!  it's  all  the  same!" 
cried  some  one's  voice.  Once  more  they  took  him  by  the 
shoulders,  and  laid  him  on  the  stretcher. 

"Ah!  my  God!  my  God!  What?"  — "In  the  belly? 
That  finishes  him !  "  —  "  Akh !  Bozhe  mo'i ! "  exclaimed  varioas 
officers. 

"  Na !  a  fragment  whizzed  past  my  ear,"  said  the  adjutant. 

The  muzhiks,  lifting  the  stretcher  to  their  shoulders,  has- 
tily directed  their  steps  along  the  path  that  they  had  already 
worn  toward  the  "  bandaging-point." 

"  Fall  into  step  !  —  Oh !  you  men  ! "  cried  an  officer,  halting 
the  muzhiks,  who  were  walking  out  of  step  and  jolting  the 
stretcher.  "  In  step  there,  can't  you,  Khveodor,  —  now,  then, 
Khveodor !  exclaimed  the  front  muzhik. 

"Now  that's  the  way!"  cheerfully  replied  the  rear  one, 
falling  into  step. 

"  Your  illustriousness  —  prince ! "  said  Timokhin  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  as  he  came  up  and  looked  at  the  stretcher. 

Prince  Andrei  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  out  from  the 
stretcher  in  which  his  head  was  sunken,  and  when  he  saw  who 
spoke,  he  again  shut  them. 

The  militia-men  carried  Prince  Andrei  to  the  forest,  where 
the  wagons  were  sheltered,  and  where  the  field  lazaret  had 
been  established.  This  field  lazaret,  or  bandaging-place,  con* 
sisted  of  three  tents  with  upturned  flaps,  pitched  on  the  edge 
of  the  birch  grove.  Within  the  grove  the  wagons  and  horses 
were  corralled.  The  horses  were  munching  oats  in  haversacks, 
and  the  sparrows  were  pouncing  down  and  carrying  off  the 
scattered  grains  ;  crows,  scenting  blood,  and  impatiently  caw* 
ing,  were  flying  about  over  the  tree-tops. 

Around  the  tents,  occupying  more  than  five  acres  *  of  gitnmd, 
lay,  and  sat,  and  stood,  blood-stained  men  in  various  attire. 

Around  the  wounded  stood  a  throng  of  stretcher-bearers, 
soldiers,  with  sad  but  interested  faces,  whom  the  officers, 
attempting  to  carry  out  orders,  found  it  impossible  to  keep 
away.  Kot  heeding  the  officers,  the  soldiers  stood  leaning  on 
the  stretchers  and  gazed  steadily,  as  though  trying  to  g^nsp 
the  meaning  of  the  terrible  spectacle  before  their  eyes. 

From  the  tents  could  be  heard  loud,  fiei-ce  sobs,  then  pitifol 

*  Two  desyatins;  a  desyatin  is  2.7  acres. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  273 

groans.  Occasionally,  assistants  would  come  hunying  out 
after  water^  and  signify  the  next  ones  who  should  be  attended 
to.  The  wounded  by  the  tents  waited  their  turn,  hoarsely 
crying^  groaning,  weeping,  screaming,  cursing,  clamoring  for 
Todka.     Some  were  delirious* 

Prince  Andrei,  as  regimental  commander,  was  carried  through 
this  throng  of  unbandaged  sufferers,  close  to  one  of  the  tents, 
and  there  his  bearers  waited  for  further  orders.  He  opened 
his  eyes,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  comprehend 
what  was  going  on  around  him.  The  meadow,  the  wormwood, 
the  ploughed  field,  the  black  whirling  ball)  and  that  passionate 
throb  of  love  for  life  occurred  to  his  recollection. 

A  couple  of  paces  distant  from  him,  talking  loudly  and 
attracting  general  attention,  stood  a  tall,  handsome,  non-com- 
missioned officer,  with  a  bandaged  head,  and  leaning  against  a 
dead  treci  He  had  been  wounded  in  the  head  and  leg  with 
bullets.  Around  him,  attracted  by  his  talk,  were  gathered  a 
throng  of  wounded  and  of  stretcher-bearers* 

"  We  gave  it  to  him  so  hot  that  they  dropped  everything ; 
they  even  left  the  king,"  cried  the  soldier,  snapping  his  fiery 
black  eyes  and  glancing  around.  '<  If  only  the  reserves  ha<l 
been  sent  up  just  at  that  time,  I  tell  you,  brother,  there  would 
not  have  been  left  a  show  of  him,  because  I  am  sure  "  — 

Prince  Andrei,  like  all  the  circle  gathered  around  the 
speaker,  gazed  at  him  with  gleaming  eyes,  and  felt  a  sense  of 
consolation.  ^  But  what  difference  does  it  make  to  me  now  ?  '' 
he  asked  himself.  ''  What  is  going  to  happen,  and  what  does  it 
mean  ?  Why  do  I  have  such  regret  in  leaving  life  ?  What 
was  there  in  this  life,  which  I  have  not  understood,  and  which 
I  rtill  fail  to  understand  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Onb  of  the  surgeons,  with  blood-soaked  apron,  and  with  his 
small  hands  covered  with  gore,  holding  a  cigar  between  thumb 
and  little  finger,  so  as  not  to  besmear  it,  came  out  of  the  tent. 
This  doctor  lifted  his  head  and  proceeded  to  look  on  all  sides, 
but  beyond  the  wounded.  He  was  evidently  anxious  to  get  a 
little  rest.  Having  for  some  time  looked  toward  the  right  and 
then  toward  the  left,  he  drew  a  long  sigh  and  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  In  a  moment  now,"  said  he,  in  reply  to  his  feldscher,  who 
called  his  attention  to  Prince  Ajidrei,  and  he  gave  orders  for 
him  to  be  carried  into  the  tent. 
VOL.  3.  — 18. 


274  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  throng  of  wounded  who  had  been  waiting  was  disposed 
to  grumble.  ''In  this  world  it  seems  only  ' gentlemen '  are 
permitted  to  live  ! "  exclaimed  one. 

I'rince  Andrei  was  taken  in  and  deposited  on  a  table  which 
had  only  just  been  vacated.  The  feldscher  was  that  instant 
engaged  in  rinsing  something  from  it.  Prince  Andrei  could 
not  distinctly  make  out  what  there  was  in  the  tent.  The  piti- 
ful groans  on  all  sides,  the  excnlciating  agony  in  his  ribs,  his 
belly,  and  his  back,  distracted  him.  All  that  he  saw  around 
him  was  confused  for  him,  in  one  general  impression  of  naked, 
blood-stained  human  flesh,  filling  all  the  lower  part  of  the 
tent,  just  as  several  weeks  previously,  on  that  hot  August  day, 
the  same  flesh  had  filled  the  filthy  pond  along  the  Smolensk 
highway.  Yes,  this  was  the  same  flesh,  the  same  chair  a  ea$unif 
which  even  then  the  sight  of,  as  though  prophetic  of  what  he 
now  experienced,  had  filled  him  with  hori-or. 

There  were  three  tables  in  this  tent.  Two  were  occupied. 
Prince  Andrei  was  laid  upon  the  third.  He  was  left  to  him- 
self for  some  little  time^  and  he  could  not  help  seeing  what 
was  doing  at  the  other  two  tables.  On  the  one  nearest  lay  a 
Tatar,  —  a  Cossack  to  judge  b^  his  uniform,  which  was  thrown 
down  beside  him.  Four  soldiers  held  him  down.  A  surgeon 
in  spectacles  was  using  his  knife  on  his  cinnamon-colored, 
muscular  back. 

**  Ukh  I  Ukh !  Ukh ! "  —  the  Tatar  grunted  like  a  pig,  and, 
suddenly  turning  up  his  swarthy  face  with  its  wide  cheek- 
bones and  squat  nose,  and  unsheathing  his  white  teeth,  he 
began  to  tug  and  to  struggle,  and  set  up  a  long,  shrill,  pene> 
trating  screech. 

On  the  other  table,  around  which  were  gathered  a  number 
of  people,  a  large,  stout  man  lay  on  his  back,  with  his  head 
thrown  back.  His  streaming  hair,  its  color,  and  the  shape  of 
the  head  seemed  strangely  familiar  to  Prince  Andrei. 

Several  of  .the  assistants  were  leaning  on  this  man's  chest, 
and  holding  him  down.  His  lai^,  stout,  white  leg  was  sub- 
ject to  an  incessant  and  rapid  trembling,  as  though  it  had  the 
ague.  This  man  was  convulsively  sobbing  and  choking.  Two 
surgeons  —  one  was  pale  and  trembling  —  were  silently  doing 
something  to  this  man's  other  handsome  leg. 

Having  finished  with  the  Tatar,  over  whom  they  threw  his 
cloak,  the  spectacled  surgeon,  wiping  his  hands,  came  to  Prince 
Andrei.  He  looked  into  Prince  Andrei's  face,  and  hastily 
turned  away. 

"  Undress  him.  What  are  you  dawdling  for  ? "  he  cried 
severely  to  his  feldschers. 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  275 

l*riiice  Andrei's  very  first  and  most  distant  childhood 
occurred  to  him,  as  the  feldscher,  with  hasty  hands,  began  to 
anbutton  his  clothes  and  remove  them.  The  surgeon  bent 
down  low  over  the  wound,  probed  it,  and  drew  a  heavy  sigh. 
Then  he  made  a  sign  to  some  one. 

The  exquisite  agony  which  Prince  Andrei  felt  within  his 
abdomen  caused  him  to  lose  consciousness. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  the  broken  splinters  of  ribs  were 
removed,  the  torn  clots  of  flesh  cut  away,  and  the  wound  was 
dressed. 

They  were  dashing  water  into  his  face.  As  soon  as  Prince 
Andrei  opened  his  eyes,  the  surgeon  bent  silently  down  to 
him,  kissed  him  in  the  lips,  and  hastened  away. 

After  the  suffering  which  he  had  endured,  Prince  Andrei 
was  conscious  of  a  well-being  such  as  he  had  not  experienced 
for  a  long  time. 

All  the  best  and  happiest  moments  of  his  life,  especially 
his  earliest  childhood,  when  they  used  to  undress  him  and  put 
bim  to  bed,  when  his  old  nyanya  used  to  lull  him  to  sleep 
with  her  songs,  when,  as  he  buried  his  head  in  the  pillows,  he 
had  felt  himself  happy  in  the  mere  consciousness  of  being 
alive :  all  recurred  to  his  imagination,  no  longer  as  something 
long  past,  but  as  actuality. 

Around  that  wounded  man,  whose  features  seemed  familiar 
to  Prince  Andrei,  the  doctors  were  still  busy,  lifting  him  and 
trying  to  calm  him. 

"  Show  it  to  me.  .  .  .  Ooooo  !  o  I  Ooooo ! "  he  groaned,  his 
voice  broken  by  frightened  sobs,  subdued  by  suffering. 

Prince  Andrei,  hearing  these  groans,  felt  like  weeping  him- 
self :  either  because  he  was  dying  without  fame,  or  because  he 
regretted  being  torn  from  life,  or  because  of  these  recollec- 
tions of  a  childhood  never  to  return,  or  because  he  sympa- 
thized in  the  sufferings  of  others,  and  this  man  was  groaning 
so  piteously  before  him ;  but,  at  any  rate,  he  felt  like  weep- 
ing gc$bd,  childlike,  almost  happy  tears. 

The  wounded  man  was  shown  the  amputated  leg,  still  in  its 
boot,  which  was  full  of  blood. 

"  O !  Ooooo  I "  and  he  sobbed  like  a  lYoman.  The  surgeon, 
who  had  been  standing  in  front  of  the  patient,  and  prevented 
his  face  from  being  seen,  stepped  to  one  side. 

"  My  God !  what  does  this  mean  ?  Why  is  he  here  ?  " 
Prince  Andrei  wondered. 

In  this  wretched,  sobbing,  exhausted  man,  whose  leg  had 
only  just  been  taken  off,  he  recognized  Auatol  Kuragin.    They 


X" 


2T6  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

lifted  Anato^s  head,  and  gave  him  water  in  a  glass ;  bat  bb 
trembling,  swollen  lips  could  not  close  over  the  edge  of  tbe 
glass.     Anatol  was  still  sobbing  bitterly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  he !  yes,  this  man  who  has  been  somehow  so 
closely,  so  painfully,  connected  with  my  life!"  said  Prince 
Andrei  to  himself,  not  as  yet  realizing  clearly  all  the  circum- 
stances. ''What  has  been  the  link  that  connects  this  man 
with  my  childhood,  with  my  life  ? ''  he  asked  himself,  and 
Could  not  find  the  answer  to  his  question.  And  suddenly  a 
new  and  unexpected  remembrance  from  that  world  of  the 
childlike,  pure,  and  lovely  past  arose  before  Prince  Andrei 
He  recalled  Natasha  just  as  he  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time 
at  the  ball,  in  1810,  with  her  slender  neck  and  arms,  with  her 
timid,  happy  face  so  easily  wakened  to  enthusiasms,  and  his 
love  and  tenderness  for  her  arose  more  keenly  and  power- 
fully in  his  soul  than  ever  before.  He  remembered  now  the 
bond  which  existed  between  him  and  this  man,  who,  through 
the  tears  that  suffused  his  swollen  eyes,  was  gazing  at  him 
with  such  an  expression  of  agony.  Prince  Andrei  remembered 
everything,  and  a  solemn  pity  and  love  for  this  man  welled  up 
in  his  happy  heart. 

Prince  Andrei  could  no  longer  restrain  himself,  and  he  wept 
tears  of  compassionate  love  and  tenderness  over  other  men 
and  over  himself,  over  their  errors  and  his  own. 

"  Sympathy,  love  for  one's  brothers,  for  those  who  love  us, 
love  for  those  who  hate  us,  love  for  our  enemies,  yes,  the  love 
which  God  preached  on  earth,  which  the  Princess  Marija 
taught  me,  and  which  I  have  not  understood,  —  that  is  what 
made  me  feel  regret  for  life ;  that  is  what  would  have  i-emained 
for  me  if  my  life  had  been  spared.  But  now  it  is  too  late. 
I  know  it." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

The  terrible  spectacle  of  the  battle-field,  covered  with 
corpses  and  wounded  men,  together  with  the  heaviness  of  his 
head  and  the  news  that  a  score  of  famous  generals  had  been 
killed  and  wounded,  and  together  with  the  consciousness  that 
his  formerly  powerful  hands  were  powerless,  had  produced  an 
unusual  impression  upon  Napoleon,  who,  as  a  general  thing, 
was  fond  of  contem])lating  the  killed  and  wounded,  this  being 
(as  he  thought)  a  proof  of  his  mental  force. 

On  this  day  the  horrible  spectacle  of  the  battle-field  over- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  277 

Came  this  moral  force  whereby  he  had  always  manifested  his 
worth  and  greatness.  He  hastened  awa^  from  the  battle-field 
and  returned  to  the  hill  of  Shevardino.  Sallow,  bloated, 
apathetic,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  red  nose,  and  hoarse  voice,  he 
sat  on  his  camp-chair,  involuntarily  listening  to  the  sounds  of 
the  firing  and  not  raising  his  eyes. 

With  sickening  distress  he  awaited  the  end  of  this  action, 
of  which  he  regarded  himself  the  principal  participant,  but 
which  he  was  powerless  to  stay.  A  personal  feeling  of 
humanity  for  a  brief  moment  became  paramount  over  that 
artificial  phantom  of  life  which  he  had  followed  so  long.  He 
bore  the  weight  of  all  the  suffering  and  death  which  he  had 
witnessed  on  the  battle-field.  The  dull  feeling  in  his  head 
and  chest  reminded  him  of  the  possibility  that  he  also  might 
have  to  suffer  and  to  die.  At  that  instant  he  desired  neither 
Moscow  nor  victory  nor  glory  (and  yet  what  glory  he  still 
required !).  The  one  thing  that  he  now  desired  was  rest, 
repose,  and  liberty. 

But  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  Semenovskoye  heights,  an 
artillery  general  proposed  to  him  to  station  a  few  batteries 
there  for  the  sake  of  increasing  the  fire  on  the  Russian  troops 
massing  in  fi-ont  of  Khiazkovo.  Napoleon  consented,  and 
ordered  a  report  to  be  made  to  him  as  to  the  effect  produced 
by  these  batteries. 

An  aide-de-camp  came  to  say  that,  in  accordance  with  the 
emperor's  orders,  two  hundred  cannon  had  been  directed 
against  the  Russians,  but  that  the  Russians  still  held  their 
ground. 

"  Our  fire  mows  them  down  in  rows,  but  still  they  stand," 
said  the  aide. 

"  iZff  e»  veulent  encore !  —  They  want  some  more  of  the 
same ! "  said  Napoleon  in  his  husky  voice. 

"  Sire  ? "  inquired  the  aide,  not  quite  understanding  what 
the  emperor  said. 

"//5  en  veulent  encore,*^  repeated  Napoleon  in  his  hoarse 
voice,  with  a  frown,  "  donnez  leurs-en.  —  Give  it  them." 

Even  without  his  orders  what  he  did  not  wish  was  accom- 
plished, and  he  repeated  the  form  of  the  injunction,  simply 
because  he  imagined  that  the  injunction  was  expected  of  him. 
And  again  he  returned  into  that  former  artificial  world  of 
illusions  as  to  his  majesty,  and  once  more  —  like  a  horse 
which  walks  on  the  sliding  plane  of  the  tread-mill  and  all  the 
time  imagines  that  he  is  doing  something  for  himself  —  again 
he  began  stubbornly  to  fulfil  that  cruel,  painful,  and  trying 
and  inhuman  role  which  was  imposed  upon  him. 


278  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

It  was  not  that  on  this  day  and  this  honr  alone  the  intelleel 
and  conscience  of  this  man,  on  whom  weighed  more  heavily 
than  on  all  the  other  participants  of  this  action  the  responsi* 
bility  for  what  was  taking  place,  were  darkened,  but  never, 
even  to  the  end  of  his  life,  was  he  able  to  realize  the  goodness, 
or  the  beauty  or  the  truth,  or  the  real  significance  of  kifi 
actions,  since  they  were  too  much  opposed  to  goodness  and 
right,  too  far  removed  from  all  that  was  human,  for  him  to  be 
able  to  realize  their  significance*  He  could  not  disavow  his 
actions,  since  they  were  approved  by  half  of  the  world,  and 
consequently  he  was  compelled  to  disavow  truth  and  goodness 
and  all  that  was  humane.  It  was  not  alone  when  having  rid- 
den round  the  field  of  battle  strewn  with  dead  and  mutilated 
men — as  he  fondly  supposed,  through  his  volition  —  that  in 
contemplating  these  men,  he  tried  to  calculate  how  many  Rus- 
sians one  single  Frenchman  stood  for,  and,  deceiving  himself, 
found  good  reason  for  rejoicing  that  one  Frenchman  was  equal 
to  five  Russians !  This  was  not  the  only  day  that  he  wrote  in 
his  letter  to  Paris  that  le  cJiarftp  de  hataille  a  ite  sttperbe — 
that  the  battle-field  was  magnificent  —  because  there  were 
fifty  thousand  corpses  on  it;  but  on  the  Island  of  Saint 
Helena  as  well,  in  the  silence  of  his  solitude,  where  he  de- 
clared that  he  was  going  to  devote  his  leisure  moments  to  sn 
exposition  of  the  mighty  deeds  which  he  had  accomplished, 
he  wrote :  — 

*'  The  Russian  war  should  have  been  the  most  popular  war  of  modem 
times:  it  was  one  of  sound  common  sense  and  genuine  advantage,  cal- 
culated to  bring  peace  and  security  to  all ;  it  was  purely  pacific  and  con- 
servative. 

"  Its  great  purpose  was  to  put  an  end  to  contingencies  and  to  establish 
security.  A  new  horizon,  new  labors  would  have  opened  up  and  brought 
well-being  and  prosperity  to  all.  The  European  system  was  established; 
all  that  was  left  to  do  was  to  organize  it. 

"  Satisfied  on  these  great  questions,  and  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  I 
also  should  have  had  my  Congress  and  my  Holy  Alliance.  Those 
ideas  were  stolen  from  me.  In  tliis  great  council  of  nionarchs  we  shook! 
have  <liscussed  our  interests  as  in  a  family,  and  ruled  the  nations  with 
a  high  sense  of  our  responsibilities. 

**  Thus  Europe  would  soon  have  become  in  realitv  but  a  single  people, 
and  every  man,  wherever  he  might  travel,  would  always  find  liiroself  in 
the  common  fatherland.  I  would  have  insisted  on  all  navigable  riven 
being  free  to  all,  on  all  liaving  equal  rights  to  all  seas,  and  on  all  the 
great  standing  armies  being  henceforth  reduced  to  a  guard  for  the 
sovereigns. 

''  On  my  return  to  France,  being  established  in  the  heart  of  a  countq 
rendered  great,  magnificent,  tranquil,  glorious,  I  should  have  proclaimed 
her  boundaries  unchangeable:  all  future  war  purely  dc/en«i©e  ;  all  new 
aggrandizement  antUnational.    I  should  have  made  my  son  my  partner 


\ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  279 

mi  the  throne;  my  dictatorship  would  have  ended  and  hU  eonstitulional 
reign  would  have  begun  — 

**  Paris  would  have  become  tlie  capital  of  the  world  and  the  French 
the  envy  of  the  nations. 

"  Then  my  leisure  and  my  old  days  would  have  been  devoted,  daring 
my  son's  royal  apprenticeship,  to  making  tours  in  company  with  the 
empress  —  with  our  own  horses  and  taking  our  time,  like  a  worthy  coun- 
try couple  —  through  all  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  empire,  receiving 
petitions,  redressing  wit>ngs,  establishing  wiierever  we  went  and  every- 
where monuments  and  benefactions."  * 

This  man  foreordained  by  Providence  to  play  the  painful, 
predestined  part  of  executioner  of  the  nations,  persuaded  him- 
self that  the  end  and  aim  of  his  actions  was  the  good  of  the 
nations,  and  that  he  could  have  ruled  the  destinies  of  millions, 
and  loaded  them  with  benefits,  if  he  had  been  given  the 
power! 

He  wrote  further  concerning  the  Btissian  war  as  follows :  — 

"Out  of  the  four  hundred  thousand  men  who  crossed  the  Vistula, 
half  were  Austrians,  Prussians,  Saxons,  Poles,  Bavarians,  Wtirttem- 
bergers,  MecdLlenbei^ers,  Spaniards,  Italians,  and  Neapolitans.  The  im- 
perial army,  properly  speaking,  was  one-fourth  composed  of  Dutch  and 
Belgians,  the  inhabitants  of  tbe  banks  of  the  Rhine,  Piedmontese,  Swiss, 
Qenevese,  Tuscans,  Romans,  the  inhabitants  of  the  thirty-second  mili- 
tary district,  —  Bremen,  Hamburg,  etc. ;  it  counted  scarcelv  one  hundred 
and  forty  thousand  men  who  spoke  French.  The  Russian  expedition 
cost  France  less  than  fifty  thousand  men;  the  Russian  army,  during  the 
retreat  from  Yilno  to  Moscow  in  the  various  battles,  lost  four  times  as 
manv  as  the  French  army;  the  burning  of  Moscow  cost  the  life  of  one 
btindred  thousand  Russians,  who  perished  of  cold  and  starvation  in  the 
forests,  and  moreover,  in  its  march  from  Moscow  to  the  Oder,  the  Rus- 

♦  La  gnerre  de  Russie  a  du  itre  la  plvs  pofnilaire  den  temps  modernes  : 

c'^tait  eeUe  du  bon  sens  et  de*  vrait  interSUf  celle  du  repos  el  de  la  secvriti 

de  tou$;  elle  etait  purement  pacijique  et  conservatrice.     C^etait  povr  la 

grande  (xiuse,  la  fin  den  hasards  et  le  rommencement  de  la  security.     Un  nouvel 

KorvLon,de  nouveaux  trava;ux  allaient  se  d^ovler,  tout  pie  in  du  bien-etre  et  de 

ItproqierUi  detous.    IjC  wysteme  Europden  te  trovvait  /ond^ :  il  n^^tait  plus 

question  que  de  Vorf/aniser.    iiatis^fait  sur  ces  (/rands  points  et  tranquille  par- 

tfAtt^yaurais  et/  avssi  mon  congresef  ma  saiiite-alliance.    Ce  sojit  des  id^es 

^ti'oH  m^a  voUes.    Dans  cetie  reunion  de  grands  souverainSt  nmis  eussions 

trains  de  nos  interets  en/amille  et  comptS  de  clerc  a  maiire  avec  les  petmles. 

VEurope  n*eut  hieyitot  fait  de  la  sorte  v^ritablement  qu*un  mime  peuplet  et 

f^hicun^  en  royageant  partoutj  se/vt  tronv^  tov jours  dans  la  patrie  commune. 

J'eus  demand^  toutes  les  rivieres  navigables  pour  tous,  la  communaut^  des 

fMTt  et  que  les  grandes  armies  permanentes  fussent  r4duites  d€aorma\s  a  la 

«ew(e  garde  des  souverains,    De  rHour  en  France  att  sein  de  la  patrie ^  grande , 

forte^  magni/iquef  tranquillef  glorieuse,  feusse  proclam4  ses  limites  immu" 

Qb/e<:  toute  guerre futurci purement  defensive;  tmit  agrandissement  nouveau 

anti-national.    .Peusse  associi  monfils  a  V empire  ;  ma  dictatnre  eut  Jini,  et 

*>n  rigjie  constitutionnel  eut  commence.    Paris  eut  4ti  la  capitate  du  monde, 

ft  Us  franfttis  Venule  des  nations,    Mes  loisirs  ensuite  et  mes  vieux  Jours 

entsentiti  consacriSf  en  compagnie  de  l'emp*fratrice  et  durant  Vapprentissage 

^ol  de  monJUSt  a  visiter  lentement  et  en  rrai  couple  campagnard,  avec  nos 

pfopres  chevaux,  tous  les  recoins  de  Vempire,  recevant  les  plaintes,  redressant 

•M  torts,  senMuU  de  toutes  parts  et  partout  les  monuments  et  les  bien/aitSf  etc. 


280  WAR  AND  PS  ACE. 

sian  army  suffered  from  the  inclemency  of  the  season.  On  its  arrival  tl 
Vilno  it  counted  only  fifty  thousand  men,  and  at  Kalish  less  than  eigfateea 
thousand." 

He  imagined  that  the  war  with  Russia  came  about  by  his 
own  willy  and  the  horror  of  what  took  place  did  not  stir  his 
soul  within  him.  He  audaciously  took  upon  himself  the  entire 
responsibility  of  the  event,  and  his  darkened  intellect  found  jus- 
tification in  the  fact  that,  among  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
men  destroyed,  there  were  fewer  French  than  Hessians  and 
Bavarians ! 

CHAPTER  XXXIX- 

SEVERAt  score  thousands  of  men  lay  dead  in  variotis  posi- 
tions and  uniforms  on  the  fields  and  meadows  belonging  to 
Mr.  Davuidof  and  certain  croWn  serfs,  on  those  fields  and 
meadows  where  for  centuries  the  peasants  of  Borodino,  Gorki, 
Shevardino,  and  Semenovskoye  hsul  with  one  accord  harvested 
their  crops  and  pastured  their  cattle. 

Around  the  field  lazarets,  for  several  acres,  the  grass  and 
ground  were  soaked  with  blood.  Throngs  of  men,  wounded 
and  not  wounded,  belonging  to  various  commands,  from  the 
one  side  fell  back  to  Mozhaisk,  from  the  other  to  Valuyevo. 
Other  throngs,  weary  and  hungry,  led  by  their  chiefs,  moved 
onward  to  the  front.  Still  others  stood  in  their  places  and 
went  on  firing. 

Over  the  entire  field  where,  in  the  morning,  the  sun  had 
shone  on  glittering  bayonets  and  wreaths  of  smoke,  now  low* 
ered  a  wrack  of  damp  and  smoke,  and  the  air  was  foul  with  a 
strange  reek  of  nitrous  fumes  and  blood. 

Clouds  had  gathered,  and  the  rain-drops  began  to  fall  on  the 
dead,  on  the  wounded,  on  the  panic-stricken,  and  the  weary, 
and  the  despairing.  It  seemed  to  say  to  them :  '^  Enough ! 
enough !  ye  men  !  Cease !  —  Remember !  What  are  ye  doing  ?  " 

The  men  on  either  side,  utterly  weary,  without  nourish- 
ment and  without  rest,  began  alike  to  question  whether  it 
were  any  advantage  for  them  longer  to  exterminate  each 
other,  and  hesitation  could  be  seen  in  every  face,  and  in  every 
mind  the  question  arose  *.  "  Why,  wherefore  are  ye  killing 
and  being  killed  ?  Kill  whomever  ye  please,  do  whatever  ye 
please,  but  as  for  me  I  will  no  more  of  it ! " 

This  thought,  toward  late  afternoon,  alike  burned  in  the 
heart  of  each.  At  any  moment  all  these  men  might  suddenly 
manifest  their  horror  at  what  they  had  been  doing,  give  it 
all  up  and  fly  anywhere  it  might  happen. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  281 

But  although,  toward  the  end  of  the  struggle,  the  men  be- 
gan to  feel  all  the  horror  of  their  actions,  although  they  would 
have  been  glad  to  cease,  some  strange,  incomprehensible,  mys- 
terious power  still  continued  to  direct  them,  and  the  surviving 
gunners,  —  one  out  of  every  three,  —  covered  with  sweat, 
grimed  with  powder,  and  stained  with  blood,  staggering  and 
panting  with  weariness,  still  lugged  the  projectiles,  charged 
the  guns,  sighted  them,  applied  the  slow-matches,  and  the 
shot  flew  just  as  swiftly  and  viciously  from  the  one  side  and 
the  other,  and  crushed  human  forms,  and  still  that  strange 
affair  went  on  which  was  accomplished,  not  by  the  will  of 
men,  but  by  the  will  of  Him  who  rules  men  and  worlds. 

Any  one  who  had  looked  at  the  vanishing  remnants  of  the 
Russian  army  would  have  said  that  all  the  French  needed  to 
do  would  be  to  put  forth  one  small  last  effort  and  the  Russian 
army  would  vanish,  and  any  one  who  had  looked  at  the  rem- 
nants of  the  French  would  have  said  that  all  that  the  Rus- 
sians had  to  do  was  to  make  one  small  last  effort  and  the 
French  would  be  destroyed.  But  neither  the  French  nor  the 
Russians  put  forth  this  last  effort,  and  the  flame  of  the  conflict 
slowly  flickered  out. 

The  Russians  did  not  make  this  effort  because  they  did  not 
charge  the  French.  At  the  beginning  of  the  battle  they 
merely  stood  on  the  road  to  Moscow,  disputing  it,  and  in 
exactly  the  same  way  they  continued  to  stand  at  the  end  of 
the  battle  as  the^  had  stood  at  the  beginning.  But  if  the 
aim  of  the  Russians  had  been  to  defeat  the  French,  they 
eould  not  put  forth  this  last  effort  because  all  the  Russian 
troops  had  been  defeated,  there  was  not  a  single  division  of 
their  army  that  had  not  suffered  in  the  engagement,  and, 
though  the  Russians  still  held  their  own,  they  had  lost  a 
HALF  of  their  troops. 

The  French,  with  the  recollections  of  all  their  fifteen  years 
of  past  victories,  with  their  confidence  In  Napoleon's  invinci- 
bility, with  the  consciousness  that  they  had  got  possession  of 
a  portion  of  the  battle-field,  that  their  loss  was  only  a  quarter 
of  their  contingent,  and  that  they  had  still  twenty  thousand 
in  reserve,  not  counting  the  Guard,  might  easily  have  put 
forth  this  effort.  The  French,  who  were  attacking  the  Rus* 
8ian  army  with  the  intention  of  defeating  it,  ought  to  have 
made  this  effort,  because  so  long  as  the  Russians  disputed  the 
^foad  to  Moscow,  as  they  did  before  the  battle  began,  the  aim 
of  the  French  was  not  attained,  and  all  their  efforts  s^d 
loBies  were  thrown  away. 


282  W^R  ^NJ>  PEACE. 

But  the  French  did  not  put  forth  this  effort. 

Certain  historians  assert  that  Napoleon  had  only  to  send 
forward  his  Old  Guard,  who  were  still  fresh,  and  the  battle 
would  have  been  won.  To  say  what  would  have  happened  if 
Napoleon  had  sent  forward  the  Guard  is  just  the  same  as  to 
say  what  would  happen  if  autumn  turned  into  spring. 

It  was  an  impossibility. 

Napoleon  did  not  send  forward  his  Guard,  not  because  he 
did  not  want  to  do  it,  but  because  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  do  it.  All  the  generals,  all  the  officers  and  soldiers  of  the 
French  army  knew  that  it  was  impossible  to  do  this,  because 
the  dejected  spirit  of  the  army  would  not  allow  it. 

Napoleon  was  not  the  only  one  to  experience  that  night- 
mare feeling  that  the  terrible  blow  of  the  arm  was  falling  in 
vain,  but  all  his  generals,  all  the  soldiei-s  of  the  French  annj 
who  took  part  or  who  did  not  take  part,  after  all  their  expert- 
lances  in  former  battles,  when,  after  exerting  a  tenth  as  much 
force  as  now,  the  enemy  would  be  vanquished,  now  expeii- 
enced  alike  a  feeling  of  awe  at  that  enemy  which,  having 
lost  a  HALF  of  its  troops,  still  stood  just  as  threateningly  st 
the  end  as  it  had  stood  at  the  beginning  of  the  enga^ment. 

The  moral  force  of  the  French  attacking  army  was  exhausted. 

Victory  is  not  that  which  is  signalized  by  the  fastening  of 
certain  strips  of  cloth  called  flags  to  poles,  nor  by  the  space 
on  which  troops  have  stood  or  are  standing ;  but  victory  is 
moral,  when  the  one  side  has  been  persuaded  as  to  the  moral 
superiority  of  the  other  and  of  its  own  weakness ;  and  snch  a 
victory  was  won  by  the  Eussians  over  the  French  at  Borodina 

The  invading  army,  like  an  exasperated  l)east  of  prey,  having 
received,  as  it  ran,  a  mortal  wound,  became  conscious  that  it 
was  doomed ;  but  it  could  not  halt  any  more  than  the  Russian 
army,  which  was  not  half  so  strong,  could  help  giving  way. 
After  the  shock  which  had  been  given,  the  French  army  was 
still  able  to  crawl  to  Moscow;  but  there,  without  any  new 
efforts  on  the  part  of  the  Eussian  troops,  it  was  doomed  to 
perish,  bleeding  to  death  from  the  mortal  wound  received  at 
Borodino. 

The  direct  consequence  of  the  battle  of  Borodino  was  Napo- 
leon's causeless  flight  from  Moscow,  the  return  along  the  old 
Smolensk  highway,  the  ruin  of  the  Ave  hundred  thousand  men 
of  the  invading  army,  and  the  destruction  of  Napoleonic 
France,  on  which  at  Borodino  was  for  the  first  time  laid  thQ 
hand  of  an  opponent  stronger  by  force  of  spirit  1 


PART  THIRD. 


CHAPTER  L 


It  is  impossible  for  the  human  intellect  to  grasp  the  idea  of 
continuous  motion.  Man  can  begin  to  understand  the  laws  of 
any  kind  of  motion  only  when  he  takes  into  consideration 
arbitrarily  selected  units  of  such  motion.  But  at  the  same 
time  from  this  arbitrary  division  of  unbroken  motion  into 
measurable  units  flows  the  greater  part  of  human  errors. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  so-called  "  sophism  "  of  the  ancients, 
to  prove  that  Achilles  would  never  overtake  a  tortoise  that 
liad  the  start  of  him,  even  though  Achilles  ran  ten  times 
more  swiftly  than  the  tortoise.  As  soon  as  Achilles  had 
passed  over  the  distance  between  them,  the  tortoise  would 
We  advanced  one-tenth  of  that  distance;  Achilles  runs 
that  tenth,  the  tortoise  advances  a  hundredth,  and  so  on  ad 
infinitum. 

This  problem  seemed  to  the  ancients  unsolvable.  The 
fallacy  of  the  reasoning  that  Achilles  would  never  overtake 
the  tortoise  arose  from  this :  simply,  that  intermitted  units  of 
motions  were  arbitrarily  taken  for  granted,  whereas  the 
motion  of  Achilles  and  the  tortoise  were  continuous. 

By  assuming  ever  smaller  and  smaller  units  of  motion,  we 
only  approach  the  settlement  of  this  question,  we  never  really 
attain  to  it.  Only  by  assuming  infinitesimal  quantities, 
and  the  progression  up  to  one-tenth,  and  by  taking  the  sum  of 
this  geometrical  progression,  can  we  attain  the  solution  of  the 
qnestion.  The  new  branch  of  mathematics  which  is  the 
science  of  reckoning  with  infinitesimals  enables  us  to  deal 
with  still  more  complicated  problems  of  motion,  and  solves 
problems  which  to  the  ancients  seemed  unanswerable. 

This  new  branch  of  mathematics,  which  was  unknown  to 
^  ancients,  and  applies  so  admirably  to  the  problems  of 
fnotion,  by  admitting  infinitesimally  small  quantities,  —  that 
^  those  by  which  the  principal  condition  of  motion  is 
^established,  —  namely,  absolute  continuity,  —  in  itself  cor- 
"^  the  inevitable  error  which  the  human  mind  is  bound  to 

288 


284  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

make  when  it  contemplates  the  separate  nnits  of  motion 
instead  of  continuous  motion. 

In  searching  for  the  laws  of  historical  movements  precisely 
the  same  things  must  be  observed.  The  progress  of  humanity, 
arising  from  an  infinite  collection  of  human  wills,  is  continu- 
ous. 

The  attainment  of  the  laws  of  this  onward  march  is  the 
aim  of  history. 

But  in  order  to  discover  the  laws  of  continuous  motion  in 
the  sum  of  all  the  volitions  of  men,  human  reason  assumes 
arbitrary  and  separate  units.  History  first  studies  an  arbi- 
trary series  of  uninterrupted  events,  and  contemplates  it  sep- 
arate from  the  others,  albeit  there  is  and  can  be  no  beginning 
of  an  event,  but  every  event  is  the  direct  outgrowth  of  its 
predecessor. 

Secondly,  history  studies  the  deeds  of  a  single  man,  a  tsar, 
a  colonel,  as  representing  the  sum  of  men's  volitions,  when 
in  reality  the  sum  of  men's  volitions  is  never  expressed  in  the 
activities  of  any  one  historical  personage. 

The  science  of  history  is  constantly  taking  ever  smaller  and 
smaller  units  for  study,  and  in  this  way  strives  to  reach  the 
truth.  But,  however  small  the  units  which  history  takes,  we 
feel  that  the  assumption  of  any  unit  separate  from  anotiier, 
the  assumption  of  a  beginning  of  an^  phenomenon  whatever, 
and  the  assumption  that  the  volitions  of  all  men  are  ex- 

Eressed  in  the  actions  of  any  historical  character,  must  be 
ilse  per  se. 

Every  deduction  of  history  falls  to  pieces,  like  powder, 
without  the  slightest  effort  on  the  part  of  a  critique,  leaving 
nothing  behind  it,  simply  in  consequence  of  the  fact  that  the 
critique  chooses  as  the  object  of  its  observation  a  more  or  less 
interrupted  unit ;  and  it  has  always  the  right  to  do  this,  since 
every  historical  unit  is  always  arbitrary. 

Only  by  assuming  the  infinitesimal  unit  for  our  observation 
—  as  the  differential  of  history  —  in  other  words  the  homo- 
geneous tendencies  of  men,  and  by  attaining  the  art  of 
integrating  (calculating  the  sum  of  these  in^tesimal  dif- 
ferentials), can  we  expect  to  attain  to  the  laws  of  history. 

The  first  fifteen  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  in  Europe 
exhibit  an  extraordinary  movement  of  millions  of  men.  Men 
abandon  their  ordinary  vocations,  rush  from  one  end  of 
Europe  to  the  other,  rob,  slaughter  each  other ;  they  triumph 
fuid  despair,  and  the  whole  course  of  their  lives  ia  for  a 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  285 

number  of  years  changed,  and  undergoes  a  powerful  mov^ 
menty  which  at  iirst  goes  on  increasing  and  then  slackens. 

^*  What  is  the  cause  of  this  movement,  or  by  what  laws  did 
it  take  place  ?  "  asks  the  human  mind. 

The  historians,  replying  to  this  question,  bring  to  our  notice 
certain  acts  and  speeches  of  certain  dozens  of  men,  in  one  of 
the  buildings  of  the  city  of  Paris,  and  call  these  acts  and 
speeches  ^'  the  Eevolution ; "  then  they  give  a  circumstantial 
account  of  Napoleon,  and  of  certain  sympathizers  and 
enemies  of  his,  tell  about  the  influence  which  certain  of  these 
individuals  had  updh  the  others,  and  they  say :  '^  This  was 
the  cause  of  this  movement,  and  here  are  its  laws." 

But  the  human  mind  not  only  refuses  to  put  credence  in  this 
explanation,  but  declares,  up  and  down,  that  this  manner  of 
explanation  is  fallacious,  for  the  reason  that,  according  to.  it, 
a  feeble  phenomenon  is  taken  as  the  cause  of  a  mightv  one. 
The  sum  of  human  volitions  produced  both  the  Kevolution 
and  Napoleon,  and  only  the  sum  of  these  volitions  sustained 
them  and  destroyed  them. 

"  But  in  every  case  where  there  have  been  conquests  there 
have  been  conquerors ;  in  every  case  where  there  have  been 
revolutions  in  a  kingdom  there  have  been  great  men,"  says 
history. 

"  Indeed,  in  every  case  where  conquerors  have  appeared, 
there  have  been  wars,"  replies  human  reason ;  but  this  does 
not  prove  that  the  conquerors  were  the  cause  of  the  wars, 
or  that  it  is  possible  to  discover  the  laws  of  war  in  the  per- 
sonal activity  of  a  single  man. 

In  every  case  when  I,  looking  at  my  watch,  observe  that 
the  hand  points  at  ten,  I  hear  the  bells  ringing  in  the  neigh- 
boring church ;  but  from  the  fact  that  in  every  case  when  the 
hand  reaches  ten  o'clock,  the  ringing  of  the  bells  begins,  I 
have  no  right  to  draw  the  conclusion  that  the  position  of  the 
hands  is  the  cause  of  the  motion  in  the  bells. 

Every  time  when  I  observe  an  engine  in  motion,  I  hear  the 
sound  of  the  whistle,  I  see  the  valves  open  and  the  wheels  in 
motion ;  but  from  this  I  have  no  right  to  conclude  that  the 
whistle  and  the  movement  of  the  wheels  are  the  cause  of  the 
movement  of  the  engine. 

The  peasants  say  that  in  late  spring  the  cold  wind  blows 
hecanse  the  oak-tree  is  budding,  and  it  is  a  fact  that  every 
spring  a  cold  wind  blows  when  the  oaks  are  in  bloom.  But, 
although  the  cause  of  the  cold  wind  blowing  during  the  blos- 
soming-time of  the  oaks  is  unknown  to  me,  I  am  unable  to 


286  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

agree  with  the  peasants  in  attributing  the  cause  of  the  eoild 
winds  to  the  bourgeoning  buds  on  the  oaks,  for  the  reason  thst 
the  force  of  the  wind  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  oak-buds.  I 
see  only  a  coincidence  of  their  conditions,  which  is  found  iB 
all  the  phenomena  of  life,  and  I  see  that,  no  matter  how  caie- 
f  ully  I  may  contemplate  the  hands  of  the  watch,  the  values 
and  wheels  of  the  engine,  and  the  oak-buds,  I  shall  never  lean 
the  cause  that  makes  the  church-bell  chime,  the  engine  to 
move,  and  the  wind  to  blow  in  the  spring.  To  discover  this, 
I  must  entirely  change  my  point  of  view,  and  study  the  laws 
that  regulate  steam,  bells,  and  the  wind.« 

History  must  do  the  same  thing.  i 

And  experiments  in  this  have  ^ready  been  made. 
For,  studying  the  laws  of  history,  we  must  absolutely  change 
the  objects  of  our  observation,  leave  kings,  ministers,  ai^ 
generals  out  of  the  account,  and  select  for  study  the  homoge- 
neous, infinitesimal  elements  which  regulate  the  masses.  No 
one  can  say  how  far  it  is  given  to  man  to  attain  by  this  path 
toward  understanding  the  laws  of  history ;  but  evidently  it 
is  only  on  this  path  that  there  is  any  possibility  of  grasping 
the  laws  of  history,  and  the  human  intellect  has  not>  so  far, 
devoted  to  this  method  the  one-millionth  part  of  the  anergic 
which  have  been  expended  by  historians  in  the  description  of 
the  deeds  of  various  kings,  captains,  and  ministers,  and  in  the 
elucidation  of  their  combinations^  which  were  based  upon 
these  deeds. 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  forces  of  a  dozen  nations  of  Europe  invaded  Russia. 

The  Russian  army  and  the  people,  avoiding  collision,  with- 
draw before  the  enemy  to  Smolensk,  and  from  Smolensk  to 
Borodino.  The  French  army,  with  continually  increasing  im- 
petus, advances  upon  Moscow,  the  goal  of  its  destination. 

As  it  approaches  the  goal,  its  impetus  increases,  just  as 
the  velocity  of  a  falling  body  increases  as  it  approaches  the 
earth.  Behind  it  are  thousands  of  versts  of  devastated,  hos- 
tile country ;  before  it,  only  a  few  dozen  versts  separate  it 
from  its  goal.  Every  soldier  in  Napoleon's  army  is  conscious 
of  this,  and  the  invading  force  moves  forward  by  its  own 
momentum. 

In  the  Russian  army,  in  proportion  as  it  retreats,  the  spirit 
of  fury  against  the  enemy  becomes  more  and  more  inflamed : 
during  the  retreat  it  grows  concentrated  and  more  vigorous. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  287 

At  Borodino,  the  collision  takes  place. 
Neither  the  one  army  nor  the  other  is  dispersed,  but  imme- 
diately after  the  collision,  the  Russian  army  recoils,  as  inev- 
itably as  a  ball  recoils  when  struck  by  another  in  the  impetus 
of  full  flight.  And  just  as  inevitably  the  colliding  ball 
moves  a  certain  distance  forward  (although  it  loses  its  force 
by  the  collision). 

The  Russians  retire  one  hundred  and  twenty  versts  to  a 
point  beyond  Moscow ;  the  French  enter  the  city,  and  there 
come  to  a  standstill. 

During  the  five  Veeks  that  follow,  there  is  not  a  single 
battle.     The  French  do  not  stir. 

Like  a  wild  beast  mortally  wounded,  which  licks  its  pro- 
fusely bleeding  wounds,  the  French  remain  for  five  weeks  at 
Moscow,  making  no  attempts  to  do  anything.  Then,  suddenly, 
without  apparent  reason,  they  fly  back  ;  they  take  the  road  to 
Kaluga,  and,  after  one  more  victory,  since  the  field  of  Malo- 
Yaroslavets  is  theirs,  they  retreat  still  more  rapidly,  without 
risking  any  important  battle,  to  Smolensk,  beyond  Smolensk, 
beyond  Vilno,  beyond  the  Berezina,  and  so  on. 

On  the  night  of  September  7,  Kutuzof  and  the  whole  Rus- 
sian army  were  persuaded  that  they  had  won  the  battle  of 
Borodino.     Kutuzof  even  thus  reported  to  his  sovereign. 

Kutuzof  gave  orders  to  prepare  for  another  battle  to  finish 
▼ith  the  enemy,  not  because  he  wanted  to  deceive  any  one, 
but  because  he  knew  that  the  enemy  had  been  beaten ;  and 
this  fact  was  likewise  known  by  both  parties  in  the  battle. 

But  that  night,  and  the  next  day,  reports  began  to  arrive  of 
the  unprecedented  losses  sustained,  of  the  army  being  reduced 
to  one-half,  and  another  battle  seemed  physically  impossible. 

It  was  vain  to  undertake  another  battle,  when  their  condi- 
tion was  as  yet  unknown,  their  wounded  uncared  for,  their 
dead  uncounted,  fresh  missiles  not  furnished,  new  ofi&cers  not 
replacing  their  dead  generals,  and  their  men  unrefreshed  by 
^ood  and  sleep. 

Moreover,  the  French  army,  immediately  after  the  battle, 
tbe  next  morning,  by  the  law  of  momentum,  its  force  increas- 
ing inversely  according  to  the  square  of  the  distance,  had 
^ady  begun  to  move  of  itself  upon  the  Russian  army. 

Kutuzof  wanted  to  renew  the  attack  on  the  following  day, 

^d  all  his  army  desired  this.     But  the  desire  to  make  an 

attack  is  not  enough.    There  must  also  be  the  possibility  of 

doing  it;  and  in  this  case  possibility  was  lacking. 

It  was  impossible  to  prevent  retreating  one  day's  march ; 


288  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

in  the  same  way,  it  was  impossible  to  prevent  retreating  a 
second  day's  marchi  then  a  third,  and  finally,  when,  on  Sq^ 
tember  13,  the  army  reached  Moscow,  although  the  troops  had 
regained  their  spirits,  the  force  of  circumstances  obliged 
them  to  retire  beyond  the  city,  and  they  made  this  one  last 
retrograde  movement  and  abandoned  Moscow  to  the  enemy. 

To  those  who  are  wont  to  think  that  generals  plan  their 
wars  and  battles  in  the  same  way  as  we,  seated  tranquilly  in 
our  libraries,  with  a  map  spread  before  us,  make  up  combina- 
tions and  ask  ourselves  what  measures  we  should  have  taken 
in  such  and  such  a  war,  to  such  persons  the  questions  arise, 
Why  did  not  Kutuzof,  in  beating  a  i-etreat,  stop  in  this  place 
or  in  that  ?  —  why  did  he  not  occupy  some  position  before 
reaching  Fili  ?  —  why  did  he  not  at  once  take  the  road  to 
Kaluga,  leaving  Moscow  to  itself  ?  and  so  on. 

Men  wonted  to  think  in  this  way  forget  or  do  not  know 
the  inevitable  conditions  by  which  every  commander-in-chief 
must  act.  His  occupation  has  nothing  at  all  analogous  to 
what  we  fondly  imagine  it  to  be ;  we  sit  comfortably  in  our 
libraries,  picking  out,  with  the  aid  of  a  map,  a  campaign 
with  a  given  number  of  troops  on  the  one  side  and  the  other, 
and  in  a  given  locality,  and  beginning  at  some  given  moment 

The  general-in-chief  is  never,  at  the  beginning  of  an  action, 
surrounded  by  conditions  such  as  we  always  have  when  we 
consider  the  action.  The  commander-in-chief  is  always  at  the 
centre  of  a  series  of  hurrying  events,  so  that  he  is  not  in  a 
condition,  for  a  single  instant,  to  comprehend  the  whole 
significance  of  what  is  going  on.  The  action  is  imperceptible, 
unfolding  from  instant  to  instant ;  and  at  every  iustsiut  of 
this  uninterrupted,  continuous  succession  of  events,  the  com- 
mander-in-chief is  at  the  centre  of  a  complicated  game  of 
intrigues,  labors,  perplexities,  responsibilities,  projects,  coun- 
sels, dangers,  and  deceits,  and  is  obliged  to  reply  to  an  infi- 
nite number  of  contradictory  questions,  which  are  submitted 
to  him. 

Military  critics  assure  us,  in  the  most  serious  manner,  that 
Kutuzof  should  have  led  his  troops  along  the  Kaluga  road, 
before  ever  he  thought  of  retreating  to  Fili ;  that  such  a 
course  was  even  suggested  to  him.  But  a  commander-in- 
chief  has,  especially  at  a  decisive  moment,  not  one  project 
alone,  but  a  dozen  projects  to  examine  at  once.  And  all  of 
these  projects,  based  upon  strategy  and  tactics,  are  mutually 
contradictory.  It  is  the  office  of  the  commander-in-chief,  so 
it  would  seem,  simply  to  select  some  one  of  these  projects  that 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  289 

kte  suggested ;  but  even  this  he  cannot  do.    Time  and  events 
will  not  wait. 

Let  us  suppose  that  on  the  tenth  of  September  it  is  proposed 
to  Kutuzof  to  cross  over  to  the  Kahiga  road,  but  that  at  the 
same  moment  an  adjutant  from  Miloi-adovitch  gallops  up, 
and  asks  whether  thej  shall  at  once  engage  with  the  French 
or  retire.  This  question  must  be  decided  instantly.  But  the 
order  to  retire  pi'events  us  from  the  ditour  along  the  Kaluga 
highway. 

Immediately  after  the  adjutant,  the  commissary  asks 
where  the  stores  are  to  be  transported ;  the  chief  of  ambu- 
lance wishes  to  know  where  the  wounded  shall  be  carried  ;  a 
courier  from  Petersburg  brings  a  letter  from  the  sovereign, 
declaring  the  abandonment  of  Moscow  to  be  impossible ;  a 
rival  of  the  commander-in-chief,  who  is  trying  to  undermine 
his  authority,  —  there  are  always  several  such,  not  one  alone, 
—  presents  a  new  plan,  diametrically  opposed  to  that  favoring 
retreat  by  the  Kaluga  road. 

The  commander-in-chief  is  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  needs 
sleep  and  refreshment.  But  a  general  who  has  been  passed 
over  without  a  decoration  comes  to  make  a  complaint ;  the 
inhabitants  implore  protection ;  an  officer,  who  has  been  sent 
out  to  reconnoitre,  returns,  and  brings  a  report  directly  con- 
trary to  that  brought  by  the  officer  who  had  been  sent  out 
before  him  ;  a  spy  and  a  captive  and  a  general  who  have  made 
a  reconnoitring  tour  all  describe  in  a  different  way  the  posi- 
tion of  the  enemy. 

Men  who  are  not  accustomed  to  consider,  or  who  forget  the 
inevitable  conditions  controlling  the  activity  of  every  com- 
mander-in-chief, show  us,  for  example,  the  situation   of  the 
troops  at  Fili,  and  take  for  granted  that  the  commander-in- 
chief  had  till  September  13  to  decide  the  question  as  to  the 
abandonment  or  defence  of  Moscow ;  whereas,  in  the  position 
of  the  Russian  army,  within  five  versts  of  Moscow,  this  ques- 
tion could  not  even  arise. 
At  what  point,  then,  was  this  question  decided  ? 
It  was  decided  at  Drissa,  at  Smolensk,  still  more  palpably, 
on  September  5,  at  Shevardino,  at  Borodino  on  the  7th,  and 
every  day,  every  hour,  and  every  minute  of  the  retreat  from 
Borodino  to  Fill. 
VOL.3.  — 19. 


290  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  in. 

The  Kussian  anny^  having  retreated  from  Borodino,  paiised 
at  Fill.  Yermolof,  who  had  been  sent  by  Kutuzof  to  reo(»- 
noitre  the  position,  came  back  to  the  field-marshal  and  said: 
"  There  is  no  possibility  of  lighting  in  this  position." 

Kutuzof  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  asked  him  to  repeat 
what  he  had  said4  When  he  did  so,  Kutuzof  reached  toward 
him  J  — 

'^Give  me  your  hand/'  said  he;  and)  turning  it  round  so  as 
to  feel  his  pulse,  he  said :  "  You  are  ill,  my  dear !  *  Think 
what  you  are  saying." 

Not  even  yet  could  Kutuzof  comprehend  that  it  was  within 
the  limits  of  possibility  to  retire  beyond  Moscow  without  a 
battle.  Kutuzof  got  out  of  his  carriage  on  the  Paklonnayaf 
Hill,  six  versts  from  the  Dorogomilovskaya  barrier,  and  sat 
down  on  a  bench  at  the  edge  of  the  road.  A  portentous  array 
of  generals  gathered  around  him.  Count  Rostopchin,  who 
had  driven  out  from  Moscow,  joined  them. 

All  this  brilliant  society,  dividing  itself  into  little  circles, 
was  discussing  together  the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of 
the  position,  the  condition  of  the  forces,  the  various  plans  pro- 
posed, the  state  of  Moscow,  and  about  military  matters  in  gen- 
eral. All  felt  that  this  was  a  council  of  war,  although  Uiej 
had  not  been  convened  for  the  purpose,  and  though  it  was  not 
called  so.  All  conversation  was  confined  to  the  domain  of 
these  general  questions.  If  any  one  communicated  or  heard 
private  news,  it  was  done  in  a  whisper,  and  such  digressions 
were  immediately  followed  by  a  return  to  the  general  ques- 
tions ;  not  a  jest,  not  a  laugh,  not  even  a  smile,  was  exchanged 
among  all  these  men. 

All,  though  it  evidently  required  an  effort,  tried  to  maintain 
themselves  to  the  height  of  the  occasion.  And  all  these 
groups,  engaged  in  conversation,  strove  to  keep  close  to  the 
commander-in-chief — the  bench  on  which  he  sat  was  the  centre 
of  these  circles  —  and  they  spoke  so  that  they  might  be  over- 
heard by  him. 

The  commander-in-chief  listened,  and  occasionally  asked 
for  a  repetition  of  what  was  said  around  him  ;  but  he  did  not 
himself  mingle  in  the  conversation,  and  he  expressed  no  opin- 
ion.   For  the  most  part,  after  listening  to  what  was  said  in 

*  Golubchik,  t  Salutation. 


WAk  AlfD  PkACE.  291 

any  little  group,  he  would  turn  abruptly  away  with  a  look  of 
disgust,  as  though  what  they  said  was  not  at  all  what  he 
wanted  to  hear. 

Some  talked  about  the  position  chosen ;  criticising  not  the 
position  so  much  as  they  did  the  intellectual  charactciristics  of 
those  who  had  selected  it.  Others  tried  to  prove  that  a  miS^ 
take  had  been  made  before,  that  they  should  have  accepted 
battle  two  days  before ;  still  othera  were  talking  about  the 
battle  of  Salamanca,  which  a  Frenchman,  named  Crossart, 
who  had  just  arrived  in  a  Spanish  uniform,  described  to  them. 
This  Frenchman  was  discussing  the  siege  of  Salamanca,  with 
one  of  the  German  princes  serving  in  the  Eussian  army,  and 
laying  it  down  that  Moscow  could  be  defended  in  the  same 
way. 

In  a  fourth  group,  Count  Rostopchin  was  declaring  that  he, 
together  with  the  Moscow  city  troop,*  had  been  ready  to  per- 
ish under  the  walls  of  the  capital,  but  that  still  he  could  not 
help  regretting  the  uncertainty  in  which  he  had  been  left,  and 
that  if  he  had  only  known  about  this  before,  things  would 
have  been  different. 

A  fifth  group,  making  a  display  of  the  profundity  of  their 
strategical  calculations,  talked  about  the  route  which  our 
troops  ought  to  have  taken.  A  sixth  group  talked  sheer  non- 
sense. 

Kutuzof  8  face  kept  growing  more  and  more  troubled  and 
melancholy.  From  all  these  scraps  of  conversation  he  drew 
one  conclusion :  that  to  defend  Moscow  was  not  a  physical 
possibility  in  the  full  meaning  of  the  words  ;  that  is,  so  far  it 
vas  an  impossibility  that  if  any  commander-in-chief  should 
be  senseless  enough  to  issue  the  order  to  give  battle,  confu- 
sion would  ensue,  and  no  battle  would  take  place ;  it  would 
Bot  take  place  for  the  reason  that  all  the  high  nachalniks  not 
only  pronounced  the  position  untenable,  but,  as  they  talked, 
they  gave  their  opinions  only  in  regard  to  what  was  to  ensue 
after  the  abandonment  of  this  position,  which  was  taken  for 
granted.  How  could  these  generals  lead  their  troops  upon  a 
field  of  battle  which  they  regarded  as  untenable  ? 

The  nachalniks  of  lower  rank,  even  the  soldiers  (who  also 
had  their  opinions),  in  the  same  way,  considered  the  position 
impossible,  and,  therefore,  they  could  not  be  expected  to  fight 
when  they  were  morally  sure  that  they  were  going  to  be  de- 
feated. If  Benigsen  still  urged  the  defence  of  this  position, 
and  the  others  still  were  willing  to  discuss  it,  this  question, 

•  J)ruzMn<u 


202  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

neyeitbelesSy  had  no  significance  in  itself;  the  onl^  signifi- 
cance was  the  pretext  which  it  offered  for  quarrels  and  intrigues. 
Kutuzof  understood  this. 

BenigseUy  having  selected  a  position^  hotly  insisted  on  the 
defence  of  Moscow,  thereby  making  a  show  of  his  Russian 
patriotism.  Kutuzof,  as  he  listened  to  him,  could  not  help 
frowning.  Benigsen's  motive  was  to  him  as  clear  as  day ;  in 
case  of  disaster  and  failure,  he  would  lay  the  blame  on  Kutu- 
zof,  who  had  led  the  troops,  without  a  battle,  to  the  Sparrows 
Hills ;  while,  in  the  event  of  success,  he  would  claim  all  the 
credit  of  it  for  himself ;  but  if  he  refused  to  make  the  atr 
tempt,  he  would  wash  his  hands  of  the  crime  of  abandoning 
Moscow. 

But  the  old  man  was  not  at  the  present  occupied  with  this 
intrigue.  One  single,  terrible  question  occupied  him.  Aud 
the  answer  to  this  question  he  could  obtain  from  no  one. 
This  question  now  merely  consisted  in  this :  — 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  allowed  Napoleon  to  reach  Mos- 
cow, and  when  did  I  do  it  ?  When  was  this  decided  upon  ? 
Was  it  yesterday,  when  I  sent  to  Platof  the  order  to  retreat^ 
or  was  it  day  before  yesterday,  in  the  evening,  when  I  was 
sleepy,  and  ordered  Benigsen  to  make  what  dispositions  he 
pleased  ?  Or  was  it  before  that  ?  —  But  when,  when  was  this 
terrible  deed  decided  upon?  Moscow  must  be  abandoned! 
The  troops  must  retire,  and  this  order  must  be  promul- 
gated ! " 

To  issue  this  terrible  order  seemed  to  him  tantamount  to 
resigning  the  command  of  the  army.  But,  though  he  loved 
power,  and  was  used  to  it  (the  honor  granted  to  Prince  Pio- 
gorovsky,  to  whose  staff  he  was  attached  while  he  was  in 
Turkey,  annoyed  him),  still  he  was  persuaded  that  the  8al?a- 
tion  of  Russia  was  predestined  to  be  accomplished  by  him; 
and)  only  for  this  reason,  against  the  sovereign's  will,  and  in 
nocordauce  with  the  will  of  the  people,  he  had  been  placed  in 
aupi'eme  command.  He  was  convinced  that  he  alone  could, 
in  these  trying  circumstances,  maintain  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  army ;  that  he  was  the  only  one  in  all  the  world  who 
was  able  to  view  without  horror  the  invincible  Napoleon  as 
his  opponent,  and  he  was  overwhelmed  at  the  mere  thought  of 
the  command  which  he  was  obliged  to  give.  But  it  was  essen- 
tial to  come  to  some  decision ;  it  was  essential  to  cut  short 
these  discussions  around  him,  which  were  beginning  to  as- 
sume altogether  too  free  a  character. 

He  called  to  him  the  senior  generals,  — 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  298 

"Ifa  titeffut  die  bonne  ou  mauvaisBj  n^a  qu^d  s^ aider  cPelle- 
mime — my  judgment,  whether  good  or  bad,  must  be  its  own 
reliance/'  said  he,  as  he  got  up  from  the  bench ;  and  he  drove 
to  Fili,  where  his  horses  were  stabled. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  couNcii.  was  convened  at  two  o'clock,  in  the  largest  and 
best  room  of  the  muzhik  Andrei  Savostyanof  s  cottage.  The 
men,  women,  and  children  belonging  to  the  muzhik's  large 
household  were  huddled  together  in  the  living-room  *  across 
the  entry.  Only  Andrei's  granddaughter,  Malasha,  a  little 
girl  of  six  summers,  whom  his  serene  highness  had  caressed 
and  given  a  lump  of  sugar,  while  he  was  drinking  tea,  remained 
in  the  large  room,  on  the  stove.  Malasha  coyly  and  gleefully 
looked  down  from  the  stove  on  the  faces,  uniforms,  and 
crosses  of  the  generals  who  came  one  after  the  other  into  the  izb^ 
and  took  their  places  on  the  wide  benches  in  the  ^'  red  corner," 
under  the  holy  pictures. 

The  **  little  grandfather "  f  himself,  as  Malasha  secretly 
called  Kutuzof,  sat  apart  from  the  rest,  in  the  '^dark  comer," 
behind  the  stove.  He  sat  deeply  ensconced  in  a  camp-chair, 
and  kept  grumbling  and  pulling  at  his  coat-collar,  which, 
though  it  was  turned  back,  seemed  to  choke  him. 

The  men,  as  they  came  in  one  at  a  time,  came  to  pay  their 
respects  to  the  field-marshal.  He  shook  hands  with  some  of 
them;  he  merely  nodded  to  others.  Adjutant  Ka'lsarof  was 
about  to  draw  the  curtain  at  the  window,  over  against  Kutu- 
zof,  but  the  general  fiercely  waved  his  hand  at  him,  and  Kaih 
sarof  understood  that  his  serene  highness  did  not  wish  his  face 
to  be  seen.  Around  the  muzhik's  deal  table,  whereon  lay 
niaps,  plans,  lead-pencils,  sheets  of  paper,  were  gathered  so 
many  men  that  the  servants  had  to  bring  in  still  another 
bench  and  set  it  down  near  the  table. 

On  this  bench  sat  the  late  comers :  Yermolof,  Kalsarof,  and 
Toll.  Under  the  images,  in  the  place  of  honor,  sat  Barclay 
de  Tolly,  with  the  George  round  his  neck,  and  with  pale, 
sickly  face  and  lofty  brow,  between  which  and  the  bald  head 
there  was  no  dividing  line.  For  two  days  he  had  been  suffer- 
ing from  an  attack  of  ague,  and  at  this  very  moment  he  was 
chilled  and  shaking  with  fever. 

Next  him  sat  Uvarof,  and  in  a  low  tone  of  voice  (which 

*  CMrnaya  izbd  (black  hut),  the  bftck  room.        t  Dyidu$Kka. 


294 


WAR  AND  PSAC6. 


they  all  used)  was  making  some  communication  with  swift, 
eager  gestures. 

The  little  round  Dokhturof,  arching  his  brows  and  folding 
his  hands  on  his  paunch,  was  attentively  listening. 

On  the  other  side  sat  Count  Ostermann-Tolstoi,  with  fear- 
less features  and  gleaming  eyes,  leaning  his  big  head  on  his 
hand;  and  seemed  immersed  in  his  thoughts. 

Kayevsky,  with  a  look  expressing  impatience,  was,  as  usual, 
engaged  in  twisting  his  black  curls  forward  into  loye-locks, 
and  now  gazed  at  Kutuzof,  now  at  the  front  door. 

Konovnitsuin's  reliable,  handsome,  good  face  was  lighted 
by  a  shrewd  and  friendly^  smile.  He  was  trying  to  catch  Ma- 
lasha's  eyes,  and  was  winking  at  her  and  making  the  little 
one  smile. 

All  were  waiting  for  Benigsen ;  who  had  made  a  pretext  of 
wishing  once  more  to  examine  the  position  so  as  to  eat  his 
sumptuous  dinner  in  peace.  They  waited  for  him  from  four 
o'clock  till  six  ;  and  all  that  time  they  refrained  from  any  delib- 
eration, but  talked  in  undertones  about  irrelevant  matters.  Only 
when  Benigsen  entered  the  izba  did  Kutuzof  leave  his  comer 
and  approach  the  table,  but  even  then  he  took  care  that  the 
candles  placed  there  should  not  light  up  his  face. 

Benigsen  opened  the  council  with  the  question,  "  Shall  the 
holy  and  ancient  capital  of  Russia  be  deserted  without  a  blow 
being  struck,  or  shall  it  be  defended  ? ''  A  long  and  uninter- 
rupted silence  followed.  All  faces  grew  grave,  and  in  the 
silence  could  be  heard  Kutuzof's  angry  grunting  and  cough- 
ing. All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  Malasha  also  gazed  at 
the  "  little  grandfather."  She  was  nearer  to  him  than  any  of 
the  others,  and  could  see  how  his  face  was  covered  with  frowns: 
he  seemed  to  be  ready  to  burst  into  tears.  But  this  did  not 
last  long. 

"  The  holy,  ancient  capital  of  Russia  I "  he  suddenly  re- 
peated in  a  gruff  voice,  repeating  Benigsen's  language,  and 
thereby  making  them  feel  the  false  note  in  these  words. 
*'  Permit  me  to  tell  you,  your  illustriousness,  that  this  ques- 
tion has  no  sense  for  a  Kussian."  (He  leaned  forward  with 
his  heavy  body.)  ''It  is  impossible  to  face  such  a  question, 
and  such  a  question  has  no  sense.  The  question  for  which  I 
have  convened  these  gentlemen  is  a  military  one.  That 
question  is  as  follows  :  —  The  salvation  of  Russia  is  her  army. 
Would  it  be  more  to  our  advantage  to  risk  the  loss  of  the 
army  and  of  Moscow  too  by  accepting  battle,  or  to  abandon 
Moscow  without  a  battle  ?    It  is  on  this  question  that  I  wish 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  2d6 

to  know  your  minds."    (He  threw  himself  back  into  his  chair 
again.) 
The  discussion  began. 

Benigsen  refused  to  believe  that  the  game  was  yet  played 
out.  Granting  the  opinion  of  Barclay  and  the  others,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  accept  a  defensive  battle  at  Fili,  he,  being 
thoroughly  imbued  with  Russian  patriotism  and  love  for 
Moscow^  proposed  to  lead  the  troops  during  the  night,  over 
from  the  right  to  the  left  flank,  and  on  the  next  day  to 
strike  a  blow  at  the  right  wing  of  the  French. 

Opinions  were  divided ;  discussion  waxed  hot  over  the  pros 
and  cons  of  this  movement.  Yermolof,  Dokhturof,  and 
Rayevsky  concurred  with  Benigsen's  views.  Whether  they 
were  dominated  by  a  sense  that  some  sacrifice  was  necessary 
before  the  capital  was  abandoned,  or  whether  it  was  personal 
considerations  that  influenced  them,  still  the  fact  was,  all 
these  generals  seemed  unable  to  comprehend  that  this  advice 
could  not  alter  the  inevitable  course  of  events,  and  that  Mos- 
cow was  already  practically  abandoned. 

The  other  generals  understood  this,  and,  setting  aside  the 
question  of  Moscow,  they  merely  discussed  the  route  which 
the  army  in  its  retrograde  march  should  take. 

Malasha,  who,  with  steady  eyes,  gazed  at  what  was  ^oing  on 
before  her,  understood  the  significance  of  this  council  in  an 
entirely  different  way.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  trouble  was 
merely  a  personal  quarrel  between  the  "  little  grandfather " 
and  "long-skirts,"  as  she  called  Benigsen.  She  saw  that  they 
got  excited  when  they  talked  together,  and  her  soul  clung  to 
the  "  little  grandfather's  "  side. 

lu  the  midst  of  the  discussion  she  remarked  the  keen,  shrewd 
glance  which  he  cast  upon  Benigsen,  and  immediately  after, 
much  to  her  delight,  she  noticed  that  the  "  little  grandfather," 
in  saying  something  to  "  long-skirts,"  offended  him.  Benig- 
sen suddenly  flushed,  and  angrily  walked  across  the  room. 
The  words  which  had  such  an  effect  upon  Benigsen  were 
spoken  in  a  calm,  low  tone,  and  merely  expressed  Kutuzof  s 
opinion  as  to  the  advisability  or  inadvisability  of  Benigsen's 
SQg^tion ;  that  is,  to  lead  the  troops  during  the  night,  from 
the  right  to  the  left  flank,  so  as  to  attack  the  right  wing  of 
the  French. 

"  Gentlemen  I "  said  Kutuzof,  "  I  cannot  approve  of  the 
count's  plan.  Transfers  of  troops  in  the  immediate  proximity 
of  the  enemy  are  always  dangerous,  and  military  history  con- 
firms this  view.     Thus  for  example  "  —  (Kutuzof  paused  as 


296  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

though  trying  to  call  up  the  desired  example,  and  gave  Benig- 
sen  a  frank,  naive  look)  —  "  yes,  suppose  we  should  take  the 
battle  of  Friedland,  which  I  presume  the  count  remembers 
was — well — about  as  good  as  given  away  simply  for  the 
reason  that  our  troops  attempted  to  cross  from  one  flank  to 
the  other  while  the  enemy  were  in  too  close  proximity  "  — 

A  silence  followed,  lasting  for  a  minute,  but  seeming  an  age 
to  all  present. 

The  discussion  was  again  renewed ;  but  there  were  frequent 
interniptions,  and  there  was  a  general  feeling  that  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said. 

Duiing  one  of  these  lulls  in  the  conversation,  Kutnzof  drew 
a  long  sigh,  as  though  he  were  preparing  to  speak.  All  looked 
at  him. 

"  Eh  hierij  Messieurs,  je  vols  (pie  c^est  moi  qui  payerai  les  pots 
easses  —  I  see  that  I  must  bear  the  brunt  of  it,"  said  he.  And 
slowly  getting  to  his  feet  he  approached  the  table,  —  "Gen- 
tlemen, I  have  listened  to  your  views.  Some  of  you  will  be 
dissatisfied  with  me.  But  '*  —  (he  hesitated)  "  I,  in  virtue  of 
the  power  confided  to  me  by  the  sovereign  and  the  country, 
I  command  that  we  retreat." 

Immediately  after  this,  the  generals  began  to  disperse  with 
that  solemn  and  silent  circumspection  which  people  observe 
after  a  funeral.  Several  of  the  generals,  in  low  voices,  but  in 
an  entirely  different  key  from  that  in  which  they  had  spoken 
during  the  council,  made  some  communication  to  the  eom> 
mander-in-chief. 

Malasha,  who  had  long  since  been  expected  at  the  sapper 
table,  cautiously  let  herself  down  backwards  from  the  loft,  cling- 
ing with  her  little  bare  toes  to  the  projections  of  the  stove,  and, 
slipping  between  the  legs  of  the  officers,  darted  out  of  the  door. 

Having  dismissed  the  generals,  Kutuzof  sat  for  a  long  time 
with  his  elbows  resting  on  the  table  and  pondering  over  the 
same  terrible  question :  "  When  was  it,  when  was  it,  that  it 
was  finally  decided  Moscow  must  be  abandoned?  When 
took  place  that  which  decided  the  question  ?  and  who  is  to 
blame  for  it  ?  " 

"I  did  not  expect  tliis,  I  did  not  expect  it,"  said  he  aloud  to 
his  adjutant,  Schneider,  who  came  to  him  late  that  night.  '^  I 
did  not  expect  this.    I  did  not  dream  of  such  a  thing ! " 

"  You  must  get  some  rest,  your  serene  highness,"  said 
Schneider. 

"  It's  not  done  with  yet !  They  shall  chaw  horse-flesh  yet 
like  the  Turks,"  cried  Kutuzof,  not  heeding  him,  and  thump- 
ing his  fat  fist  on  the  table.     "  They  shall  —  as  soon  as  "  — 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  297 


CHAPTER  V. 

In  contradistinction  to  Kutuzof,  though  at  the  same  time, 
and  in  an  erent  of  far  greater  importance  than  the  retreat  of 
the  army  without  fighting,  —  namely,  in  the  abandonment  and 
burning  of  Moscow,  —  Rostopchin,  who  has  been  considered 
the  responsible  agent  for  this  action,  behaved  in  an  entirely 
different  manner.  This  event — the  abandonment  of  Moscow 
and  its  destruction  by  fire  —  was  just  exactly,  after  the  battle 
of  Borodino,  as  inevitable  as  the  retirement  of  the  troops 
beyond  Moscow,  —  without  figliting. 

Every  man  in  Russia  might  have  predicted  what  took  place, 
not  indeed  by  basing  his  deductions  on  logic,  but  by  basing 
them  on  that  sentiment  which  is  inherent  in  ourselves  and 
was  inherent  in  our  forefathers. 

What  happened  in  Moscow  likewise  happened  —  and  that 
too  without  Count  Rostopchin's  proclamations  —  in  all  the 
cities  and  villages  of  the  Russian  land,  beginning  with  Smo- 
lensk. The  nation  unconcernedly  awaited  the  arrival  of  the 
foe,  displaying  no  disorder,  no  excitement,  tearing  no  one  iu 
pieces,  but  calmly  awaiting  their  fate,  conscious  that,  even  at 
the  most  trying  moment,  they  should  find  they  had  the  power 
to  do  whatever  was  required  of  them.  And  as  soon  as  the 
foe  approached,  the  more  wealthy  elements  of  the  population 
departed,  leaving  their  possessions  behind  them ;  the  poorer 
claisses  staid,  and  burned  and  destroyed  what  was  abandoned. 

The  conviction  that  things  must  be  as  they  are  has  always 
been  and  still  is  inherent  in  the  Russian  mind.  And  this 
conviction  —  nay,  more,  the  presentiment  that  Moscow  would 
be  taken  —  pervaded  Russian  and  Moscovite  society  in  the 
year  1812.  Those  who  started  to  abandon  Moscow  as  early  as 
July  and  the  beginning  of  August  showed  that  this  was  what 
they  expected.  Those  who  fled,  taking  with  them  whatever 
they  could,  and  abandoning  their  houses  and  the  half  of  their 
possessions,  acted  thus  in  obedience  to  that  latent  patriotism 
which  is  expressed  not  in  phrases,  nor  in  the  slaughter  of 
children  for  the  salvation  of  the  fatherland,  and  by  other  un- 
Tiatural  deeds,  but  is  expressed  imperceptibly,  simply,  organi- 
cally, and,  accordingly,  always  produces  the  most  powerful 
results. 

"  It  is  disgraceful  to  flee  from  danger ;  only  cowards  will  fly 
from  Moscow,''    it  was  said  to  them.    Rostopchin,  in  his 


298  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Afishki,  declared  that  it  was  ignominious  to  leave  Mosoov. 
They  were  ashamed  to  be  branded  as  cowards,  they  were 
ashamed  to  go ;  but  still  they  went,  because  they  knew  that  it 
had  to  be  so. 

What  made  them  go  ? 

It  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  Hostopchin  frightened  then 
by  his  cock-and-bull  stories  of  the  atrocities  committed  by 
Napoleon  in  conquered  lands.  They  fled,  and  the  first  to  flee 
were  the  wealthy,  cultivated  people,  who  knew  perfectly  weD 
that  Vienna  and  Berlin  wei*e  left  intact,  and  that  there,  dur- 
ing Napoleon's  occupation,  the  inhabitants  led  a  gay  life  with 
the  fascinating  Frenchmen,  who  at  that  time  were  so  beloved 
by  Russian  men  and  particularly  Eussian  women. 

They  went,  because  for  Russians  there  could  be  no  question 
whether  it  would  be  good  or  bad  to  have  the  French  in  control 
of  Moscow.  It  was  impossible  to  exist  under  the  dominion  of 
the  French :  that  was  worse  than  aught  else.  They  began  to 
escape  even  before  the  battle  of  Borodino,  and  after  the  battle 
of  Borodino  with  greater  and  greater  rapidity,  not  heeding 
the  summons  to  remain  and  protect  the  city,  notwithstanding 
the  statements  of  the  governor-general  of  Moscow  as  to  his 
intention  of  taking  the  Iverskaya  virgin  and  going  forth  to 
fight,  and  notwithstanding  the  balloons  which  were  destined 
to  bring  destruction  upon  the  French,  and  notwithstanding  all 
the  nonsense  which  Count  Rostopchin  wrote  about  in  his 
proclamations. 

They  knew  that  the  army  ought  to  fight,  and  that  if  it 
could  not,  then  it  was  no  use  for  them  to  go  out  with  their 
fine  ladies  and  their  hpusehold  serfs  to  Tri  Gorui  *  to  do  battle 
with  Napoleon,  but  that  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  make 
their  escape,  however  much  they  might  regret  leaving  their 
property  to  destruction. 

They  fled,  and  gave  never  a  thought  to  the  majestic  signifi- 
cance of  this  splendid  and  rich  capital  abandoned  by  its  in- 
habitants, and  unquestionably  doomed  to  be  burned  (for  it 
is  not  in  the  nature  of  the  Russian  populace  not  to  sack,  not  to 
set  tire  to  empty  houses)  ;  they  fled  each  for  himself ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  merely  as  a  consequence  of  their  fleeing,  was 
accomplished  that  majestic  event  which  will  forever  remain 
the  crowning  glory  of  the  Russian  people. 

That  noble  lady  f  who,  even  as  early  as  the  month  of  June, 
took  her  negroes  and  her  jesters,  and  went  from  Moscow  to 
her  country  place  near  Saratof,  with  a  vague  consciousness 

*  Three  IliUs.  f  Bdruinya* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  299 

that  she  was  no  slave  to  Bonaparte,  and  with  some  apprehen- 
sion lest  she  should  be  stopped  by  Count  Rostopchin's  orders, 
was  simply  and  naturally  doing  the  mighty  act  that  was  to 
prove  the  salvation  of  Kussia. 

Count  Rostopchin  himself,  now  putting  to  shame  those  who 
fled,  now  transferring  the  courts  outside  the  city,  now  dis- 
tributing good-for-nothing  arms  to  a  drunken  mob,  now  dis- 
playing the  holy  pictures,  now  forbidding  Avgustin  to  remove 
the  relics  and  ikons,  now  seizing  all  private  conveyances  that 
were  in  Moscow,  now  conveying  on  one  hundred  and  thirty-six 
carta  the  balloon  constructed  by  Leppich,  now  hinting  that  he 
should  set  Moscow  on  Are,  now  declaring  that  he  had  burnt 
his  own  house,  now  writing  a  proclamation  to  the  French  in 
which  he  solemnly  reproached  them  for  having  destroyed  his 
Foundling  Asylum ;  now  taking  the  glory  of  the  burning  of 
Moscow,  now  disclaiming  it ;  now  ordering  the  people  to  cap- 
ture all  spies  and  bring  them  to  him,  now  reproaching  the 
people  for  doing  that  very  thing ;  now  sending  all  the  French 
out  of  Moscow,  while,  at  the  same  time,  leaving  in  the  city 
Madame  Aubert-Chalme,  whose  house  was  the  centre  of  the 
whole  French  population  of  Moscow;  and  now,  without  a 
shadow  of  excuse,  ordering  the  honorable  director  of  the 
posts,  the  venerable  Kliucharef,  to  be  arrested  and  banished ; 
now  collecting  the  populace  on  the  Tri  Gorui,  in  order  to  do 
battle  with  the  French,  and  now,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  this 
same  mob,  giving  them  a  man  to  slaughter,  while  he  himself 
slipped  out  from  a  rear  gate ;  now  declaring  that  he  would  not 
survive  the  misfortune  of  Moscow,  now  writing  French  verses  * 
in  albums  to  commemorate  the  part  that  he  took  in  these 
deeds,  —  this  man  did  not  appreciate  the  significance  of  the 
deed  accomplished,  but  he  merely  desired  to  do  something 
bimself,  to  astonish  some  one,  to  accomplish  something  patri- 
otically heroic,  and,  like  a  child,  he  sported  over  the  majestic 
and  inevitable  circumstance  of  the  abandonment  f!nd  burning 
of  Moscow,  and  strove  with  his   puny  little   hand  now  to 
encourage,  now  to  stem  the  current  of  that  tremendous  popu- 
lar torrent  which  was  carrying  him  along  with  it. 

*  Je  sttU  n^  tartare; 

Je  vovlaii  Stre  romain ; 
Lesfran^ais  m*app€lerent  barbare, 
Les  russes  Georges  Dandin, 

,  \^  bora  a  Tatar.  I  wanted  to  be  a  Roman.  The  French  called  me  a 
oyrbarian,  the  Russians  Qeorge  Dandin.  —  Author's  Notb.  (George  Dan- 
^n*  a  character  in  one  of  Moii^re's  plays,  is  the  type  of  a  peasant  raised  to 
we  nobility,  and  marrying  a  rich  wife,  who  proves  oniaithral.) 


800  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Ellkk,  who  had  returned  with  the  court  from  Yilno  to 
Petersburg,  foimd  herself  in  a  trying  and  delicate  situation. 

At  Petersburg,  Ellen  enjoyed  the  special  protection  of  a 
grandee  who  held  one  of  the  most  important  offices  in  the 
empire. 

But  at  Vilno  she  had  become  intimate  with  a  young  foreign 
prince.  When  she  returned  to  Petersburg,  the  prince  and  the 
grandee  were  both  in  town ;  both  claimed  their  rights,  and 
Ellen  found  that  she  had  to  face  a  new  problem  in  her  career: 
to  preserve  her  intimacy  with  both  without  offending  either. 

What  would  have  seemed  difficult  and  even  impossible  for 
any  other  woman  did  not  cause  the  Countess  Bezukhaya  even 
a  moment's  hesitation,  thereby  proving  that  it  was  not  in  vain 
she  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  clever  woman.  If 
she  had  tried  to  hide  her  actions,  to  emplov  subterfuge  in 
escaping  from  an  awkward  position,  she  would,  by  that  Teiy 
method,  have  spoiled  her  game  by  confessing  herself  guilty. 
But  Ellen,  on  the  contrary,  openly  after  the  manner  of  a 
truly  great  man,  who  can  do  anything  that  he  please^  as- 
sumed that  she  was  in  the  right,  as  she  really  believed,  and 
that  all  the  rest  of  the  world  were  in  the  wrong. 

The  first  time  when  the  young  foreign  personage  permitted 
himself  to  reproach  her,  she,  proudly  holding  high  her  bean* 
tiful  head,  and  looking  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  said 
steadily,  — 

'^  Here  is  an  example  of  man's  egotism  and  cruelty !  I  might 
have  expected  it.  A  woman  sacrifices  herself  for  you,  and  this 
is  her  reward !  What  right  have  you,  monseigneur,  to  hold 
me  to  account  for  my  friendships,  for  my  affections  ?  This 
man  has  been  more  than  a  father  to  me."  * 

The  personage  began  to  make  some  answer.  Ellen  inte^ 
inipted  him.  "Well,  then,  grant  it  I"  said  she,  "perhaps  he 
has  for  me  other  sentiments  than  those  of  a  father ;  but  that  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  shut  my  door  to  him.  I  am  not  a 
man  that  I  should  be  ungrateful.  I  would  have  you  under- 
stand, monseigneur,  that  in  all  that  touches  my  private  feel- 
ings, I  am  accountable  only  to  God  and  my  conscience,"  she 
said,  in  conclusion,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  beautifol} 
heaving  bosom,  with  a  glance  toward  heaven. 

*  Voiia  lUgoimxe  et  la  cruauti  des  AomirMf,  «te« 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  801 

"  But,  for  Crod's  sake,  listen  to  me." 
"  Marry  me  and  I  will  be  your  slave." 
"  But  it  is  impossible." 

"  You  are  too  proud  to  stoop  to  marriage  with  me,  you  *  "  — 
said  £11eii,  bursting  into  tears. 

The  personage  tried  to  console  her.  Ellen,  through  her  tears, 
declared  (as  though  she  had  forgotten  herself)  that  no  one 
could  prevent  her  from  marrying ;  that  there  were  examples 
—  at  that  time  there  were  few  examples,  but  she  mentioned 
Napoleon  and  other  men  of  high  degree :  that  she  had  never 
been  to  her  husband  what  the  name  of  wife  implies ;  and  that 
she  had  been  led  to  the  altar  as  a  sacrifice. 

"  But  laws,  religion  "  —  murmured  the  personage,  beginning 
to  yield- 

"  Laws,  religion !  Why  were  they  ever  invented,  if  they 
could  not  help  in  such  a  case  as  this  ?  " 

The  exalted  personage  was  amazed  that  such  a  simple  line 
of  reasoning  had  never  entered  his  mind,  and  he  applied  for 
advice  to  the  holy  brethren  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  with  whom 
he  stood  in  intimate  relationship. 

A  few  days  later,  at  one  of  the  enchanting  fetes  which  Ellen 
gave  at  her  datcha,  or  suburban  residence,  on  the  Kamennoi 
Ostrof,  M.  de  Jobert,  «n  JesuUe  a  robe  courte,  a  fascinating  man, 
no  longer  young,  with  hair  as  white  as  snow,  and  with  dark, 
glittering  eyes,  was  presented  to  her ;  and  for  a  long  time,  as 
they  sat  in  the  garden  in  the  brilliant  light  of  the  illuminations, 
and  listening  to  the  sounds  of  music,  he  conversed  with  her 
about  love  to  God,  to  Christ,  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Mary,  and 
about  the  consolations  vouchsafed  in  this  life  and  the  life  to 
come  by  the  one  true  Catholic  religion. 

£llen  was  touched,  and  several  times  the  tears  stood  in  the 
eyes  of  both  of  them,  and  her  voice  trembled. 
"  The  dance  to*  which  a  partner  came  to  engage  Ellen  inter- 
rupted her  interview  with  her  future  dlrecteur  de  conscience  ; 
but  in  the  evening  of  the  following  day  M.  de  Jobert  came 
alone  to  Ellen's,  and  from  that  time  he  was  frequently  at  her 
house. 

One  day  he  took  the  countess  to  the  Catholic  church,  and 
there  she  remained  on  her  knees  before  the  altar,  to  which  she 
was  brought. 

The  elderly,  fascinating  Frenchman  laid  his  hands  on  her 
head,  and,  as  she  herself  afterwards  declared,  she  became  con- 
scious of  something  like  the  fanning  of  a  cool  breeze  which 

*  y<ms  ne  daignezpa*  de8cendrejxt8qu*a  mo{,  vou^-^ 


302 


WAR  AND  PEACE. 


entered  her  soul.     It  was  explained  to  her  that  this  iras  la 
grace. 

Then  an  ahbe  a  robe  loitffiie  was  introduced  to  her.  He  heaid 
her  confession,  and  granted  her  absohition  from  her  sins. 

On  the  next  day  they  brought  her  a  casket  in  which  was 
contained  the  Holy  Communion,  and  they  left  it  in  her  house 
for  her  use. 

After  a  few  days,  Ellen,  to  her  satisfaction,  learned  that  she 
had  now  entered  the  true  Catholic  Church,  and  that  shortly  the 
pope  should  be  informed  about  it,  and  would  send  her  a  cer 
tain  document. 

All  that  happened  at  this  time  around  her  and  within  her; 
all  the  attention  lavished  upon  her  by  so  many  clever  men,  and 
expressed  in  such  agreeable,  refined  forms ;  and  the  dove-like 
purity  in  which  she  now  found  herself  —  these  days  she  con- 
stantly wore  white  dresses  with  white  ribbons  — all  this  affoitled 
her  great  satisfaction,  but  she  did  not  for  a  moment  allow  this 
satisfaction  to  prevent  her  from  the  attainment  of  her  desires. 

And,  as  it  always  happens  that  in  a  matter  of  finesse  Uie 
stupid  man  obtains  more  than  the  clever,  she,  comprehending 
that  the  object  of  all  these  words  and  labors  consisted  chiefly 
in  making  her  pay  for  the  privilege  of  conversion  to  Catholi- 
cism by  turning  over  certain  moneys  for  the  advantage  of  Jesuit 
institutions,  concerning  which  they  had  dropped  various  hints, 
—  Ellen,  before  turning  this  money  over,  insisted  on  their 
execution  in  her  behalf  of  the  various  formalities  which  would 
free  her  from  her  husband. 

In  her  idea,  the  significance  of  any  religion  consisted  only 
in  observing  certain  conventionalities,  while  at  the  same  time 
allowing  the  gratification  of  hiunan  desires. 

And,  with  this  end  in  view,  during  one  of  her  interviews 
with  her  spiritual  guide,  she  strenuously  insisted  on  his  an- 
swering her  question,  how  far  she  was  bound  by  her  marriage. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  drawing-room,  by  the  window.  It 
was  twilight.  Through  the  window  wafted  the  fragrance  of 
flowers.  Ellen  wore  a  white  dress,  which  scarcely  veiled  her 
bosom  and  shoulders.  The  abb6,  handsome  and  plump,  with  fat 
face  smooth-shaven,  pleasant,  forceful  mouth,  and  white  hands 
folded  on  his  knees,  was  sitting  close  to  Ellen,  and,  with  a 
slight  smile  on  his  lips  and  eyes,  decorously  devouring  her 
beauty,  was  looking  from  time  to  time  into  her  face,  and  ex> 
plaining  his  views  on  the  question  that  occupied  them. 

Ellen,  with  an  uneasy  smile,  looked  at  his  flowing  locks,  his 
smooth-shaven^  dark-shaded,  plump  cheeks^  anci  each  moment 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  808 

expected  some  new  turn  to  the  conversation.  But  the  abM, 
though  he  evidently  appreciated  his  companion's  beauty,  was 
carried  away  by  the  skill  which  he  used  in  his  arguments. 

The  course  of  reasoning  employed  by  the  director  of  con* 
science  was  as  follows :  — 

''In  your  ignorance  of  the  significance  of  what  you  took 
upon  yourself,  you  plighted  your  troth  to  a  man  who,  on  his 
side,  by  entering  into  marriage  without  believing  in  the  reli- 
giotts  sacrament  of  marriage,  committed  sacrilege.  This  mar- 
riage had  no  complete  significance,  such  as  it  should  have.  But, 
nevertheless,  your  vow  binds  you.  You  have  broken  it.  What 
have  you  committed  thereby,  peche  veniel  or  pSche  mortel  ? 
Venial  sin,  because  what  you  have  done  lias  been  without  evil 
intent.  If  you  now,  for  the  sake  of  having  children,  should 
enter  into  a  marriage  bond,  your  sin  might  be  forgiven  you. 
But  this  question  resolves  itself  into  two :  first "  — 

*^But  I  think,"  said  £llen,  suddenly  losing  patience  and 
beaming  upon  him  with  her  fascinating  smile,  ^^  I  think  that, 
now  that  I  have  entered  into  the  true  faith,  I  cannot  remain 
bound  by  what  was  imposed  upon  me  by  a  false  religion." 

The  direetenr  de  conscience  was  astonished  at  this  solution, 
which  had  all  the  simplicity  of  Columbus's  egg.  He  was  de- 
lighted by  the  unexpected  rapidity  with  which  his  teachings 
had  met  with  success,  but  he  could  not  refrain  from  following 
out  the  train  of  thought  which  he  had  elaborated  with  so  much 
pains. 

'^  Let  us  understand  each  other,  comtesse/'  he  said,  with  a 
smile,  and  be  proceeded  to  refute  his  spiritual  daughter's  rea- 
soning, 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Ellsn  understood  that  the  matter  was  very  simple  and  easy 
from  the  religious  standpoint,  but  that  her  spiritual  directors 
stood  out  against  it  simply  because  they  were  apprehensive 
of  the  way  it  might  strike  the  temporal  powers. 

And,  consequently,  Ellen  resolved  that  it  was  necessary  for 
society  to  be  prepared  for  this  eventuality.  She  aroused  the 
old  grandee's  jjealousy,  and  told  him  exactly  what  she  had  said 
to  her  first  suitor ;  in  other  words,  she  made  him  understand 
that  the  only  way  of  establishing  his  rights  over  her  was  to 
marry  her. 

The  aged  personage,  at  the  first  moment,  was  just  as  much 
asiOQiahed  as  the  young  personage  had  been  at  this  proposal 


304  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

of  marrying  during  the  husband's  lifetime.  But  Ellen's  im- 
perturbable assurance  that  this  was  as  simple  and  natural  as 
the  marriage  of  a  virgin,  had  its  effect  even  on  him.  If  there 
had  been  noticed  the  slightest  symptom  of  vacillation,  shame^ 
or  underhandedness  on  Ellen's  part,  then  her  game  woidd 
have  undoubtedly  been  lost;  but,  on  the  contrary,  she,  with 
simple  and  good-natured  naitfete,  told  her  nearest  friends  ^and 
this  was  all  Petersburg)  that  both  the  grandee  and  the  prince 
had  proposed  to  her,  and  that  she  was  in  love  with  both  of 
them,  and  afraid  of  paauing  either. 

The  rumor  was  instantly  bruited  through  Petersburg — not 
that  Ellen  desired  to  obtain  a  divorce  from  her  huslrand :  if 
this  report  had  been  current,  very  many  would  have  protests 
against  such  a  lawless  proceeding  —  that  the  unhappy,  inter- 
esting Ellen  was  in  perplexity  as  to  which  of  the  two  men  she 
should  marry. 

The  question  was  not  at  all  how  far  this  was  permissible, 
but  which  party  was  the  most  desirable,  and  how  the  couit 
looked  upon  it.  There  were,  to  be  sure,  a  few  obdurate  people, 
who  were  unable  to  rise  to  the  height  of  this  question,  and  who 
saw  in  this  project  a  profanation  of  the  marriage  sacrament ; 
but  such  people  were  few,  and  they  held  their  peace,  while  the 
majority  were  merely  interested  in  the  question  which  Ellen 
would  choose,  and  which  choice  were  the  better.  As  to  the 
question  whether  it  were  right  or  wrong  to  marry  a  second 
time  during  the  lifetime  of  the  first  husband,  nothing  was 
said,  because  this  question  had  been  evidently  settled  for 
people  "  who  were  wiser  than  you  and  me  "  (so  they  said),  and 
to  express  any  doubt  of  the  correctness  of  such  a  settlement 
of  the  question  was  to  run  the  risk  of  showing  one's  stupidity 
and  one's  ignorance  of  society. 

Marya  Dmitrievna  Akhrasimova,  who  had  gone  that  summer 
to  Petersburg  to  visit  one  of  her  sons,  was  the  only  one  who 
permitted  herself  frankly  to  express  her  opinion,  though  it 
was  in  direct  contravention  to  that  of  society  in  generaL 
Meeting  Ellen  one  time  at  a  ball,  Marya  Dmitrievna  stopped 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  ballroom,  and  in  her  loud  voice,  which 
rang  through  the  silence,  she  said,  — 

"  So  you  propose  to  marry  again  while  your  other  husband 
is  alive  I  Perhaps  you  think  you  have  discovered  something 
new !  —  You  have  been  forestalled,  mdtushka.      This  thing 

was  invented  long  ago.    In  all  the they  do  the  same 

thing." 

And  with  these  words  Marya  Dmitrievna,  with  that  ehano- 


WAR  AND  PEA  CM.  805 

teristic,  threatening  gesture  of  hers,  turned  haJik  her  flowing 
sleeves,  and,  glancing  sternly  around,  passed  through  the 
room. 

Marya  Dmitrievna,  although  she  Was  feared,  was  regarded 
in  Petersburg  as  facetious^  and  therefore,  in  the  words  which 
she  spoke  to  Ellen,  they  merely  took  notice  of  her  use  of  the 
coarse  word,  and  repeated  it  in  a  whisper,  supposing  that 
therein  lay  all  the  salt  of  her  remark. 

Prince  Vasili,  who  of  late  had  grown  peculiarly  forgetful, 
and  repeated  himself  a  hundred  times,  said  to  his  daughter 
whenever  he  chanced  to  see  her,  — 

"  HeUney  fai  un  mot  d,  vous  dire/'  he  would  say  to  her,  draw- 
ing her  to  one  side  and  giving  her  hand  a  pull.  '<  J'ai  eu  vent 
de  certains  projets  relatifs  d  —  vous  savez.  Eh  hieii^  ma  chh*e 
enfant,  vous  savez  q^ie  man  eceur  de  p^re  se  rSJouit  de  vous  savoir 
— vans  avez  tant  souffert.  — Mais  chJh'e  enfant,  —  ne  constUtez 
que  votre  eceur,     (Test  tout  ce  auejs  vous  dis"  * 

And,  hiding  the  emotion  that  always  overmastered  him,  he 
would  press  his  cheek  to  his  daughter's,  and  go  away. 

Bilibin  had  not  lost  his  reputation  of  being  a  clever  man, 
and  as  he  had  been  a  disinterested  friend  of  Ellen's,  one  of 
those  friends  whom  brilliant  women  always  manage  to  attach 
to  them,  —  men  who  may  be  relied  upon  never  to  change  from 
friend  to  lover,  — he  once,  en  petit  eomitS,  gave  Ellen  the  benefit 
of  his  views  in  regard  to  all  this  business.  "  j6coutez,  Bilibin," 
said  Ellen,  who  always  called  all  such  friends  as  Bilibin  bv 
their  last  names,  —  and  she  laid  her  white  hand,  blazing  with 
rings,  on  his  coat-sleeve:  "Tell  me  as  you  would  a  sister,  what 
ought  I  to  do  ?    Which  one  of  the  two  ?  " 

Bilibin  knitted  his  brows,  and  sat  reflecting  with  a  smile  on 
his  lips. 

"  You  do  not  take  me  by  surprise,  do  you  know,"  said  he. 
"As  a  true  friend  I  have  thought  and  thought  about  your 
affairs.  You  see.  If  you  marry  the  prince  " —  (that  was  the 
young  man) — he  bent  over  his  finger — "you  lose  forever 
your  chance  of  marrying  the  other  one,  and,  besides,  you  offend 
the  court.  —  As  you  are  aware,  there  is  some  sort  of  relation- 
ship. But  if  you  marry  the  old  count,  you  will  make  his  last 
days  happy,  and  then  as  the  widow  of  the  great the  prince 

*  "  Kllen,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  yon.    I  have  heard  rumors  of  certain  pro- 
jects conoeming — yoa  know  who.    Well,  my  dear  child,  yon  know  that  my 
Sttemal  heart  woald  rejoice  to  feel  —  you  have  had  so  much  to  endure.  -- 
utj  dear  child,  —  eonsolt  only  your  own  heart.    That  is  all  that  I  have  to 

VOL.  8.  — 20. 


806  y^TAR  AND  PEACE. 

will  not  make  a  tnisalliance  in  contracting  a  mariis^  witih 
you."  * 

**  Voil^  un  veritable  ami  /  a  true  friend  ! "  cried  Ellen  radi- 
antly,  and  once  more  laying  her  hand  on  his  sleeve.  "  But  the 
trouble  is  that  I  love  both  of  them ;  I  should  not  wish  to  pain 
either  of  them.  I  would  saeriiice  my  life  to  make  both  of 
them  happy,"  said  she. 

Bilibin  shmgged  his  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say  that  even 
he  himself  could  not  endure  such  a  grievous  thing. 

^'Une  maitresse^femme !  That  is  what  is  called  stating  the 
question  squarely.  She  would  like  to  have  all  three  as  hus- 
bands at  once ! "  thought  Bilibin.  "  But  tell  me  how  your 
husband  is  going  to  look  upon  this  matter/'  he  asked,  trusting 
to  the  solid  foundation  of  his  reputation,  and  therefore  having 
no  fear  of  hurting  himself  by  such  an  artless  question.  ^  WiU 
he  consent  ?  " 

*MA/  il  rrCaime  tantf  He  loves  me  so  I"  cried  Ellen,  who 
had  somehow  conceived  the  notion  that  Pierre  also  loved  her! 
"He  will  do  anything  for  me ! " 

Bilibin  again  puckered  his  forehead,  so  as  to  give  intimation 
of  the  approaching  mot :  "  Meme  le  divorce  ?  "  he  asked. 

Ellen  laughed 

Among  those  who  permitted  themselves  to  doubt  the  legality 
of  the  proposed  marriage  was  Ellen's  mother,  the  Princess 
Ruragina.  She  was  constantly  tortured  by  jealousy  of  her 
daughter,  and  now  when  the  object  that  especially  aroused  this 
jealousy  was  the  one  dearest  to  the  princess's  heart,  she  could 
not  even  endure  the  thought  of  it.  She  consulted  wiih  a  Rus- 
sian priest  in  regard  to  how  far  divorce  and  marriage  during 
the  life  of  the  husband  were  permissible,  and  the  priest 
informed  her  that  this  was  impossible,  and  to  her  delist 
pointed  out  to  her  the  Gospel  text,  where  it  is  strictly  forUd- 
den  to  marry  again  during  the  life  of  a  husband. 

Armed  with  these  arguments,  which  seemed  to  her  irrefu- 
table, the  princess  drove  to  her  daughter's  early  one  morning, 
so  as  to  find  her  alone. 

After  listening  to  her  mother's  objections,  Ellen  smiled  a  sweet 
but  satirical  smile.  "  Here  it  is  said  in  so  many  words,"  said  the 
old  princess.  "  He  who  ever  shall  marry  her  wno  is  put  away  "— 

*  Vovs  ne  me  prenez  en  rasplohhj  vou$  9<wez,  Comme  v^itahU  amifai 
pensd  et  repens^  a  votre  affaire.  Voyez  vous.  Si  v<nt$  ^pousez  le  prince,  vovm 
perdez  pour  tovjmirs  la  chance  tT^potiser  Vatttre,  et  puis  wme  mSconlentex  la 
Ciyur  {comme  tHniB  savez,  ily  a vne 49pece de  parente).  Matt  9t  vaut  ipaumM 
le  frieux  camte  vous  faUes  le  bonheur  de  see  demiertjourM,  et  pui»  ci 
veuve  du  grand— le  prince  ne/ait  plus  de  mesalliance  en  vous  ^pousanL 


WA»  AND  PS  ACS.  807 

^Ahf  mamafty  ne  dites  pas  de  hetises.  Don't  talk  nonsense. 
Ton  do  not  understand  at  all.  Dmu;  ma  position  fai  des 
devoirs"  interrupted  Ellen,  changing  the  conversation  into 
French,  since  it  always  seemed  to  her  that  the  Russian  brought 
out  a  certain  lack  of  definiteness  in  this  transaction  of  hei*Si 

"  But,  my  dear  "  -« 

"  Ah,  maman  f  Can't  you  understand  that  the  Holy  Heather, 
who  hs^  the  right  to  grant  dispensations  "  — ^ 

At  this  instant  the  lady  companion  who  lived  at  Ellen's 
came  in  to  announce  that  his  highness  was  in  the  drawing- 
room  and  wished  to  see  her. 

'^No,  tell  him  that  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him,  that  I  am 
furious  with  him  because  he  has  broken  his  word ! " 

"  Camtesse,  it  tout  pSehe  miser icorde  /  There  is  a  pardon 
for  every  sin  !  '^  said  a  fair  young  man,  with  a  long  face  and 
long  nose,  who  came  into  the  room. 

The  old  princess  arose  most  respectfully  and  courtesied; 
the  young  man  who  came  in  paid  no  attention  whatever  to 
her.    The  princess  nodded  to  her  daughter  and  sailed  out. 

**  Yes,  she  is  right,"  mused  the  old  princess,  all  of  whose  con- 
victions were  dissipated  by  the  sight  of  his  highness.  **  She 
is  right.  But  how  was  it  we  did  not  know  this  in  those  days 
which  will  never  return,  when  we  were  young  ?  And  it  is 
such  a  simple  thing,"  mused  the  old  princess,  as  she  took  her 
seat  in  her  carriage. 

Toward  the  beginning  of  August,  Ellen's  affairs  were  en- 
tirely settled,  and  she  wrote  her  husband  —  who  was  so  fond 
of  her  as  she  thought  —  informing  him  of  her  intention  of 
marrying  N.N.,  and  that  she  had  embraced  the  one  true 
religion,  and  begging  him  to  fulfil  all  the  indispensable  for- 
malities of  the  divorce,  in  regard  to  which  the  bearer  of  her 
letter  would  give  due  paiticulars.  "  And  so  I  pray  God,  my 
dear,  to  have  you  in  his  holy  and  mighty  protection. 

"Your  Friend,  Ellen/'* 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TowAKD  the  end  of  the  battle  of  Borodino,  Pierre,  fleeing  for 
the  second  time  from  the  Rayevsky  battery,  joined  a  throng 
of  soldiers  hurrying  along  the  ravine  to  Kniazkovo,  and  came 

*  **  Bur  ee  Je  prie  DieUi  mon  ami,  de  vous  avoir  $ou8  sa  aairUe  et  puUuinte 
garde.    Votrt  AmU,  EHkne."* 


808  ViTAR  AND  PEACE. 

to  the  field  lazaret,  and  there  seeing  bloody  and  hearing  cries  and 
groans,  he  hurried  on,  mingling  with  the  thi'ongs  of  soldiers. 

The  one  thing  which  Pierre  now  desired  with  all  the  powers 
of  his  soul  was  to  escape  as  soon  as  possible  from  these  ter- 
rible scenes  through  which  he  had  lived  that  day,  to  return  to 
the  ordinary  conditions  of  every-day  life,  and  to  sleep  calmly 
in  his  own  bed,  in  his  own  room.  He  was  conscious  that  only 
by  getting  back  to  ordinary  conditions  would  he  be  able  to 
understand  himself  and  all  that  he  had  seen  and  experienced. 
But  these  ordinary  conditions  of  life  were  non-existent. 

Although  cannon-balls  and  bullets  were  not  whistlii^  along 
this  paii;  of  the  road  where  he  was  walking,  still  there  was  on 
all  sides  of  him  what  he  had  seen  on  the  battle-field.  There 
were  the  same  suffering,  tortured,  and  sometimes  strangely  in- 
different physiognomies,  the  same  gore,  the  same  military 
cloaks,  the  same  sounds  of  firing  although  softened  by  dis- 
tance, but  still  causing  ever  new  horror,  and,  beside,  this 
suffocating  heat  and  dust. 

Proceeding  three  versts  along  the  great  Mozhaisk  highway, 
Pierre  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  it. 

Twilight  had  settled  down  on  the  earth,  and  the  roar  of 
artillery  had  died  away.  Pierre  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands 
and  sat  in  this  posture  for  a  long  time,  watching  the  shadows 
trooping  by  him  in  the  dusk.  It  constantly  seemed  to  him  as 
though  a  cannon-shot  were  flying  down  upon  him  with  that 
terrible  screech.  He  began  to  tremble  and  got  up.  He  had  no 
idea  how  long  a  time  he  had  been  delaying  there.  Late  in  the 
night,  three  soldiers,  dragging  down  some  brushwood^  started 
a  fire  near  him  and  made  themselves  at  home.  These  soldiers, 
looking  askance  at  Pierre,  kindled  their  fire,  put  their  kettle 
on  it,  crumbled  hard-tack  into  it,  and  laid  on  their  salt  pork. 

The  agreeable  savor  of  appetizing  viands  and  of  frying  min- 
gled with  the  odor  of  the  smoke.  Pierre  stood  up  and  drew 
a  sigh.  The  soldiers  —  there  were  three  of  them  —  were  eat- 
ing and  conversing  together  and  paid  no  heed  to  Pierre. 

"  Well,  what  corps  are  you  from  ?  "  suddenly  asked  one  of 
the  soldiers,  addressing  Pierre,  and  evidently,  by  this  question, 
wishing  to  signify  and  Pierre  understood  it  so,  ''  If  you  want 
something  to  eat  we  will  give  it  to  you ;  only  tell  us  if  you 
are  an  honest  man." 

<*  What  ?  I  ?  T  ?  "  —  stammered  Pierre,  feeling  it  incnm* 
bent  upon  him  to  belittle  his  social  position  so  far  as  possible, 
so  as  to  be  nearer  and  more  accessible  to  the  soldiers : 

**  I  am  at  present  an  officer  of  the  landsturm  ^  only  I  have 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  809 

missed  my  corps  j  I  went  into  the  battle  and  got  separated 
from  my  men." 

"  To  think  of  it !  '*  *  said  one  of  the  soldiers. 

One  of  the  others  shook  his  head. 

''  Well,  have  something  to  eat,  if  you'd  like  our  mess/^  said 
the  first,  and  after  licking  off  the  wooden  spoon  he  handed  it 
to  Pierre. 

Pierre  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  began  to  eat  the  pottage 
which  was  in  the  kettle,  and  which  seemed  to  him  the  most 
palatable  of  anything  he  had  ever  tasted  in  his  life.  While 
he  greedily  bent  over  the  kettle,  fishing  out  great  spoonfuls 
and  swallowing  them  down  one  after  another,  his  face  was 
lighted  by  the  fire,  and  the  soldiers  silently  studied  him. 

'^  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  Tell  us  that ! "  asked  one  of 
them  again. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Mozhaisk." 

"  You  are  a  barin,  I  suppose  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"And  what's  your  name  ? " 

"PiotrKirillovitch." 

"Well,  Piotr  Kirillovitch,  come  on,  well  show  you  the  way." 

In  utter  darkness  the  soldiers  and  Pierre  went  toward 
Mozhaisk. 

The  cocks  were  already  crowing  when  they  came  near  the 
town  and  began  to  climb  the  steep  slope  that  led  to  it.  Pierre 
went  on  with  the  three  men,  entirely  forgetting  that  his 
tavern  was  below  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  that  he  had 
already  gone  beyond  it.  He  would  not  have  i-emembered  it  at 
all — he  had  got  into  such  a  state  of  apathy  —  if  half-way  up 
the  hill  he  had  not  accidentally  fallen  in  with  his  equerry, 
who  had  been  searching  for  him  in  the  town,  and  was  on  his 
way  back  to  the  tavern. 

"  Your  illustriousness,"  he  exclaimed,  "  we  have  been  in 
perfect  despair !  What !  Are  you  on  foot  ?  Where  have  you 
Deen,  please  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes  I "  replied  Pierre. 

The  soldiers  paused. 

"So,  then,  you  have  found  your  men,  have  you?"  asked 
one  of  them. 

"Well,  good-by  !  t  Piotr  Kirillovitch  ;  it's  all  right,  is  it  ?  " 
—•  "Good-by,  Piotr  Kirillovitch ! "  cried  the  other  voices. 

"Oood-by,"  said  Pierre,  and  he  started  back  with  his 
equerry  to  the  tavern. 

*  VUh  (tti.  t  Prathehawa, 


810  tVAn  ANb  PBACB. 

<<  I  ought  to  give  them  something/'  thought  Pierre,  feelbig 
in  his  pocket.  "  But  no,  it  is  not  necessary/'  said  some  Toiee 
within  him. 

There  was  no  room  for  Pierre  anywhere  in  the  tavern ;  all 
the  beds  were  taken.  Pierre  went  out  into  the  yard,  audi 
wrapping  up  his  head,  lay  down  in  his  calash. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PiBRRti  had  hardly  laid  his  head  on  his  extemporized  pillo# 
before  he  felt  himself  going  off  to  sleep ;  but  suddenly,  with 
almost  the  vividness  of  reality,  he  heard  the  bumf  bmm/ 
bOml  of  the  firing,  he  heard  cries,  groans,  the  thudding  of 
missiles,  he  smelt  blood  and  gunpowder;  and  a  feeling  of 
horror  and  the  terror  of  death  took  possession  of  him. 

He  opened  his  eyes  in  a  panic,  and  lifted  his  head  from  his 
cloak.  All  was  quiet  in  the  dvor.  Only  at  the  gates,  talking 
with  the  dvornik,  and  splashing  through  the  mud,  some  one's 
man  was  walking  up  and  down.  Over  his  head,  under  the 
dark  underside  of  the  shed  roof,  the  pifi;eons  were  fluttering 
their  wings,  startled  by  the  movement  which  he  had  made  in 
raising  himself.  The  whole  dvor  was  full  of  that  powerful 
barnyard  odor,  which,  at  that  instant,  delighted  Pierre's  heart 
-—the  odor  of  hay,  of  manure,  and  of  tar.  Through  a  chink 
in  the  shed  roof  he  could  see  the  clear,  starry  sky. 

*^  Thank  God,  there  is  no  more  of  f W,"  said  Pierre  to  him- 
self, again  covering  up  his  head.  '<  Oh !  what  a  terrible  panic, 
and  how  shameful  to  give  way  to  it.  But  they  —  they  were 
calm  and  firm  even  to  the  very  end,"  his  thoughts  ran  on. 
They,  in  Pierre's  soliloquy,  meant  the  soldiers  who  had  been 
in  the  battery,  those  who  had  given  him  food,  and  those  who 
had  worshipped  before  the  ikon.  They  —  he  had  never  known 
them  till  now  —  they  were  clearly  and  sharply  separated  from 
all  other  men. 

"  To  be  a  soldier,  a  simple  soldier,"  thought  Pierre,  as  he 
fell  off  to  sleep.  "  To  enter  into  that  common  life  with  all 
my  being,  to  learn  the  secret  of  what  makes  them  what  they 
are !  But  how  to  get  rid  of  this  superfluous,  devilish  weight 
of  the  external  man?  Once  I  might  have  been  such.  I 
might  have  run  away  from  my  fathers  house,  as  I  wanted  to 
do.  I  might  even  after  my  duel  with  Dolokhof  have  been  sent 
off  as  a  common  soldier." 

And  before  Pierre's  imagination  arose  the  dinner  at  the 


WAR  AND  PBACS.  Sll 

dub,  when  he  challenged  Dolokhof,  and  his  visit  to  the 
Benefactor  at  Torzhok.  And  here  Pierre  recalled  the  Masonic 
Lodge  at  Torzhok.  This  Lodge  was  installed  at  the  English 
Club.  And  some  one  whom  he  knew  well,  some  one  inti- 
mately connected  with  his  life,  and  dear  to  him,  was  sitting 
at  the  end  of  the  table.  Yes,  it  was  he !  It  was  the  Bene- 
factor ! 

"  Yes,  and  did  he  not  die  ?  "  mused  Pierre.  "  Yes,  he  was 
dead ;  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  alive.  And  how  sorry  I 
felt  that  he  was  dead,  and  how  glad  I  am  that  he  is  alive 
again  !^ 

On  one  side  of  the  table  sat  Anatol,  Dolokhof,  Nesvitsky, 
Denisof,  and  others  of  the  same  sort,  —  the  category  of  these 
men  was  just  as  clearly  defined  in  his  dream  in  Pierre's  mind 
as  the  category  of  the  men  whom  he  had  spoken  of  as  they  ; 
and  these  men  —  Anatol,  Dolokhof,  and  the  rest — were  should 
ing  and  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices ;  but  above  their 
shouts  he  could  bear  the  Benefactor's  voice  talking  incessantly, 
and  the  ring  of  his  voice  was  as  significant  and  continuous 
as  the  roar  of  the  battle-field,  but  ne  was  soothed  and  com- 
forted by  it. 

Piene  did  not  comprehend  what  the  Benefactor  was  saying, 
but  he  knew  —  the  category  of  his  thoughts  was  so  clear  in  his 
dream  —  that  the  Benefactor  was  talking  about  goodness,  and 
the  possibility  of  being  the  same  manner  of  man  as  tliei/  were. 
And  they  came  from  all  sides  and  surrounded  the  Benefactor 
with  their  simple,  good,  steadfast  faces.  But,  although  they 
were  good,  they  did  not  look  at  Pierre,  did  not  know  him. 
Pierre  was  anxious  to  attract  their  attention  and  to  talk.  He 
started  to  get  up,  but  his  legs  were  cold  and  uncovered. 

He  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  was  going  to  cover  his 
legs,  from  which  his  cloak  had  actually  slipped  off.  While 
Pierre  was  covering  himself  up  again,  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
saw  the  same  shed,  the  same  beams,  the  same  dvor,but  every- 
thing was  enveloped  in  a  bluish  light,  and  sparkled  with  dew 
or  frost 

"Daybreak!"  thought  Pierre.  "But  this  is  not  what  I 
want.  I  must  listen,  hear,  and  ^understand  the  Benefactor's 
words." 

He  again  wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak,  but  there  was  no 
longer  any  Masonic  Lodge ;  the  Benefactor  was  gone.  There 
were  simply  thoughts,  clearly  expressed  in  words,  thoughts 
which  either  some  one  spoke  or  which  Pierre  himself  ima- 
gined. 


812  wah  and  p^acs. 

When  he  afterwards  came  to  recall  these  thoughts,  althongh 
they  were  evidently  superinduced  by  the  impressions  of  the 
day,  Pierre  was  convinced  that  some  one  outside  of  himself 
spoke  them  to  him. 

Never,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  while  awake,  had  he  been  able 
to  think  such  thoughts  or  to  express  them  in  such  language. 

"  The  hardest  thing  for  man  to  do  is  to  subordinate  his  free- 
dom to  the  laws  of  God,"  said  the  voice.  "  Singleness  is  sub- 
inission  to  God ;  thou  canst  not  escape  from  him.  And  ih^y 
are  single-hearted.  Thei/  do  not  talk,  they  act.  Speech  is 
silver,  but  silence  is  gold.  Man  can  never  get  the  masteiy, 
since  he  is  afraid  of  death.  Whoso  feareth  not  death,  sdl 
things  shall  be  added  uuto  him.  If  it  were  not  for  suffering, 
man  would  not  know  his  limitations,  would  not  know  himself.'* 
"  The  hardest  thing,"  continued  Pierre  either  to  think  or  to 
hear  in  his  dream,  **  consists  in  being  able  to  co-ordinate  in  the 
soul  the  knowledge  of  all  things.  To  co-ordinate  all  things  ?** 
Pierre  was  asking.  *<  No,  not  to  co-ordinate.  It  is  impossible 
to  co-ordinate  thoughts ;  but  to  take  apart  and  analyze :  that 
is  what  is  necessary !  Yes,  to  take  apiart,  to  take  apart,"  said 
Pierre,  repeating  the  word  over  to  himself  with  inward  enthu- 
siasm, conscious  that  by  just  these,  and  by  these  words  only, 
could  be  expressed  what  he  desired  to  express,  and  have  the 
question  decided  that  was  forever  tormenting  him. 

"  Yes,  take  apai-t,  time  to  take  apart." 

"  We  must  make  a  start,  time  to  make  a  start,*  your  illus- 
triousness,"  i-epeated  some  voice  at  his  ear.  "  Must  make  a 
start,  time  to  start." 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  equerry  trying  to  rouse  Pierre.  The 
sun  was  shining  full  in  Pierre's  face.  He  looked  at  the  muddv 
yard  of  the  dvor,  in  the  centre  of  which,  around  the  well,  sol- 
diers were  watering  lean  horses,  and  from  the  g^tes  of  which 
trains  were  starting  away.  Pierre  turned  away  with  disgust, 
and,  closing  his  eyes,  made  haste  to  roll  over  again  on  the  car> 
riage  seat. 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  this,  I  do  not  wish  to  see  this  or  to 
understand  it ;  I  wish  to  comprehend  what  was  revealed  to 
me  while  I  was  dreaming.  Just  one  second  more,  and  I  should 
have  understood  it  all.  Now,  what  must  I  do  ?  To  take  apart, 
yes,  but  how  take  apart  ?  " 

And  Pierre  found  to  his  dismay  that  the  whole  significance 

*  Pierre's  confusion  of  dreaming  and  waking  ideas  is  caused  by  the  riinl- 
larity  between  "  sopriagdt,^*  to  unite,  join,  and  *^zapriagdl,"  to  bitch  ap,  har- 
ne«  horses. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  813 

of  what  he  had  seen  and  thought  oat  in  his  dream  had  gon6 
to  destruction. 

His  equerry,  the  coachman,  and  the  dvomik  all  told  Pierre 
that  an  officer  had  come  with  tidings  that  the  French  were 
moving  on  Mozhaisk,  and  that  they  must  start,  and  that  our 
forces  were  leaving. 

Pierre  got  up  and  gave  orders  to  have  his  horses  harnessed 
and  to  overtake  him,  as  he  was  going  to  walk  through  the 
town. 

The  troops  had  started,  leaving  about  ten  thousand  wounded. 
These  wounded  could  be  seen  in  the  yards  and  windows  of 
the  houses,  and  were  met  with  in  throngs  along  the  streets. 
The  streets  where  stood  the  telyegas  that  were  to  carry  away 
the  wounded  were  full  of  cries,  curses,  and  the  sounds  of 
blows. 

Pierre  overtook  a  wounded  general  of  his  acquaintance  and 
offered  him  a  seat  in  his  calash,  and  they  drove  on  toward 
Moscow  together.  On  the  road  Pierre  heard  of  the  death  of 
his  brother-in-law  and  of  the  death  of  Prince  Andrei. 


CHAPTER  X. 

On  the  eleventh  of  September  Pierre  arrived  at  Moscow. 
He  had  scarcely  reached  the  barrier  when  he  was  met  by  one 
of  Count  Kostopchin's  adjutants. 

"  Well,  we  have  been  searching  for  you  everywhere,"  said 
the  adjutant.  "The  count  is  verjr  anxious  to  see  you.  He 
begs  that  you  will  come  to  him  immediately  on  very  impor- 
tant business." 

Pierre,  without  even  going  first  to  his  own  house,  called  an 
izvoshchik  and  rode  to  the  governor-generaPs. 

Count  Kostopchin  had  only  that  morning  come  to  town 
from  his  suburban  datcha  at  Sokdlniki.  The  anteroom  and 
reception-room  of  the  count's  residence  were  full  of  officials 
who  had  come  at  his  summons  or  to  get  orders.  Vasilchikof 
and  Platof  had  already  had  an  interview  with  the  count,  and 
had  informed  him  that  it  was  impossible  to  defend  Moscow, 
and  that  it  must  be  abandoned.  This  news  was  concealed 
from  the  inhabitants,  yet  the  chinovniks,  the  heads  of  the 
various  departments,  knew  that  Moscow  would  soon  be  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy  just  as  well  as  Count  Kostopchin 
knew  it )  and  all  of  them,  in  order  to  shirk  responsibility! 


314  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

came  to  the  governor-general  with  inquiries  as  to  what  thej 
should  do  in  their  respective  jurisdictions. 

Just  as  Pierre  entered  the  reception-room,  a  courier  from 
the  army  left  the  count's  room. 

The  courier  made  a  despairing  gesture  in  answer  to  the 
questions  directed  to  him,  and  passed  through  the  room. 

On  entering,  Pierre,  with  weary  eyes,  gazed  at  the  various 
chinovuiks,  old  and  young,  military  and  civil,  who  were  wait- 
ing in  the  room.     All  seemed  anxious  and  ill  at  ease. 

Pierre  joined  one  group  of  chinovniks,  among  whom  he  saw 
an  acquaintance.  After  exchanging  greetings  with  Pierre 
they  went  on  with  their  conversation. 

"  Whether  they  exile  him  or  let  him  come  back,  there's  no 
telling;  you  can't  answer  for  anything  in  such  a  state  ci 
affairs." 

**  Well,  here's  what  he  writes,"  said  another,  calling  atten- 
tion to  a  printed  broadside  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"That's  another  thing.  That's  necessary  for  the  people,'' 
said  the  first  speaker. 

«  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

"This  is  the  new  bulletin." 

Pierre  took  it  and  read  as  follows :  — 


"  His  serene  highness,  the  prince,  in  onler  to  effect  a  junction 
as  possible  witli  the  troops  coming  to  moet  him,  has  passed  thrwigh 
Mozhaisk  and  occupied  a  strong  position  where  the  enemy  will  not  find  it 
easy  to  reach  him.  Forty-eight  cannon,  with  ammunition,  haTe  been 
sent  to  him  from  here,  and  his  serene  higliifibss  declares  that  he  will  shed 
the  last  drop  of  his  blood  in  defence  of  Moscow,  and  that  be  is  ready  to 
fight  even  in  the  streets.  Brothers,  do  not  be  surprised  that  the  courts  of 
justice  have  ceaseil  to  transact  business:  it  was  best  to  send  them  to  a 
place  of  safety,  but  the  evil-doer  shall  have  a  taste  of  the  law  all  tlie 
same.  When  the  crisis  comes,  I  shall  want  some  gallant  fellows,  from 
both  town  and  country.  I  shall  utter  my  call  a  day  or  two  before,  but 
it  is  not  necessary  yet.  I  hold  my  peace.  An  axe  is  a  good  weapon ;  a 
boar-spear  is  npt  bad,  but  best  of  ail  is  a  three-tined  pit^^hfork  :  a  French- 
man is  no  heavier  than  a  sheaf  of  rye.  To-morrow,  after  dinner,  I  shall 
take  the  Iverskoya  to  the  Yekaterininskaya  Hospital,  to  the  wounded. 
There  we  will  bless  the  water:  they  will  all  the  sooner  get  well,  and  I  now 
am  well;  I  hare  had  a  bad  eye,  but  now  I  see  out  of  both." 

"But  military  men/'  said  Pierre,  "have  told  me  that  it  was 
perfectly  impossible  to  fight  in  the  city,  and  that  the  posi- 
tion"— 

"  Well,  yes,  that  is  just  what  we  were  talking  about,**  inter- 
rupted the  first  chinovnik. 

"  But  what  does  he  mean  by  saying :  '  I  have  had  a  bad 
eye,  but  now  I  see  out  of  both '  ?  "  asked  Pierre, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  816 

^The  eonnt  had  a  stye,"  replied  the  adjutant,  with  a  smile, 
^and  he  was  very  much  disturbed  when  I  told  him  that  peo- 
ple were  calling  to  ask  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  But 
how  is  ity  count  ?  '*  said  the  adjutant  abruptly,  addressing 
Pierre  with  a  smile.  "  We  have  heard  the  rumor  that  you 
have  some  domestic  tribulations,  —  that  the  countess,  your 
wife  "  — 

« I  have  heard  nothing,"  replied  Pierre  indifferently ;  "  what 
is  this  rumor  ?  " 

^'Oh,  well,  you  know,  stories  are  often  invented.     I  am 
only  saying  what  I  heard." 
"But  what  did  you  hear  ?  " 

*'Well,  they  say,"  replied  the  adjutant,  with  the  same 
smile,  'Hhat  the  countess,  your  wife,  is  about  to  go  abroad. 
Of  course,  it  is  all  nonsense  "  — 
"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Pierre,  heedlessly  glancing  around. 
"But  who  is  that?"  he  asked,  referring  to  an  old  man  of 
low  stature,  in  a  clean  blue  chuika,*  and  with  an  enormous 
beard  as  white  as  the  driven  snow,  eyebrows  the  same,  and  a 
florid  complexion. 

"He  ?  That's  a  merchant :  that  is,  he  is  the  tavern-keeper 
Vereshchagin.  — Perhaps  you  have  heard  that  story  about  the 
proclamation  ?  " 

"Ah!  And  so  that  is  Vereshchagin,"  exclaimed  Pierre,  gaz- 
ing into  the  calm,  self-reliant  face  of  the  old  merchant,  and 
trying  to  discover  in  it  any  characteristics  of  a  traitor. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  ver^man.  That  is,  he  is  the  father  of  the 
one  who  wrote  the  proclamation,"  said  the  adjutant.  "  The 
young  man  is  in  jail,  and  it  looks  as  if  it  would  go  hard  with 
him." 

A  little  old  man  with  a  star,  and  another  chinovnik,  a 
German,  with  a  cross  suspended  around  his  neck,  joined  the 
group. 

"You  see,"  proceeded  the  adjutant  with  his  story,  "it  is  a 
puzzling  piece  of  business.  This  proclamation  appeared  a 
couple  of  months  back.  It  was  brought  to  the  count.  He 
ordered  it  investigated.  Gavrilo  Ivanuitch  here  looked  into 
it;  this  proclamation  passed  through  as  many  as  sixty -three 
hands.  We  go  to  a  certain  man:  'Whom  did  you  get  this 
irom  ? '  —  <  From  so-and-so '  —  Off  to  him :  » Whpm  did  you  get 
this  from?'  and  so  on,  till  it  was  traced  to  Vereshchagin  — 
au  ignorant  little  merchant.    They  ask  him :  *  Whom  did  you 

*  A  sort  of  kaftan,  or  overcoat,  like  a  4re8sing-go^n,  worn  by  men  of  the 
^tvrolaiBestiil^iiflsiil, 


316  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

have  this  from?'  And  here  you  must  understand  that  we 
know  whom  he  got  it  from ;  from  no  one  else  than  the  director 
of  posts.  There  had  been  for  some  time  connivance  between 
them.  But  he  says :  '  I  didn't  get  it  from  any  one.  I  wrote  it 
myself.'  They  threatened  and  entreated :  he  stuck  to  it — wrote 
it  himself.  Well,  now,  you  know  the  count,"  said  the  adju- 
tant with  a  proud,  gay  smile.  ''  He  flew  into  a  terrible  rage,  but 
just  think  of  it,  —  such  cunning,  falsehood,  and  stubbornness ! " 

*^Ah!  the  count  wanted  them  to  implicate  Kliuchare^  I 
understand,"  said  Pierre. 

'^Not  at  all,"  said  the  adiutant,  startled.  ''They  had  sins 
enough  to  lay  against  Kliucnaref  without  this ;  that  was  why 
he  was  sent  away.  But  the  truth  of  the  matter  was,  that  the 
count  was  very  much  stirred  up.  —  'How  could  you  have 
written  it  ? '  asked  the  count.  He  picked  up  from  the  table 
this  Hamburg  paper.  '  Here  it  is.  You  did  not  write  it,  but 
you  translated  it,  and  you  translated  it  atrociously,  because 
even  in  French  you  are  an  idiot  — dur&k  — don't  you  know  ? 
—  Xow,  what  do  you  think  ? '  — '  No,'  says  he, '  I  have  never 
read  any  papers,  I  composed  it.'  — '  Well,  if  that  is  so,  you  are 
a  traitor  and  I  will  have  you  tried  and  hanged.  Confess !  from 
whom  did  you  receive  it  ?  '  —  'I  have  never  seen  any  papers. 
I  composed  it  myself ! '  —  And  so  it  hung  fire.  The  count 
called  the  father  also.  He  stood  by  his  own.  And  they 
handed  them  over  to  court,  and,  it  seems,  they  condemned 
him  to  penal  labor.  Now  the  father  has  come  to  intercede 
for  him.  But  what  a  wretched  chap  !•  You  know  the  kind  — 
these  merchants'  sons,  a  regular  macaroni !  a  seducer !  got  a 
few  lessons,  and  thinks  himself  a  shade  better  than  any  one 
else.*  That  is  the  kind  of  a  fellow  he  is.  And  his  ^her 
keeps  a  traktir  there  by  the  Kamennoi  Bridge — you  know 
there's  a  big  picture  of  Almighty  Grod,  who  is  represented 
with  a  sceptre  in  one  hand  and  the  imperial  globe  in  the 
other,  —  well,  he  took  this  picture  home  for  a  few  days,  and 
what  do  you  think  he  did?  He  found  a  beastly  painter 
who  "  — 

CHAPTER  XL 

In  the  midst  of  this  new  anecdote,  Pierre  was  summoned 
to  the  governor-general. 

Pierre  went  into  Count  Rostopchin's  cabinet.  Rostopchin^ 
3Cowling,  was  rubbing  his  forehead  and  eyes  with  his  hand  as 

*  liiteraUy :  *'  thinks  tb»t  the  devil  is  not  his  brother  any  moco." 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  8l7 

Pierre  entered.    A  short  man  was  saying  soMethingj  but  ad 
Pierre  approached  he  stopped  and  left  the  room. 

"  Well,  how  are  you,  mighty  warrior  ?  "  exclaimed  Rostop- 
chin,  as  soon  as  this  man  had  gone.  '^We  have  heard  about 
your  prouesses.  But  that  is  not  to  the  point  just  now.  Mon 
eher,  entre  nous,  you  are  a  Mason  ?  ''  asked  Count  Bostopchin 
in  a  stem  tone,  as  though  there  were  something  wrong  in  that, 
but  that  he  was  ready  to  grant  his  forgiveness. 

Pierre  made  no  reply.  "  Man  cher,  je  suis  bien-informS,  but 
I  know  that  there  are  Masons  and  Masons,  and  I  hope  that 
you  don't  belong  to  that  set  who,  under  the  appearance  of 
saving  the  human  race,  are  doing  their  best  to  ruin  Bussia." 
"  Yes,  I  am  a  Mason,"  replied  Pierre. 
"Well,  then,  look  here,  my  dear,  I  think  that  you  are  not 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  Messrs.  Speransky  and  Ms^^nitsky 
have  been  sent  somewhere ;  the  same  thing  has  happened  to 
Mr.  Kliucharef,  and  the  same  thing  has  happened  to  others 
besides,  who,  under  the  appearance  of  erecting  Solomon's 
temple,  have  been  trying  to  overturn  the  temple  of  their 
country.  You  can  understand  that  there  are  reasons  for  this, 
and  that  I  could  not  have  sent  oft  the  director  of  posts  here 
if  he  had  not  been  a  dangerous  man.  Xow  I  am  informed 
that  you  provided  him  with  a  carriage  to  take  him  from  the 
city,  and  also  that  you  received  from  him  papers  for  safe- 
keeping. I  like  you  and  I  do  not  wish  you  ill,  and,  as  I  am 
more  than  twice  your  age,  I  advise  you  as  a  father  to  cut 
short  all  dealings  with  this  sort  of  people,  and  to  leave  Mos- 
cow as  speedily  as  possible." 

"But  wherein,  count,  was  Kliucharef  to  blame?*'  asked 
Pierre. 

"That  is  my  affair  to  know,  and  not  yours  to  ask,"  cried 
Bostopchin. 

"He  was  accused  of  having  circulated  Napoleon's  proclama- 
tion, but  it  was  not  proved  against  him,"  said  Pierre,  not  look- 
ing at  Bostopchin, "  and  Vereshchagin  " — 

"  2fou8  y  voild  — ^that  is  just  the  point,"  interrupted  Bostop- 
chin, scowling  suddenly,  and  speaking  much  louder  than  before. 
"Vereshchagin  is  a  traitor  and  a  renegade,  who  has  received 
the  punishment  which  he  richly  deserves,"  said  Bostopchin, 
with  that  heat  and  ugliness  characteristic  of  men  at  the  recol- 
lection of  an  insult.  "But  I  did  not  summon  you  to  criticise 
my  actions,  but  to  give  you  some  advice,  or  a  command  if  jrou 
prefer  that  term.  T  beg  of  you  to  forego  your  dealings  with 
such  gentlemen  as  Kliucharef  and  to  leave  town.    I'll  knock 


818  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  folly  out  of  any  one,  no  matter  who  it  is; "  biit,  apparently 
discovering  that  he  was  actually  screaming  at  Bezukhoi,  who 
was  not  as  yet  in  any  respect  to  blame,  he  added  in  French, 
cordially  seizing  Pierre's  hand,  "  We  are  on  the  eve  of  a 
public  disaster,  and  I  have  no  time  to  make  civil  speeches  to 
all  who  come  to  see  me.  My  head  is  sometimes  in  a  whirL  — 
Now  then,  my  dear,  what  will  you  do  — you  personally  ?  " 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  Pierre,  not  lifting  his  eyes  and 
not  altering  the  expression  of  his  thoughtful  face. 

The  count  frowned :  "  Take  the  advice  of  a  friend,  my  dear. 
Make  off,  and  as  soon  as  possible:  that  is  all  that  I  have 
to  say  to  you.  Fortunate  is  he  who  has  ears  to  hear.  CrOod> 
by,  my  dear.*  Oh,  here,'*  he  shouted  to  him  as  he  left  the 
room,  "  is  it  true  that  the  countess  has  fallen  into  the  paws  of 
the  saints  phres  de  la  Societe  de  Jesus  ?  " 

Pierre  made  no  reply,  and  scowling,  and  angry  as  he  had 
never  been  seen  before,  he  left  Kostopchin's. 

When  he  reached  home  it  was  already  dark.  Eight  differ- 
ent people  came  to  see  him  that  evening, — the  secretary  of  a 
committee,  the  colonel  of  his  battalion,  his  overseer,  his  major- 
domo,  and  several  petitioners.  All  had  business  with  Pierre 
which  he  was  obliged  to  settle.  Pierre  could  not  understand 
at  all,  he  was  not  interested  in  such  matters,  and  he  gave  only 
such  replies  to  all  questions  as  would  soonest  rid  him  of  these 
people. 

At  last,  when  he  was  left  alone,  he  broke  the  seal  of  his 
wife's  letter,  and  read  it. 

*'  Thet/  —  the  soldiers  in  the  battery;  Prince  Andrei  killed 
—  the  old  man  —  singleness  is  submission  to  God.  Suffering 
is  necessary  —  the  significance  of  things  —  must  take  apart  and 
analyze  —  my  wife  is  going  to  take  another  husband.  One 
must  forget  and  learn." 

And,  going  to  his  bed,  he  threw  himself  down  without  un- 
dressing, and  immediately  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  his  major-domo  came  to 
inform  him  that  a  police  chinovnik  had  come  with  a  special 
message  from  Count  Eostopchin  to  find  whether  Count  B^m- 
khoi  had  gone  or  was  going. 

*  •'  Nous  sommea  a  la  veille  d'vn  deaastre  pnhliqne,  etje  n'ai  pas  le  temps  dt 
dh-e  des  ffentiUesses  a  tous  ceux  qui  ont  affaire  a  moi*  Ooiovd  tnogdd  trdgom 
idydl.  Eh  bien,  mon  cher.  qu'est  ce  qtte  vous  /aites,  vom«,  perjomteUi' 
ment  ?  "— **  Mais  nen!  *'  —  "  tfn  conseil  d*ami,  mon  cher.  Dioampex  tt  aa/rfw- 
tot,  c'esi  tout  ce  que  Je  vous  dis.  A  bon  entendeur  wlut,  ProfhchdUfi^  mo< 
mUuir' 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  819 

A  dozen  different  people  who  had  business  with  Pierre  were 
waiting  for  him  in  the  drawing-room.  Pierre  made  a  hasty 
toilet,  but,  instead  of  going  down  to  those  who  were  waiting 
for  him,  he  went  down  by  the  back  steps  and  thence  out 
through  the  gates. 

From  that  time  forth  until  after  the  burning  of  Moscow,  no 
one  of  Bezukhoi's  household,  in  spite  of  all  their  search  for 
him,  saw  anything  more  of  Pierre  or  knew  what  had  become 
of  him. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Thb  Kostofs  remained  in  the  city  up  to  the  thirteenth  of 
September,  the  day  before  the  enemy  entered  Moscow. 

After  Petya  had  joined  Obolyensky's  Cossack  regiment,  and 
gone  to  Byelaya  Tserkov,  where  this  regiment  was  recruiting, 
a  gi-eat  fear  came  upon  the  countess.  The  idea  that  both  of 
her  sons  had  gone  to  the  war,  that  both  had  left  the  shelter  of 
her  wing,  that  to^ay  or  to-morrow  either  one  of  them,  or  per- 
haps even  both  of  them,  might  be  killed,  as  had  been  the  case 
with  the  three  sons  of  a  friend  of  hers,  for  the  first  time  now 
this  summer  recurred  with  cruel  vividness  to  her  mind. 

She  endeavored  to  induce  Nikolai  to  come  home  to  her  ;  she 
herself  wanted  to  go  to  Petya,  to  send  him  to  some  place  of 
safety  in  Petersburg:  but  both  schemes  seemed  impracticable. 
Petya  could  not  be  recalled  except  his  regiment  were  recalled, 
or  by  means  of  having  him  transferred  to  some  other  working 
regiment.  Nikolai  was  off  somewhere  with  the  army,  and 
since  his  last  letter,  in  which  he  described  his  meeting  with 
the  Princess  Mariya,  nothing  had  been  heard  from  him. 

The  countess  could  not  sleep  nights,  and  when  she  did  catch 
a  little  nap,  she  saw  in  her  dreams  her  sons  slain. 

After  many  plans  and  discussions,  the  count  at  last  found  a 
means  of  consoling  the  countess's  apprehensions.  He  trans- 
ferred Petya  from  Obolyensky's  regiment  to  Bezukhoi's,  which 
was  mobilizing  near  Moscow.  Although  Petya  remained  in 
the  military  service,  still  the  countess  by  this  transfer  had  the 
consolation  of  seeing  at  least  one  of  her  sons,  as  it  were,  under 
her  wing,  and  she  cherished  the  hope  of  arranging  matters  so 
that  he  would  not  be  sent  away  any  more,  and  would  always 
be  assigned  to  such  places  in  the  service  that  he  would  not  be 
exposed  in  battle. 

As  long  as  Nicolas  alone  was  in  danger,  it  seemed  to  the 
countess — and  it  even  caused  her  a  pang  of  remorse  —  that 


320  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

she  loved  her  eldest  more  than  her  other  children ;  but  when 
her  youngest,  the  mischievous,  badly  trained  Petya,  who  was 
foi*ever  breaking  things  in  the  house,  who  was  always  in 
everybody's  way,  this  snub-nosed  Petya  with  his  merry  dark 
eyes,  his  fresh,  ruddy  complexion,  and  the  down  just  begioning 
to  cloud  his  cheeks,  went  off  yonder^  to  mingle  with  terrible, 
coarse,  grown-up  men,  who  were  fighting,  and  finding  a  real 
pleasure  in  doing  such  things,  —  then  it  seemed  to  the  mother 
that  she  loved  him  more,  far  more  than  all  of  her  children. 
The  nearer  the  time  came  for  her  rapturously  awaited  Petya 
to  return  to  Moscow,  the  more  the  countess's  uneasiness  in- 
creased ;  she  even  began  to  imagine  that  she  should  never  at> 
tain  that  happiness.  The  presence  not  only  of  Sonya^  but 
even  of  her  beloved  Natasha,  even  her  husband^s  presence, 
irritated  the  countess. 

"  What  do  I  care  for  them  ?  I  want  no  one  else  but  Petya," 
she  would  say  to  herself. 

Early  in  September,  the  Rostofs  received  a  second  letter 
from  Nikolai.  He  wrote  from  the  government  of  Voronezh, 
where  he  had  been  sent  after  horses.  This  letter  did  not 
soothe  the  countess's  apprehensions.  Now  that  she  knew  one 
of  her  sons  was  out  of  linger,  she  began  to  worry  all  the  more 
about  Petya. 

Although  almost  all  the  Rostofs'  acquaintances  had  left 
Moscow,  even  as  early  as  the  first  of  September,  although  they 
all  tried  to  persuade  the  countess  to  start  as  soon  as  possible, 
she  would  not  hear  to  such  a  thing  as  going  until  her  treasure, 
her  idolized  Petya,  should  return. 

Petya  came  on  the  ninth  of  September.  The  sixteen-year- 
old  officer  was  not  pleased  by  the  morbidly  passionate  aff'ection 
with  which  his  mother  welcomed  him.  Although  she  hid 
from  him  her  purpose  not  to  let  him  fly  a^in  from  under  her 
maternal  wing,  Petya  fathomed  her  thoughts,  and  instinctively 
fearing  lest  he  should  be  too  soft,  and  ^'  a  mamma's  pet "  (as 
he  himself  expressed  it),  he  went  to  the  other  extreme,  treated 
his  mother  coldly,  avoided  her,  and  during  his  stay  in  Moscow 
exclusively  devoted  himself  to  Natasha,  for  whom  he  had 
always  cherished  a  peculiarly  brotherly  affection,  almost  as 
chivalrous  as  a  lover's. 

When  the  ninth  of  September  arrived,  thanks  to  the  count  s 
characteristic  slackness,  nothing  was  as  yet  ready  for  the 
journey,  and  the  carts  which  they  expected  from  their  estate 
at  Riazan  and  their  pod-Moskovnaya  to  convey  from  the  city 
all  their  movable  property  did  not  arrive  until  the  twelfth* 


tVAH  AND  PEACE.  321 

From  the  ninth  until  the  twelfth  of  September,  all  Moscow 
was  in  a  stir  and  ferment  of  excitement.  Each  day  there 
poured  past  the  Dorogomilovskaya  barrier,  and  scattered 
through  the  city,  thousands  of  those  who  had  been  wounded 
in  the  battle  of  Borodino,  and  thousands  of  teams,  laden  with 
the  inhabitants  and  their  belongings,  passed  out  through  the 
other  barriers. 

In  spite  of  Rostopchiu's  AJishkiy  or  in  direct  consequence  of 
them,  the  strangest  and  most  contradictory  rumors  were  cur- 
rent throughout  the  city.  One  said  that  no  one  would  be  per- 
mitted to  depart ;  another,  on  the  contrary,  declared  that  the 
ikons  had  been  removed  from  the  churches,  and  that  all  the 
inhabitants  were  to  be  sent  away,  whether  they  would  or  not. 
One  said  that  there  had  been  another  battle  since  Borodino,  in 
which  the  French  had  been  beaten ;  another  declared,  to  the 
contrary,  that  the  Russian  army  had  been  annihilated.  One 
said  that  the  Moscow  landsturm,  together  with  the  clergy,  had 
started  for  Tri  Gorui ;  another  whispered  that  Avgustin  had 
been  forbidden  to  go  away,  that  traitors  had  been  caught,  that 
the  peasantry  were  in  revolt  and  were  attacking  those  who 
started,  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

But  these  were  mei'ely  rumors,  and  in  substance  both  those 
who  fled  and  those  who  were  left  —  although  this  was  even 
before  the  council  at  Fili,  when  it  was  definitely  decided  to 
abandon  Moscow— » all  felt,  even  though  they  did  not  express  it, 
that  Moscow  would  assuredly  be  abandoned,  and  that  they 
must  make  all  haste  to  pack  up  and  save  their  effects. 

There  was  a  feeling  that  everything  was  about  to  go  to 
pieces,  and  that  a  sudden  change  was  imminent,  but  up  to  the 
thirteenth  no  change  ensued.     Just  as  a  criminal,  led  out  to 

Cishment,  knows  that  he  is  about  to  be  killed,  but  still 
--L8  around  and  straightens  his  ill-fitting  cap,  —  so  Moscow 
involuntarily  pursued  its  habitual  life,  although  it  knew  that 
the  time  of  its  destiniction  was  at  hand,  when  all  the  conven- 
tional conditions  of  its  existence  would  be  suddenly  snapped 
short. 

During  those  three  days  preceding  the  occupation  of  Moscow 
by  the  French,  all  the  Rostof  family  were  absorbed  in  their 
various  worldly  occupations.  The  chief  of  the  family,  Count 
Ilya  Andreyitch,  was  constantly  flying  about  the  city,  picking 
up  on  all  sides  the  flying  rumors,  and  while  at  home  making 
superficial  and  hasty  arrangements  for  hastening  their  depar- 
ture. 

The  countess  superintended  the  packing  of  the  things^  but 
VOL.3.  — 21. 


522  ^aA  and  peace. 

she  was  in  a  sad  state  of  dissatisfaction  with  everybody,  ftad 
kept  tagging  after  Petya,  who  avoided  her,  and  she  was 
devoured  by  jealousy  of  Natasha,  with  whom  he  spent  all  his 
time. 

Sonya  was  the  only  one  who  looked  after  the  practice  side 
of  affairs :  the  packing  of  the  things.  But  Sonya  had  been 
peculiarly  melancholy  and  silent  of  late.  The  letter  in  which 
Nicolas  had  spoken  of  the  Princess  Mariya  had  causcMi  the 
(jountess  to  express  in  her  presence  the  most  joyful  auguries : 
she  declared  that  in  the  interview  of  Nicolas  and  the  Princess 
Mariya  she  saw  the  very  hand  of  God. 

"I  never  felt  happy  at  all/'  said  the  countess,  **when 
Bolkonsky  was  engaged  to  Natasha,  but  I  always  wished  that 
Nik61inka  might  marry  the  princess,  and  I  had  a  presentiment 
that  it  would  turn  out  so.     And  how  good  that  would  be  ! " 

Sonya  felt  that  this  was  true,  that  the  only  possibility 
of  retrieving  the  fortunes  of  the  Rostofs  was  for  Nikolai  **to 
make  a  rich  marriage,"  and  that  the  princess  was  an  exceUent 
match. 

But  still  it  was  a  very  bitter  thing  for  her.  In  spite  of  her 
grief,  or  possibly  in  consequence  of  it,  she  took  upK>n  her  all 
the  difficult  labor  of  arranging  for  packing  up  and  stowing 
away,  and  was  busy  from  morning  till  night. 

The  count  and  countess  addressed  themselves  to  her  when 
they  had  any  orders  to  give.  "• 

Petya  and  Natasha,  on  the  other  hand,  not  only  did  not  help 
their  parents,  but  for  the  most  part  were  a  hinderance  and  a 
burden  to  all  in  the  house.  And  almost  all  day  long  the  house 
echoed  with  their  footsteps  dancing  about,  their  shouts  and 
laughter.  They  laughed  and  enjoyed  themselves,  not  because 
there  was  any  reason  for  laughter,  but  their  hearts  were  full 
of  life  and  joy,  and  because  everything  that  they  heard  seemed 
to  them  a  reason  for  laughter  and  gayety. 

Petya  was  gay  because,  having  left  home  a  lad,  he  had 
returned  —  as  every  one  told  him  —  a  gallant  young  hero  ;  he 
was  gay  because  he  was  at  home,  because  he  had  come  fron& 
Byelaya  Tserkoy  where  there  had  been  not  even  a  remote 
prospect  of  taking  part  in  a  battle,  and  had  come  to  Moscow^ 
where  any  day  they  might  have  lighting,  and  above  all  he  was 
gay  because  Natasha,  to  whose  moods  he  always  was  veiy 
susceptible,  was  gay  also. 

Natasha  was  gay  because  she  had  been  melancholy  quite 
too  long,  and  now  nothing  reminded  her  of  the  reason  of  her 
previous  melancholy,  and  she  was  well !     Moreover,  she  was 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  823 

gay  becanse  there  was  a  man  who  flattered  her — flattery  wad 
tbe  wheel-grease  which  was  absolutely  essential  if  her  machin- 
ery was  to  move  with  perfect  freedom  —  and  Petya  flattered 
her. 

Chiefly  they  were  gay  because  the  war  had  come  to  the 
very  gates  of  Moscow,  because  there  was  a  possibility  of 
fighting  at  the  barriers,  because  they  were  giving  out  guns, 
because  there  were  running  about  and  departures  this  way  and 
ihaty  because  some  great  event  was  in  the  very  air,  and  this 
ifl  always  provocative  of  good  spirits  in  men,  especially  in  the 
young. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

On  Saturday,  the  eleventh  of  September,  everything  in  the 
RoBtofs'  house  seemed  topsy-turvy.  All  the  doors  were  open, 
all  the  furniture  was  carried  off  or  out  of  place ;  mirrors  and 
paintings  were  taken  down.  The  rooms  were  full  of  packing- 
boxes  and  littered  with  hay,  wrapping-paper,  and  pieces  of 
twine.  Muzhiks  and  household  serfs  trod  over  the  parquetry 
floors  with  heavy  steps  as  they  lugged  the  things.  In  the 
dvor  there  was  a  throng  of  peasants'  carts,  some  of  which 
were  already  loaded  and  corded  up,  and  some  still  empty. 

The  voices  and  footsteps  of  the  enormous  retinue  of  ser- 
vants and  of  the  muzhiks  who  had  come  with  the  teams  rang 
through  the  house  and  the  yard. 

The  count  had  been  off  since  early  morning.  The  countess, 
who  had  a  headache  as  a  consequence  of  all  the  bustle  and 
noise,  was  lying  down  in  the  new  divan-room,  her  head  wrapped 
up  in  vinegar  compresses.  Petya  was  not  at  home ;  he  had 
gone  to  see  a  comrade  with  whom  he  proposed  to  change  from 
the  laudsturm  into  the  regular  army.  Sonya  was  busy  in  the 
ballroom,  packing  up  the  glassware  and  china. 

Natasha  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  in  her  own  dismantled 
room,  amid  a  heap  of  dresses,  laces,  and  ribbons,  and  holding 
lifelessly  in  her  hands  an  old  ball-dress  —  the  very  one  —  how 
out  of  style  it  was!  —  which  she  had  worn  to  her  fii-st 
Petersburg  ball.  Her  conscience  pricked  her  for  doing  noth- 
ing while  all  the  rest  in  the  house  were  so  busy,  and  several 
times  since  morning  she  had  tried  to  take  hold  and  help,  but 
her  heart  was  not  in  the  work,  and  she  could  not  and  would 
not  do  anything  at  all,  unless  she  could  do  it  with  all  her 
heart,  with  all  her  might. 

She  had  started  to  assist  Sonya  in  packing  the  china,  but 


824  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

soon  dropped  it  and  went  to  her  own  room,  to  dispose  of  her 
own  things.  At  first  she  found  it  very  good  fun  to  distribute 
her  dresses  and  ribbons  among  the  maids ;  but  afterwards,  when 
what  was  left  had  to  be  really  packed  up,  it  began  to  bore  her. 

"  Dunyasha,  you  will  put  them  in  for  me,  that's  a  darling  !  * 
won't  you  ?  " 

And  when  Dunyasha  willingly  agreed  to  do  it  all  for  her, 
Natasha  sat  down  on  the  floor,  and  picked  up  her  old  ball-dress, 
and  her  thoughts  turned  in  an  entirely  different  channel  from 
what  they  should  have  done.  She  was  aroused  from  the  brown 
study  into  which  she  had  fallen  by  the  chatter  of  the  maids  in 
the  adjoining  room,  and  by  the  sounds  of  their  hurried  steps 
as  they  ran  from  this  room  toward  the  rear  of  the  lionse. 
Natasha  got  up  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

An  enormous  train  of  wounded  men  had  come  to  a  halt  in 
the  street. 

The  maids,  the  lackeys,  the  housekeeper,  the  old  nyanja, 
the  cooks,  the  coachmen,  the  postilions,  the  scullions,  all 
were  standing  at  the  gates,  gazing  at  the  wounded. 

Natasha,  throwing  a  white  handkerchief  over  her  hair,  and 
holding  the  ends  with  both  hands,  ran  down  into  the  street. 

The  former  housekeeper,  the  old  Mavra  Kuzminitchna, 
broke  through  the  crowd  collected  at  the  gates,  and,  going  up 
to  a  telyega  shaded  by  a  reed  cover,  entered  into  conversation 
with  a  pale  young  officer,  who  was  stretched  out  in  it.  Na- 
tasha advanced  a  few  steps,  and  stood^timidly,  still  holding 
her  handkerchief,  and  listening  to  what  the  old  **  key- 
woman  "  said. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  haven't  any  kith  or  kin  in  Moscow, 
have  you  ?  "  asked  Mavra  Kuzminitchna.  "  You  would  be  so 
much  more  comfortable  in  a  room  somewhere.  —  Here,  for 
instance,  in  our  house.     The  folks  are  going  off." 

"  I  don't  know  as  it  would  be  permitted,"  replied  the  officer, 
in  a  feeble  voice.  "There's  our  nachalnik  yonder — you 
see  ?  "  and  he  indicated  a  stout  major,  who  was  walking  back 
along  the  street,  past  the  line  of  telyegas. 

Natasha,  with  startled  eyes,  looked  into  the  wounded  offi- 
cer's face,  and  immediately  went  to  meet  the  portly  major. 

"  Can  some  of  the  wounded  be  taken  into  our  house  ? ''  she 
demanded. 

The  major,  with  a  smile,  raised  his  hand  to  his  visor. 

"  Which  would  you  like,  mamzel  ?  "  he  asked,  squinting  his 
eyes,  and  smiling. 

*  Qoluhvshka, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  825 

N^atasha  calmly  repeated  her  question,  and  her  face  and  her 
whole  manner,  although  she  still  kept  hold  of  the  ends  of  her 
handkerchief,  were  so  serious,  that  the  major  ceased  to  smile, 
lOnd  after  first  stopping  to  consider,  as  though  he  were  asking 
himself  how  far  this  were  admissible,  at  last  gave  her  an 
affirmative  answer. 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly  they  can,"  said  he. 

Natasha  bowed  slightly,  and  returned,  with  swift  steps,  to 
Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  who  was  still  standing  by  the  officer, 
and  talking  with  him  with  compassionate  sympathy. 
.   "  They  can,  he  said  they  could,'*  whispered  Natasha. 

The  covered  telyega  in  which  the  officer  was  lying  was 
driven  into  the  Rostofs'  yard,  and  a  dozen  telyegas,  with  their 
loads  of  wounded,  by  invitation  of  the  inhabitants,  were 
taken  in  at  different  yards  and  driven  up  to  the  steps  of  the 
houses  on  the  Povarskaya  Street. 

Natasha  was.  evidently  pleased  by  having  something  to  do 
with  new  people,  remote  from  the  ordinary  conditions  of  life. 
She  and  Mavra  Kuzminitchna  made  as  many  more  of  the 
wounded  come  into  the  dvor  as  possible. 

''Still,  we  must  ask  your  pap^ha,"  Mavra  Kuzminitchna 
said. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all;  what  difference  can  it  possibly 
make  ?  Just  for  one  night,  we  could  sleep  in  the  drawing- 
room.     We  can  let  them  nave  all  our  rooms." 

"  What  queer  notions  you  do  have,  bdruishnya !  Even  if 
we  gave  them  the  wing  and  the  unfinished  rooms,  we  should 
have  to  ask  permission ! " 

«  Well,  I  will  go  and  ask.*' 

Natasha  ran  into  the  house,  and  on  tiptoes  passed  through 
the  half-open  door  of  the  divan-room,  where  there  was  a 
strong  scent  of  vinegar  and  Hoffmann's  drops. 

"  Are  you  asleep,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Oh !  how  can  I  sleep  ?  "  said  the  countess,  waking  from 
a  doze  into  which  she  had  dropped. 

"  Mamma,  darling,"  *  said  Natasha,  kneeling  before  her  and 
leaning  her  cheek  close  to  her  mother's,  "  I  am  sorry  ;  forgive 
me  for  waking  you  up,  I  will  never  do  it  any  more.  —  Mavra 
Kuzminitchna  sent  me,  —  some  wounded  men  have  been 
brought  here,  —  some  officers.  Will  you  let  them  come 
in  ?  They  don't  know  where  to  take  them ;  I  know  you 
will  let  them  come,"  said  she  hurriedly,  not  regaining  her 
breath. 

•  Golubchik, 


S26  ^^tt  Aftb  PEACE. 

"  What  officers  ?  Who  has  been  brought  here  ?  I  don't 
understand  at  all !  "  said  the  countess. 

Natasha  began  to  laugh ;  the  countess  responded  with  a 
feeble  smile. 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  let  them  come  —  well,  then,  I  will 
go  and  tell  them,"  and  Natasha,  kissing  her  mother,  jumped 
up,  and  hurried  off. 

In  the  hall  she  met  her  father,  who  had  come  home  with 
bad  tidings. 

"  Here  we  are  still ! "  cried  the  count,  with  involuntary 
vexation.  ''  The  club  is  already  closed,  and  the  police  are 
going." 

"  Papa,  it  does  not  make  any  difference,  does  it  ?  I  have 
invited  some  wounded  men  to  be  brought  in  ? "  asked 
Natasha. 

"Why,  of  course  not,"  said  the  count  distractedly.  "But 
that's  not  the  trouble.  I  beg  of  you  to  have  done  with  tri- 
fling, and  to  help  get  packed  up,  so  we  can  go,  go,  go  to- 
morrow." 

And  the  count  proceeded  to  give  the  major-domo  and  all 
the  servants  the  same  order. 

Petya  came  back  to  dinner,  and  communicated  his  budget 
of  news. 

He  told  how  that  day  the  people  had  got  arms  at  the 
Kreml,  that  though  Eostopchin  had  declared  he  would  give 
the  alarm  two  days  in  advance,  still  there  was  no  question 
that  he  had  ordered  the  whole  populace  to  go  out  fully  armed 
the  next  day  to  Tri  Gorui,  and  that  there  was  going  to  be  a 
great  battle  there. 

The  countess,  with  timid  dismay,  looked  at  her  son's  bright, 
excited  face  while  he  was  saying  this.  She  knew  that  if  she 
said  a  word  that  might  be  interpreted  as  asking  Petya  not  to 
go  to  that  battle  —  for  she  knew  that  his  heart  was  full  of 
joy  at  the  prospect  of  such  a  battle  —  then  he  would  have 
something  to  say  about  men,  about  honor,  about  the  father- 
land —  something  so  absurd,  so  like  a  man,  so  contrary  to  all 
reason  —  against  which  there  was  no  reply  to  be  made,  and 
her  hopes  would  be  dashed  —  and  therefore  trusting  so  to 
arrange  it  as  to  attain  her  end,  and  take  Petya  with  her,  as 
her  defender  and  protector,  she  said  nothing  to  him,  but, 
after  dinner,  called  the  count  aside,  and  with  tears  besought 
him  to  start  as  soon  as  possible,  that  very  night  if  it  were 
possible.  With  the  feminine,  artless  cunning  of  love,  she  who, 
till  then,  had  boasted  of  her  absolute  freedom  from  timidity, 


WAR  AND  PSACE.  827 

declared  that  she  should  die  of  alarm,  if  she  did  not  go  that 
very  evening. 

There  was  no  pretence  about  it :  she  was  really  afraid  of 
everything. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Madame  Sohoss,  who  had  been  over  to  her  daughter's,  still 
more  enhanced  the  countess's  fear  by  her  account  of  what  she 
had  seen  in  Miasnitskaya  Street,  at  a  spirit-store.  As  she 
was  returning  along  the  street,  her  way  home  was  blocked  by 
a  throng  of  the  drunken  populace,  who  were  surging  around 
the  shop. 

She  took  an  izvoshchik  and  came  home  by  a  roundabout 
route,  and  the  izvoshchik  had  told  her  that  the  crowd  had  been 
staving  in  the  casks  in  the  spirit-«tore,  and  that  they  had  been 
permitted  to  do  so. 

After  dinner  all  the  household  of  the  Rostofs,  in  a  perfect 
transport  of  zeal,  set  themselves  to  the  task  of  packing  up  the 
effects  and  preparing  for  the  departure.  The  old  count,  sud- 
denly taking  a  hand  in  aifairs,  from  dinner-time  forth  ceased 
not  to  trot  back  and  forth  between  the  dvor  and  the  house, 
incoherently  shouting  to  the  hurrying  servants,  and  urging 
them  to  still  greater  haste.  Petya  remained  in  the  dvor, 
giving  orders  there.  Sonya  knew  not  what  to  do  under 
the  count's  contradictory  orders,  and  entirely  lost  her  head. 
The  men,  shouting,  scolding,  and  making  a  fearful  racket, 
hastened  through  the  rooms  aiid  bustled  about  in  the  court- 
yard. 

Natasha,  with  that  zeal  that  was  so  characteristic  of  her, 
suddenly  also  put  her  hand  to  the  work.  At  first  her  inter- 
ference with  the  task  of  packing  was  resented.  All  that  was 
ever  expected  of  her  was  quips,  and  now  they  were  in  no 
mood  for  such  things ;  but  she  was  so  earnest  and  eager  in 
claiming  their  submission  to  her  will,  she  was  so  grave,  and 
came  so  near  weeping  because  they  would  not  listen  to  her, 
that  at  last  she  won  the  victory  and  their  confidence. 

Her  first  achievement,  which  cost  her  enormous  efforts  and 
gave  her  the  power,  was  the  packing  of  the  rugs.  The  count 
had  in  his  house  some  precious  Gobelins  and  Persian  carpets. 
When  Natasha  first  put  her  hand  to  the  work  two  great  chests 
stood  open  in  the  ballroom ;  one  was  filled  almost  to  the  top  with 
china,  the  other  with  rugs.  There  was  still  a  great  quantity 
of  china  standing  about  on  the  tables,  and  they  were  bringing 


828  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

still  more  from  the  storerooms.  It  was  necessary  to  begin 
still  a  third  fresh  packing-c<ase,  and  some  of  the  men  had  been 
sent  after  one. 

'<  Sonya,  wait,  we  can  get  it  all  in  as  it  is/'  said  Natasha. 

"  Impossible,  b^uishnya !  it  has  been  tried  already,"  said 
the  butler. 

"  No,  wait  and  see,  please."  And  Natasha  began  rapidly  to 
take  out  of  the  packing-case  the  plates  and  dishes  that  were 
wrapped  up  in  paper. 

"  The  platters  must  be  put  in  there  with  the  rugs,"  said 
she. 

<^  But  there  are  rugs  enough  as  it  is  for  all  three  of  the 
boxes  ! "  exclaimed  the  butler. 

"Now  wait,  please."  And  Natasha  began  swiftly  and 
skilfully  to  unpack.  "Those  are  not  needed,"  said  she  of 
some  Kief-ware  plates.  "  But  those  are  to  be  put  in  with  the 
rugs,"  said  she  of  some  Dresden  dishes. 

"  There,  now,  let  it  alone,  Natasha ;  there,  that'll  do,  we'll 
get  it  packed ! "  exclaimed  Sonya  reproachfully. 

"  Ekh  !  baruishnya ! "  exclaimed  the  major-domo.  But 
Natasha  would  not  yield ;  she  took  out  everything  and  pro- 
ceeded rapidly  to  pack  them  up  again,  deciding  that  there  was 
no  need  at  all  of  taking  the  cheap,  ordinary  carpets  and  the 
superfluous  tableware. 

When  everything  was  taken  out  they  began  to  pack  up 
again.  And  in  fact  after  everything  of  little  value  which  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  take  with  them  had  been  removed,  all 
that  had  any  value  could  be  put  into  the  two  packing-cases. 
But  it  was  found  impossible  to  close  the  lid  of  the  box  that 
held  the  rugs.  It  could  be  done  by  taking  out  one  or  two 
things,  but  Natasha  was  bound  to  have  her  own  way.  She 
arranged  the  things,  and  re-arranged  them,  pressed  them  down, 
and  compelled  the  butler  and  Petya,  whom  she  called  in  to 
help  her  pack,  to  sit  on  the  cover,  and  she  herself  put  forth 
all  her  strength  with  the  energy  of  despair. 

" There,  that's  enough,  Natasha,"  said  Sonya;  "I  see  you 
are  right,  only  take  out  the  top  one." 

"I  don't  wish  to,"  cried  Natasha,  with  one  hand  pushing 
back  her  dishevelled  locks  from  her  sweaty  face  and  pressing 
down  the  rugs  with  the  other.  "Now  press  down,  Petya, 
push!  Vasilyitch,  press  down!"  cried  she.  The  rugs  gave 
way  and  the  cover  was  shut. 

Natasha,  clapping  her  hands,  actually  squealed  with  delight, 
and  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes.    But  this  lasted  only  a 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  829 

aeoond.  She  immediately  applied  herself  to  something  else, 
and  by  this  time  they  had  begun  to  repose  the  most  implicit 
confidence  in  her ;  even  the  count  was  not  indignant  when  he 
was  informed  that  Natalya  Ilyinitchna  liad  countermanded 
some  order  of  his^  and  the  household  serfs  came  to  her  to  ask ; 
should  they  cord  up  the  loads  or  not,  or  wasn't  the  team  full 
enough  ?  Thanks  to  Natasha's  clever  management  great 
progress  was  made  in  the  work ;  articles  of  little  account  were 
left  out,  and  the  most  precious  things  were  packed  in  the  most 
practical  form  possible. 

But  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  all  the  people  the  labor  of 
packing  was  not  completed  that  night,  though  they  worked 
till  late.  The  countess  went  to  bed,  and  the  count,  deferring 
the  start  till  morning,  also  retired. 

Sonya  and  Natasha,  without  disrobing,  went  to  sleep  in  the 
divan-room. 

That  night  another  wounded  man  had  been  brought  through 
the  Povarskaya,  and  Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  who  happened  to  be 
standing  down  by  the  gates,  had  him  brought  into  the  Kostof 
house.  This  wounded  man,  according  to  Mavra  Kuzminitchna, 
was  evidently  a  man  of  great  distinction.  He  was  carried  in 
a  calash  entirely  covered  with  the  apron  and  with  the  hood 
let  down.  On  the  box  with  the  driver  sat  a  very  dignified  old 
valet.  The  calash  was  followed  by  a  team  with  the  doctor  and 
two  soldiers. 

"  Come  into  our  house,  come  in.  The  folks  are  all  going ; 
the  whole  house  will  be  deserted,"  said  the  old  woman,  address- 
ing the  aged  servant. 

"  Well,"  said  the  valet,  sighing,  "  we  did  not  know  where  to 
take  him.  We  have  our  own  house  in  Moscow,  but  it's  far 
off  and  no  one  in  it." 

'^We  beg  it  as  a  favor;  our  folks  have  always  a  houseful, 
so  please  come,"  said  Mavra  Kuzminitchna.  ^^  What !  is  he 
very  bad  ?  "  she  added. 

The  valet  spread  open  his  hands. 

'^  We  did  not  know  as  we  could  get  him  here.  I  must  ask 
the  doctor."  And  the  valet  sprang  down  from  the  box  and 
went  to  the  other  team. 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  valet  returned  to  the  calash,  looked  into  it,  shook  his 
liead,  bade  the  driver  turn  into  the  dvor,  and  he  himself 
remained  standing  by  Mavra  Kuzminitchna. 

"Merciful  Saviour!"  *  she  exclaimed. 

*  "  QQ$podiIisuu  Khtiste  I "  (Lord  J«mu  Christ  I ). 


330  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Mavr^  Kuzminitchna  invited  them  to  cany  the  woonded 
man  into  the  house. 

"  The  folks  won't  say  anything,"  she  went  on.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  avoid  carrying  him  upstairs,  and  therefore  the 
wounded  man  was  taken  into  the  wing  and  placed  in  tlie 
rooms  formerly  occupied  by  Madame  Schoss. 

The  wounded  officer  was  Prince  Andrei  Bolkonsky ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  last  day  of  Moscow  dawned. 

It  was  bright,  inspiriting  autumn  weather.  It  was  a  Sun- 
day. Just  as  on  ordinary  Sundays,  the  bells  on  all  the 
churches  rang  for  mass.  It  seemed  as  if  even  now  no  oae 
realized  what  was  coming  upon  Moscow. 

Only  two  indications  of  the  crisis  were  visible  in  society,  and 
showed  the  position  in  which  Moscow  was  placed :  the  rabble, 
that  is  to  say.  the  poorer  classes,  and  the  price  for  commodi- 
ties. The  factory  operatives,  household  serfs,  and  muzhiks 
in  a  portentous  throng,  wherein  mixed  and  mingled  chi- 
novniks,  seminarists,  noblemen,  had  early  that  morning  gooe 
out  to  Tri  Gorui.  Having  reached  there,  they  did  not  wait  for 
Rostopchin,  but  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  Moscow  was  to 
be  abandoned,  this  mob  scattered  through  Moscow,  among  the 
spirit-stores,  and  traktirs  or  taverns. 

Prices  that  day  also  indicated  the  posture  of  affairs.  The 
prices  for  weapons,  for  gold,  for  teams  and  horses,  kept  going 
higher  and  higher,  while  the  prices  for  paper  money  and  for 
city  luxuries  kept  depreciating,  so  that  by  the  midcUe  of  the 
day  there  were  instances  of  costly  wares  like  cloth  being  car- 
ried off  by  izvoshchiks  for  nothing,  while  as  high  as  five  hun- 
dred rubles  were  paid  for  a  muzhik's  horse ;  but  furniture, 
miiTors,  and  bronzes  went  begging. 

In  the  dignified  old  house  of  the  Rostofs',  the  overturn  of 
the  former  conditions  of  existence  found  very  feeble  expres- 
sion. As  far  as  the  servants  were  concerned,  it  only  hap- 
pened that  during  the  night  three  out  of  all  the  enormous  reti- 
nue ran  away ;  but  nothing  was  stolen,  and  the  prices  of  things 
were  well  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  thirty  teams  brought  from 
the  country  represented  an  enormous  fortune,  which  many  men 
coveted,  and  for  which  tremendous  offers  were  made  to  the 
Rostofs. 

Although  great  sums  of  money  were  offered  for  these  teamS) 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  881 

nevertheless,  during  the  evening  of  the  twelfth  and  on  the 
morning  of  the  thirteenth  of  September,  there  was  a  constant 
stream  of  denshchiks,  and  other  servants,  sent  by  wounded 
officers,  as  well  as  the  wounded  men  themselves  who  had  been 
accommodated  at  the  Rostofs'  and  at  neighboring  houses,  beg- 
ging the  Rostofs'  servants  to  obtain  for  them  these  teams  so 
that  they  could  escape  from  Moscow. 

The  major-domo,  to  whom  these  men  applied  with  such 
petitions,  although  he  pitied  the  wounded,  gave  a  decided  re- 
fusal, declaring  that  he  should  not  dare  to  propose  such  a 
thing  to  the  count.  However  hard  it  was  to  leave  the 
wounded  behind,  it  was  self-evident  that  if  one  team  were 
given  up,  there  would  be  no  reason  for  refusing  another,  and 
another,  and  finally  all  their  teams  and  even  their  private 
carriages.  Thirty  teams  would  not  save  all  the  wounded,  and, 
in  the  universal  calamity,  it  was  out  of  the  question  that  each 
person*  should  not  think  of  himself  and  his  family  firbt.  Thus 
the  major-domo  thought  in  behalf  of  his  barin. 

On  waking  up  on  the  morning  of  the  thirteenth.  Count  Ilya 
Andreyitch  softly  left  his  chamber,  so  as  not  to  arouse  the 
countess,  who  had  only  fallen  asleep  toward  morning,  and  in 
his  lihuM^olored  silk  dressing-gown  went  down  to  the  front 
steps. 

The  teams,  ready  loaded,  stood  in  the  yard.  The  travelling- 
carriages  were  at  the  door.  The  major-domo  was  standing  by 
the  entrance,  conversing  with  an  elderly  denshchik,  and  a  pale 
young  officer  with  his  arm  in  a  sling.  The  major-domo,  see- 
mg  the  count,  made  a  stern  and  significant  sign  to  the  officer 
and  the  man,  that  they  should  go. 

"Well,  is  everything  ready,  Vasilyitch  ?  *'  asked  the  count, 
nibbing  his  bald  spot,  and  looking  good-naturedly  at  the 
officer  and  the  denshchik,  and  nodding  to  them.  The  count 
was  fond  of  new  faces. 

"About  ready  to  hitch  up,  your  illustriousness." 

"Well,  that  IS  excellent !  But  here,  the  countess  will  soon 
be  awake,  and  then  God  speed  us.*  —  Well,  sir  ?  "  said  he, 
taming  to  the  officer.  "  You  will  make  yourself  at  home  in 
my  house,  will  you  ? '' 

The  officer  drew  nearer.  His  pale  face  suddenly  flushed  a 
brilliant  crimson. 

"Count,  do  me  the  favor, — allow  me  —  for  God^s  sake  — 
let  me  creep  into  one  of  your  wagons.  I  have  no  luggage 
with  me  here  —  I  would  as  soon  go  in  the  cart"—    The 

•  8  Bogom, 


882  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

officer  had  not  finished  speaking,  before  the  denshchik  came 
up  to  the  count,  to  prefer  the  same  request  in  behalf  of  his 
gentleman. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes,"  cried  the  count,  hastily.  "  I  am  veiy, 
very  glad.  Vasilyitch,  you  make  the  arrangements ;  have  one 
or  two  of  the  telyegas  unloaded  — say  that  one  yonder  —  well 
—  any  one  that  seems  most  advisable "  —  said  the  count, 
couching  his  orders  in  vague  phnuses. 

But  at  the  same  instant  the  eager  expression  of  gratitade 
on  the  officer's  face  confirmed  him  in  his  determination.  The 
count  glanced  around :  the  courtyard,  the  gates,  the  windows 
of  the  wing,  were  all  crowded  with  wounded  men  and  their 
attendants.  The  eyes  of  all  were  riveted  on  the  count,  and 
they  were  coming  toward  the  steps. 

"  Please,  your  illustriousness,  come  into  the  picture-gallery ; 
what  do  you  wish  done  in  regard  to  the  pictures  ?  '^  asked  the 
major-dc^o. 

The  count  went  with  him  into  the  house,  at  the  same  time 
repeating  his  injunctions  not  to  refuse  any  of  the  wounded 
who  begged  to  be  taken. 

'^  There,  now,  something  can  be  unloaded,"  he  added,  in  % 
low,  mysterious  voice,  as  though  he  feared  some  one  would 
overhear  him. 

At  nine  o'clock,  the  countess  awoke,  and  Matriona  Timor- 
yevna,  her  former  lady's  maid,  who  now  exercised  in  the 
countess's  behalf  the  duties  of  chief  of  police,*  came  to  inform 
her  old  mistress  that  Maria  Karlovla  was  greatly  incensed, 
and  that  it  was  an  impossibility  for  the  young  ladies'  summer 
dresses  to  be  left  behind ! 

When  the  countess  made  inquiries  why  Madame  Schoss  was 
incensed,  it  appeared  that  her  trunk  had  been  taken  from  the 
cart,  and  that  they  were  unloading  all  of  the  teams,  that  they 
were  making  ready  to  take  on  and  carry  away  with  them  the 
wounded  whom  the  count,  in  his  simple-hearted  kindness,  had 
promised  to  rescue. 

The  countess  had  her  husband  summoned. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  my  love  ?  I  hear  they  are  unload- 
ing the  things  again." 

"  You  see,  ma  chere^  —  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  ma  chht 
grafinyvshka — the  officer  came  to  me — and  begged  me  to 
let  them  have  a  few  of  the  teams  for  the  wounded.  Of  course, 
this  is  all  worth  a  good  deal,  but  how  could  we  leave  them 
behind  ?    Just  think  !  —  It's  a  fact,  they're  in  our  yard— we 

*  Slief  xhendarmof. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  833 

invited  them  in.  —  You  see,  I  think  —  we  really  ought,  ma 
chere  —  so  now,  ma  chkre  —  let  'em  go  with  us  —  what  is  the 
hurry,  anyway  ?  " 

Tne  count  s^x^ke  timidly,  as  was  always  his  custom  when 
there  was  any  money  transaction  on  foot.  The  countess  was 
accustomed  to  this  tone,  which  always  preceded  any  project 
that  was  going  to  eat  up  his  children's  fortunes,  as  for 
instance  the  starting  a  picture  gallery,  new  orangeries,  the 
arrangement  of  private  theatrical  performances,  or  music; 
and  she  was  accustomed,  and  had  long  considered  it  her  duty, 
to  oppose  anything  that  was  suggested  in  this  tone  of  voice. 

She  put  on  a  set,  tearful  face,  and  said  to  her  husband :  — 

"Listen,  count;  you  have  brought  things  to  such  a  pass 
that  we  aren't  worth  anything,  and  now  all  our  property  — 
cur  children's  —  all  that's  left  —  you  want  to  make  way  with. 
Why,  you  yourself  said  that  what  was  in  the  house  was  worth 
a  hundred  thousand !  I  will  not  consent,  my  love,  I  will  not 
consent !  Do  as  you  please !  It's  for  the  government  to  look 
after  the  wounded.  They  know  it.  Look  across  the  street 
there  at  the  Lopukhins';  everything  was  carried  off  clean 
three  days  ago.  That's  the  way  men  do!  We  alone  are 
idiots !  If  you  don't  have  any  pity  on  me,  at  least  remember 
your  children ! " 

The  count  made  a  gesture  with  his  hands,  and,  saying 
nothing  further,  left  the  room. 

"Papa!  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Natasha,  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  to  her  mother's  room. 

"Nothing  !  none  of  your  concern  ! "  replied  the  count  testily. 

"No,  but  I  heard  what  you  were  saying,"  said  Natasha. 
"Why  isn't  niamenka  willing  ?  " 

"  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  "  screamed  the  count. 

Natasha  went  to  the  window  and  pondered.  ^'Fapenka! 
Berg  has  come  ! "  said  she,  looking  out  of  the  window. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Berg,  the  count's  son-in-law,  was  now  a  colonel,  wearing  the 
Vladimir  and  the  Anna  around  his  neck,  and  occupied  in  the 
same  pleasant  and  sinecure  post,  as  assistant  to  the  chief  of 
the  staff  of  the  assistant  chief  of  staff  of  the  first  division  of 
the  second  corps. 

On  the  thirteenth  of  September  he  drove  in  to  Moscow  from 
the  army. 


834  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

There  was  nothing  to  call  him  to  Moscow,  but  he  bad 
observed  that  all  were  asking  leave  of  absence  to  go  to  Mot 
cow,  and  seemed  to  have  private  business  there.  He  consid- 
ei'ed  it  essential  for  him  also  to  go  and  inquire  after  his  wife's 
fapily  and  affairs. 

Berg  drove  up  to  his  father-in-law's  house  in  his  elegant 
little  drozhsky  drawn  by  a  pair  of  plump  roans,  exactly  like 
those  belonging  to  a  certain  prince.  He  gave  a  keen  look  at 
the  teams  drawn  up  in  the  yard ;  and  as  he  came  to  the  steps, 
he  took  out  a  clean  handkerchief  and  tied  a  knot  in  it. 

Berg  passed  from  the  anteroom  into  the  drawing-room  with 
slow,  dignified  steps,  and  embraced  the  count,  and  kissed 
Natasha's  hand,  and  Souya's,  and  made  haste  to  inquire  after 
his  mamasha's  health. 

"  Who  thinks  about  health  nowadays  ?  Tell  us,"  said  the 
count,  *^  tell  us  about  the  army.  Will  they  retire  or  will  theie 
be  another  battle  ?  " 

"  The  Everlasting  Grod,  papasha,"  said  Berg,  '<  can  alone  decide 
the  fate  of  the  fatherland.  The  army  is  a£re  with  the  spirit 
of  heroism,  and  even  now  the  leaders,  so  to  speak,  are  collected 
in  council.  What  will  be  is  not  known.  But  I  can  tell  you 
in  general,  papasha,  the  heroic  spirit,  the  truly  antique  valor 
of  the  Russian  troops,  which  they — I  mean  it" — he  cor- 
rected himself  —  "showed,  or  rather  displayed,  in  that  battle 
of  the  seventh  instant,  words  are  not  sufficient  to  describe.  — 
I  tell  you,  papasha "  —  here  he  gave  himself  a  slap  on  the 
chest,  just  as  he  had  seen  a  general  do  in  telling  this  story, 
though  he  was  rather  late  in  bringing  it  in  effectively,  because 
he  should  have  given  himself  the  slap  on  the  chest  at  the 
words  Russian  troops — "I  will  tell  you  frankly  that  we— 
the  nachalniks  not  only  were  not  obliged  to  urge  on  the  sol- 
diers or  do  anything  of  the  soii;,  but,  rather,  we  found  it  haiti 
work  to  restrain  their  ardor  —  their,  their  —  yes,  their  gallant 
and  antique  onslaughts,"  said  he  eloquently.  "  Grener^  Bar- 
clay de  Tolly  exposed  his  life  everywhere  in  front  of  the 
troops,  I  tell  you !  Our  corps  was  posted  on  the  slope  of  a 
hill.  You  can  imagine  !  "  —  And  here  Berg  related  all  that  he 
remembered  of  the  various  reports  that  he  had  heard  at  that 
time. 

Katasha  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  him,  which  confused 
Berg,  for  she  seemed  to  be  searching  his  face  for  the  answer 
to  some  question. 

"  Such  heroism  as  was  displayed  by  the  Kussian  troops  in 
'general,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  or  to  praise  sufficiently," 


WAR  AND  PEACE, 

said  Berg,  glancing  at  Natasha,  and  smiling  in  answer  to  her 
fixed  look,  as  though  anxious  to  win  her  good  graces.  '^  Rus- 
sia is  not  in  Moscow,  she  is  in  the  hearts  of  her  sons.  Isn't 
that  so,  papasha?  "  asked  Berg. 

At  this  moment  the  countess  came  out  from  the  divan-room 
with  a  weary  and  dissatisfied  face.  Berg  sprang  up,  kissed 
her  hand,  inquired  after  her  health,  and,  expressing  his 
sympathy  by  a  shake  of  the  head,  remained  standing  by  her 
side. 

''Yes,  mamdsha,  I  will  tell  you  frankly  these  are  melan- 
choly, trying  times  for  every  Russian.  But  why  be  so  dis- 
iurhed  ?    There  is  still  time  for  you  to  get  away  safely  "  — 

''I  don*t  underatand  what  the  servants  are  up  to,"  said  the 
countess,  addressing  her  husband.  '<  I  have  just  been  told  that 
not  a  thing  is  ready  yet.  You  see  how  necessary  it  is  for 
some  one  to  take  full  charge.  Now  here  we  really  miss 
Mitenka.    There  will  never  be  any  end  to  it ! " 

The  count  was  about  to  make  some  reply,  but  evidently 
restrained  himself.  He  got  up  from  his  chair  and  went  to  the 
door. 

Berg  just  then  took  out  his  handkerchief  as  though  to  blow 
his  nose,  and,  catching  sight  of  the  knot  that  he  had  tied,  grew 
thoughtful  and  shook  his  head  in  a  melancholy  and  significant 
manner. 

"I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you,  papasha,"  said  he. 

"  Hm  ?  "  returned  the  count,  stopping  short. 

"I  was  just  passing  Yusupofs,"  said  Berg  with  a  laugh. 
**  The  overseer,  who  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  came  running 
out,  and  urged  me  to  buy  something.  I  went  in  just  out  of 
curiosity,  and  there  I  found  a  pretty  little  chiflFonier*  and 
toilet.  You  know  how  Vienishka  has  always  wanted  one,  and 
how  we  have  actually  quarrelled  over  it."  —  Berg  involuntarily 
took  a  tone  of  self-congratulation  over  his  comfortable  little 
establishment,  as  he  began  to  speak  about  the  chiffonier  and 
the  toilet.  —  "  And  it  is  such  a  beauty  !  It  is  full  of  drawers, 
and  has  an  English  secret  panel,  don't  you  know  !  And  Vie- 
rotchka  had  wanted  one  so  long !  And  so  I  wanted  to  sur- 
prise her.  I  saw  you  had  so  many  of  these  muzhiks  in  the 
yard.  Let  me  have  one,  please.  I  will  pay  him  handsomely 
and"  — 

A  frown  passed  over  the  count's  face,  and  he  began  to 
clear  his  throat.  —  "Ask  the  countess;  I  am  not  giving  the 
directions." 

*  Shifony^rotchka* 


336  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"If  it  is  inconvenient,  no  matter  about  it,"  said  Berg.— 
"Only  I  wanted  it  very  much  for  Vierushka's  sake." 

"Akhl  go  to  the  devil  —  all  of  you,  to  the  devil,  to  the 
devil,  and  to  the  devil  I "  cried  the  old  count.  —  "  My  head  is 
in  a  whirl ! "    And  he  flew  out  of  the  room. 

The  countess  burst  into  tears. 

"Yes,  indeed,  mamenka,  it  is  a  very  trying  time!"  said 
Berg. 

Natasha  followed  her  father  out  of  the  room,  and  at  first 
started  to  go  to  him ;  but  then,  seeming  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  she  hastened  downstairs. 

Petya  was  standing  on  the  steps,  busy  providing  with  arms 
the  men  who  were  to  escort  the  family  from  Moscow.  In  the 
dvor  the  teams  still  stood  corded  up.  Two  of  them  had  been 
xuiloaded,  and  in  one  the  young  officer  had  already  taken  his 
place,  assisted  by  his  denshchik. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  trouble  was  ? "  asked  Petya  of 
Natasha.  Natasha  understood  that  Petya  referred  to  the 
dispute  between  their  father  and  mother.  She  made  no 
reply. 

"Because  papenka  wanted  to  give  up  all  the  teams  to 
the  wounded!"  said  Petya.  "Vasilyitch  told  me.  In  my 
opinion  "  — 

"In  my  opinion,"  suddenly  interrupted  Natasha,  almost 
screaming,  and  turning  her  wrathful  face  full  upon  Petya— 
"in  my  opinion,  this  is  so  mean,  so  shameful,  so  —  so— I 
can't  express  it !     Are  we  miserable  Germans  ?  " 

Her  throat  swelled  with  convulsive  sobs,  and,  fearing  lest 
she  should  break  down  and  waste  the  ammunition  of  her 
wrath,  she  turned  on  her  heel  and  flew  impetuously  upstairs. 

Berg  was  sitting  down  near  the  countess,  and  trying,  like  a 
dutiful  son,  to  console  her.  The  count,  with  his  pipe  in  his 
hand,  was  striding  up  and  down,  when  Natasha,  her  face  dis- 
torted with  indignation,  dashed  into  the  room,  and  hurried  to 
her  mother  with  rapid  steps. 

"  This  is  shameful !  This  is  abominable  ! "  she  cried.  "It 
cannot  be  that  you  have  given  such  an  order." 

Berg  and  the  countess  looked  at  her  in  fear  and  bewilder- 
ment.   The  count  paused  by  the  window,  and  listened. 

"  Mamenka,  it  must  not  be  !  see  what  they  are  doing  in  the 
yard  1 "  she  cried.     "  They  are  to  be  left  I " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Who  are  to  be  left  ?  What  do  you 
want  ?  " 

"The  wounded  men,  that's  who !    It  must  not  be,  mamenka! 


/ 


\ 


WAR  AND  PEACE, 


This  is  not  like  yon  at  all !  No,  m&menka,  dearest  little 
do7e ! *  Mamenka!  what  do  we  want  of  all  those  things  that 
we  were  going  to  take  away  ?  only  look  out  into  the  yard !  — 
Mamenka !  —  This  must  not,  cannot  be.'' 

The  count  still  stood  by  the  window  without  turning  his 
face  away,  as  he  listened  to  Natasha's  words. 

Suddenly  he  blew  his  nose,  and  leaned  over  toward  the 
window. 

The  countess  gazed  at  her  daughter,  saw  her  faoe  tinged 
with  shame  for  her  mother's  sake,  saw  her  agitation^  under- 
stood now  why  it  was  her  husband  would  not  look  at  her,  and 
then  glanced  around  her  with  a  troubled  face. 

"Akh  !  you  may  do  as  you  please.  Am  I  interfering  with 
any  one?"  she  exclaimed,  not  willing  even  yet  to  give  in 
suddenly. 

"  Mamenka,  dear  little  dove,  forgive  me  I " 

But  the  countess  pushed  her  daughter  away,  and  went  over 
to  the  count. 

"  Mon  chevy  you  give  what  orders  are  necessary.  You  see,  I 
know  nothing  about  this  at  all  I "  said  she,  guiltily  dropping 
her  eyes. 

"The  eggs  —  the  eggs  are  teaching  the  old  hen,"  exclaimod 
the  count  through  his  happy  tears,  and  he  embraced  his  witV, 
who  was  glad  to  hide  her  face  crimson  with  shame  against  his 
heart. 

"P4penka,  mdmenka !  Shall  I  give  the  orders  ?  May  I  ?  " 
asked  Natasha.  "  We  will  still  ta£e  all  that  we  really  need," 
said  Natasha. 

The  count  nodded  assent,  and  Natasha,  with  the  same  swift 
steps  with  which  she  would  run  when  she  used  to  play  gov- 
ydki  or  tag,  flew  across  the  room  into  the  anteroom,  and 
downstairs  into  the  courtyard. 

The  men  gathered  around  Natasha,  and  they  would  not  put 
any  faith  in  the  strange  command  which  she  gave  them,  until 
the  old  count  himself  came  down,  and,  in  the  name  of  his  wife, 
ordered  them  to  give  up  all  the  wagons  to  the  wounded,  and 
to  carry  the  boxes  and  trunks  back  to  the  storerooms. 

After  they  had  comprehended  the  meaning  of  the  order, 
the  men  with  joyful  eagerness  addressed  themselves  to  the 
new  task.  This  did  not  any  longer  seem  strange  to  the  me- 
nials, but,  on  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  them  that  it  could  not 
be  ordered  otherwise ;  just  the  same  as,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before,  it  did  not  seem  strange  to  any  one  that  the  wounded 

*  CfoliOmshka, 
VOL.  .3.  —  22. 


\ 
\ 


/ 


388  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

men  Were  to  be  left  and  the  things  carried  away,  bat  deemed 
to  them  that  it  could  not  be  ordered  otherwise.  All  the  house* 
hold,  as  though  grieved  because  they  had  not  got  at  this  work 
more  expeditiously,  took  hold  of  it  with  a  will,  and  made 
place  for  the  wounded.  The  wounded  men  dragged  theni- 
selves  down  from  their  rooms,  and  their  pale  faces  lighted  up 
with  joy  as  they  gathered  around  the  teams. 

The  rumor  spread  to  the  adjoining  houses  that  the  teams 
were  going  to  start  from  the  Eostofs',  and  still  more  of  the 
wounded  came  crowding  into  the  Bostofs'  yard  from  the  other 
houses. 

Many  of  the  wounded  begged  them  not  to  remove  aJl  the 
things,  but  simply  to  let  them  sit  on  top.  But  the  work  of 
unloading  having  once  begun,  it  could  not  stop.  It  was  a  mat> 
ter  of  indifference  whether  all  the  things  were  left  or  only 
half  of  them.  The  courtyard  was  littered  up  with  the  unladen 
chests  and  boxes  full  of  china,  bronzes,  paintings,  mirron, 
which  had  been  so  carefully  packed  up  the  night  before,  and 
still  the  work  went  on  of  taking  off  this  thing  and  that,  and 
giving  up  one  team  after  another. 

"We  can  take  four  more,"  said  the  overseer.  "Here,  I 
will  give  up  my  team !  but  then,  what  should  I  do  with 
them  ?  " 

"Well,  give  them  the  one  that  has  my  trunks,''  said  the 
countess ;  "  Diuiyasha  can  sit  with  me  in  the  carriage." 

So  they  gave  up  also  the  wardrobe  wagon,*  and  let  the 
wounded  from  two  neighboring  houses  have  the  use  of  it.  All 
the  household  and  the  servants  were  full  of  happy  excite- 
ment. Natasha  had  .risen  to  a  state  of  enthusiastically 
happy  emotion  such  as  she  had  not  experienced  for  a  long 
time. 

"  How  shall  we  tie  this  on  ?  "  asked  some  of  the  men,  who 
were  trying  to  fasten  a  chest  on  the  narrow  foot-board  of  one 
of  the  carriages.     "  We  ought  to  give  up  a  whole  team  to  it !" 

"  What  does  it  contain  ?  "  asked  Natasha. 

"  The  count's  books." 

"  Leave  it,  Vasilyitch  will  take  care  of  it.  We  don't  need 
them." 

The  britchka  was  full;  there  was  some  question  where 
Piotr  Ilyitch  was  to  go. 

"  He  can  sit  on  the  coachman's  box.  Get  up  there  on  the 
box  I "  cried  Natasha. 

Sonya  was  also  indef atigably  at  work ;  but  the  object  of  her 

*  Oarderohnapapovozka, 


\ 


WAH  AND  PlSACS. 

laboTS  was  diametrically  opposed  to  the  object  of  Natasha's. 
She  was  looking  out  for  the  things  which  had  to  be  left 
behind,  labelling  them  by  the  countess's  desire,  and  doing  her 
best  to  bave  as  much  taken  as  could  be. 

I 
CHAPTER  XVII. 

By  two  o'clock,  the  four  equipages  of  the  Rostofs,  loaded 
and  packed,  stood  at  the  door.  The  teams  with  the  wounded, 
one  after  the  other,  filed  out  of  the  gate.  The  calash  in  which 
Prince  Andrei  was  carried  passed  in  front  of  the  entrance, 
and  attracted  the  attention  of  Sonya,  who  was  engaged  with 
the  maid  in  trying  to  arrange  a  comfortable  seat  for  the  coun- 
tess in  her  huge,  lofty  coach,  that  stood  at  the  door. 

"  Whose  calash  is  that  ? "  asked  Sonya,  putting  her  head 
oat  of  the  carriage  window. 

"Why,  don't  you  know,  baniishnya?"  replied  the  maid. 
''It's  the  wounded  prince;  he  spent  the  night  at  our  house, 
and  is  also  going  with  us." 

"  But  who  is  he  ?    What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  It's  our  former  lover !  Prince  Bolkonsky ! "  replied  the 
lady's  maid,  with  a  sigh.     "  They  say  he's  going  to  die." 

Sonya  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and  hastened  to  the  coun- 
tess. The  countess,  already  dressed  for  the  journey,  in 
shawl  and  hat,  was  weariedly  walking  up  and  down  through 
the  drawing-room,  waiting  for  the  household  to  assemble  so  as 
to  git  down,  with  closed  doors,  and  have  prayers  read  before 
setting  forth  on  the  journey.     Natasha  was  not  in  the  i-oom. 

^^Maman/"  exclaimed  Sonya,  "Prince  Andrei  is  here  I 
wounded  and  dying.     He  is  going  with  us ! " 

The  countess  opened  her  eyes  wide  with  terror,  and,  seizing 
Sonya's  arm,  looked  around. 

"  Natasha ! "  she  exclaimed. 

Both  for  Sonya  and  f(»r  the  countess  this  news  had  at  the 
first  moment  only  one  significance.    They  knew  their  Natasha, 
and  the  horror  at  the  thought  how  this  news  would  affect  her 
crowded  out  all  sympathy  for  the  man  whom  they  both  loved. 
"Natasha  does  not  know  it  yet;  but  he  is  going  in  our 
I«Jty,"  said  Sonya. 
"Did  you  say  he  was  dying  ? " 
Sonya  bent  her  head. 
The  countess  threw  her  arms  around  Sonya  and  burst  into 

tears. 


/ 


/ 


340  V^AR  AND  PEACE. 

"  The  ways  of  the  Lord  are  past  finding  out ! "  she  said  to 
herself,  with  the  consciousness  that  in  everything  that  was 
then  taking  place  an  All-powerful  Hand  was  in  control  of 
what  had  been  concealed  from  the  eyes  of  men. 

"  Well,  mamma,  all  is  ready.  —  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  "  asked  Natasha,  suddenly  coming  into  the  room  wiUi 
flushed  and  eager  face. 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  countess.  "  If  we  are  ready,  then  let 
us  be  off." 

And  the  countess  bent  over  to  her  reticule,  in  order  to  hide 
her  disturbed  face.     Sonya  hugged  Natasha  and  kissed  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?    What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  noth  "  — 

"  Something  wrong,  and  about  me  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  asked 
the  sensitive  Natasha. 

Sonya  sighed,  and  made  no  reply. 

The  count,  Petya,  Madame  Schoss,  Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  and 
Vasilyitch,  came  into  the  room,  and,  shutting  the  door,  all  sat 
down,  and  remained  for  some  seconds  in  silence,  not  exchan- 
ging glances. 

The  count  was  the  first  to  rise,  and,  drawing  a  loud  sigh, 
he  began  to  cross  himself  toward  the  holy  pictures.  All  did 
likewise.  Then  the  count  began  to  embrace  Mavra  Kuzmi- 
nitchna  and  Vasilyitch,  who  were  to  be  left  in  Moscow,  and 
while  they  fondled  his  hand  and  kissed  him  on  the  shoulder, 
he  lightly  patted  them  on  the  back,  muttering  some  vague,  af- 
fectionately consoling  phrases. 

The  countess  went  to  the  oratory,  and  Sonya  found  her 
there  on  her  knees  in  front  of  the  "  images,"  which  were  left 
here  and  there  on  the  wall.  The  most  precious  images,  as 
family  heirlooms,  had  been  taken  down  and  carried  off. 

On  the  stairs  and  in  the  yard,  the  men  who  were  to  accom- 
pany the  teams,  furnished  with  daggers  and  sabres,  delivered 
out  to  them  by  Petya,  and  with  their  trousers  tucked  into 
their  boots,  and  their  coats  tightly  girt  around  them  with  gir- 
dles and  belts,  were  exchanging  farewells  with  those  who  were 
to  stay  l)ehind. 

As  always  happens  at  starting  on  a  journey,  many  things 
were  forgotten  or  not  properly  packed ;  and  the  two  halduks 
had  been  long  standing  on  either  side  of  the  open  door,  by  the 
carriage  steps,  ready  to  help  the  countess  in,  while  the  maids 
were  bustling  about  with  cushions  and  parcels  to  stow  away 
in  the  coaches  and  the  calash  and  the  britchka. 

"  They  are  forever  and  forever  forgetting  something  1  *'  ex- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  841 

claimed  the  conntess.  "  Now  see  here.  You  know  I  can't  sit 
that  wAj"  And  Dunyasha,  setting  her  teeth  together^  and 
making  no  reply,  though  an  expression  of  indignation  con- 
tracted her  face,  flew  into  the  carriage  to  re-arrange  the  cush- 
ions. 

''Akh!  what  a  set  of  people !"  exclaimed  the  county  shak^ 
ing  his  head. 

The  old  coachman,  Yefim,  with  whom  alone  the  countess 
would  consent  to  travel,  sitting  high  on  his  box,  did  not  even 
deign  to  glance  around  at  what  was  going  on  behind  him.  He 
knew,  by  thirty  years'  experience,  that  it  would  be  still  some 
time  before  they  said  to  him  their  "  S  Bogom — Let  us  be  off 
—  and  that,  even  after  the  order  to  start  was  given,  he  would 
still  be  stopped  two  or  three  times,  while  tliey  sent  back  for 
things  forgotten;  and  that  even  then  he  would  be  stopped 
again,  and  the  countess  herself  would  thrust  her  head  out  of 
the  window,  and  ask  him  in  the  name  of  Christ  the  Lord  — 
Khristom  Bogmti  —  to  drive  more  cautiously  down  the  slopes. 
He  knew  this,  and  therefore,  with  even  greater  patience  than 
his  horses,  —  especially  more  than  the  off  chestnut,  Sokol,* 
which  stood  pawing  with  his  hoofs,  and  champing  his  bit,  — 
he  waited  for  what  should  be. 

At  last  all  were  in  their  places ;  the  steps  were  done  up, 
the  door  shut  with  a  bang,  a  forgotten  box  sent  for,  the  coun- 
tess put  her  head  out  and  made  the  stereotyped  remark. 
Then  Yefim  deliberately  removed  his  hat  from  his  head,  and 
proceeded  to  cross  himself.  The  postilion  and  all  the  people 
did  the  same.  "  S  Bogom  —  God  with  us,"  cried  Yehm,  as 
he  put  on  his  cap.     "  Off  we  go ! " 

The  postilion  cracked  his  whip.  The  near  pole-horse 
strained  on  the  collar,  the  lofty  springs  creaked,  and  the  great 
coach  swayed.  As  it  started,  the  footman  leaped  upon  the 
hox.  The  carriage  went  jolting  along  as  it  rumbled  out  from 
the  dvor  upon  the  uneven  pavement ;  the  other  vehicles  also 
followed  jolting  along,  and  the  procession  turned  up  the 
street.  All  in  the  carriages,  the  calash,  and  the  britchka 
crossed  themselves  as  they  passed  the  church  opposite.  The 
Betvants  remaining  in  Moscow  followed  on  both  sides  of  the 
street,  escorting  them. 

Natasha  had  rarely  known  such  a  feeling  of  keen  delight  as 
she  experienced  now,  sitting  in  the  coach,  next  the  countess, 
^d  gazing  out  at  the  walls  of  abandoned,  excited  Moscow 
Blowly  moving  past.      She  from  time  to  time  put  her  head 

♦  Hawk. 


842  WAA  AND  PBACn. 

out  of  the  window  and  gazed  forward  and  back  at  tKe  long 
string  of  wagons  containing  the  wounded  accompanying  them. 
Almost  at  the  very  front  of  the  line  she  could  see  Prince 
Andrei's  covered  calash.  She  did  not  know  who  was  in  it, 
and  yet  every  time  when  she  surveyed  their  train  her  eyes 
turned  instinctively  to  this  calash.  She  knew  that  it  was  at 
the  front. 

A  number  of  carriage-trains  like  the  Rostofs'  had  turned 
out  into  Kudrina  Street,  from  Nikitskaya,  from  Priesen,  from 
Podnovinsky,  and  when  they  reached  the  Sadovaya  there 
were  already  a  double  row  of  vehicles  and  trains  moving 
along. 

As  they  passed  the  Sukharef  tower,  Natasha,  glancing  with 
curiosity  at  the  throng  of  people  coming  and  going,  suddenly 
uttered  an  exclamation  expressive  of  delight  and  amazement 

"  Ye  saints !  *  Mamma !  Sonya !  look,  there  he  is ! " 

"Who?  who?'' 

"  Look  !  for  pity's  sake,t  Bezukhoi ! "  exclaimed  Natasha, 
putting  her  head  out  of  the  carriage  window,  and  staring  at  a 
tall,  stout  man  in  a  coachman's  kaftan  —  evidently  a  gentle- 
man in  disguise,  to  judge  by  his  gait  and  carriage  —  who  was 
walking  along  with  a  sallow,  beardless  little  old  man  in  a 
frieze  cloak  under  the  arch  of  the  Sukharef  tower. 

"Indeed,t  it's  Bezukhoi,  in  the  kaftan,  walking  with  a  litde 
old  man !    Indeed  it  is ! "  exclaimed  Natasha.   "  Look  !  look !  ^ 

<<  Why,  no !  It  can't  be.  How  can  you  say  such  absurd 
things ! " 

"  Mamma ! "  cried  Natasha,  "  I'll  wager  my  head  that  it  is  he. 
I  assure  you  it  is.  Stop !  stop ! "  she  cried  to  the  coachman. 
But  the  coachman  could  not  stop,  because  a  whole  file  of 
wagons  and  vehicles  came  in  from  Meshchanskaya  Street,  and 
shouted  to  the  Kostofs  to  drive  on  and  not  delay  the  others. 

But,  although  he  was  now  at  a  much  greater  distance  from 
them  all,  the  Bostofs  now  recognized  Pieri'e,  or  the  man  in 
the  coachman's  kaftan  that  looked  like  Pierre,  pacing  along 
the  street  with  dejected  head  and  solemn  face,  side  by  side 
with  the  little  beardless  man  who  had  the  Appearance  of  a 
footman.  This  little  old  man  remarked  the  face  thrust  forth 
from  the  carriage-window,  and  trying  to  attract  their  atten- 
tion, and  he  respectfully  nudged  Pierre's  elbow,  and  said 
something  to  him,  pointing  to  the  carriage. 

It  was  some  time  before  Pierre  realized  what  he  said,  he 
seemed  to  be  so  deeply  sunken  in  thought.    At  last,  when  Us 

•  Bdtinthki.  t  Til  Bogu, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  848 

ai^ntioH  wad  roused,  he  looked  in  the  indicated  direction, 
aad,  recognizing  Natasha,  gave  himself  up  for  a  second  to  the 
Hrst  impression  and  ran  nimbly  over  to  the  carriage. 

But,  after  taking  a  dozen  steps,  some  thought,  apparently, 
struck  him,  and  he  paused. 

^Xatasha  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  and  beamed  with 
mischievous  affectionateness. 

"Piotr  Kiriluitch,  come  here!  You  see,  we  recognized  you. 
This  Is  marvellous ! "  she  cried,  giving  him  her  hand*  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?      Why  are  you  so  ?  " 

Pierre  took  the  proffered  hand,  and,  as  he  walked  aloAg^  — ■- 
for  the  carriage  was  still  moving,  —  he  awkwai^ly  kissed  it* 

**  What  is  the  matter  With  vou,  count  ?  '*  asked  the  coun- 
tess,  in  a  voice  expressing  amazement  aud  sympathy. 

« I  —  I  —  Why  ?  —  don't  ask  me,''  said  Pierre,  and  he 
glanced  at  Natasha,  whose  eyes^  beaming  with  delight,  —  he 
felt  them  even  though  he  did  not  look  into  them,  —  over- 
whelmed him  with  their  charm. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  stay  behind  in  Moscow  ?  " 

Pierre  made  no  teply. 

"  In  Moscow  ?  "  he  repeated,  questioningly.  "  Yes,  in  Mos- 
cow.   Qood'by." 

"  Akh  !  I  wish  I  were  a  man,  I  would  certainly  stay  behind 
with  you.  Akh !  how  nice  that  would  be ! "  exclaimed  Na- 
tasha. "  Mamma,  if  you  will  let  me,  I  will  stay."  Pierre  gave 
Natasha  an  absent  look,  and  was  about  to  say  something,  but 
the  countess  interrupted  him. 

"We  heard  you  were  in  the  battle." 

"  Yes,  I  was,"  replied  Pierre.  "  To-morrow,  there  is  to  be 
another  battle"  —  he  began  to  say,  but  Natasha  interrupted 
him. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  count?  You  aren't  like 
yourself"  — 

"  Akh !  don't,  don't  ask  me,  don't  ask  me,  T  myself  don't 
know.  To-morrow,  —  but  no!  Good-by,  good-by,"  he  went 
on.  "  Terrible  times  I "  and,  moving  away  from  the  carriage, 
he  passed  along  on  the  sidewalk. 

Natasha  for  a  long  while  still  kept  her  head  out  of  the 
window,  beaming  upon  him  with  an  affectionate  and  some- 
what mischievous  smile  of  joy. 


844  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

PitSRRls,  during  the  two  days  since  his  disappearance  ffom 
home^  had  been  living  in  the  deserted  rooms  oi  the  late  Baz- 
deyef. 

This  was  how  it  happened. 

On  waking  up  the  morning  after  his  return  to  Moscow  and 
his  interview  with  Count  HostopchiU)  it  was  a  long  time  before 
Pierre  could  realize  where  he  was  and  what  was  required  of 
him.  When  he  was  informed  that  among  those  who  were 
waiting  to  see  him  in  his  reception-room  there  was  the 
Frenchman  who  had  brought  him  the  letter  from  the  Coun- 
tess Elena  Vasilyevna,  there  suddenly  came  over  him  that 
feeling  of  embarrassment  and  hopelessness  to  which  he  was 
peculiarly  prone. 

It  all  at  once  came  over  him  that  everything  was  now  at  an 
end,  that  ruin  and  destruction  were  at  hand,  that  there  was  no 
distinction  between  right  and  wrong,  that  there  was  no  future, 
and  that  there  was  no  escape  from  all  this  coil  of  troubles. 
With  an  unnatural  smile  on  his  lips,  and  muttering  unintelli- 
gible words,  he  first  sat  down  a  while  on  his  sofa,  then  he  got 
up,  went  to  the  door  and  looked  through  the  crack  into  the 
reception-room,  then,  making  a  fierce  gesture,  he  tiptoed  back 
and  took  up  a  book.  The  major-domo  came  for  the  second 
time  to  tell  Pierre  that  the  Frenchman  who  had  brought  the 
letter  from  the  countess  was  very  anxious  to  see  him  "  if  only 
for  a  little  minute,  and  that  a  messenger  had  come  from  I.  JL 
Bazdeyef's  widow  to  ask  him  to  come  for  the  books,  since  Mrs. 
Bazdeyeva  had  herself  gone  to  the  country. 

"  Oh,  yes,  immediately  —  wait  —  or  no,  no,  —  go  and  say 
that  I  will  come  immediately,"  said  Pierre  to  the  major-domo. 

But,  as  soon  as  the  major-domo  had  gone,  Pierre  took  his 
hat,  which  lay  on  the  table,  and  left  his  cabinet  by  the  I'ear 
door.  There  was  no  one  in  the  corridor.  Pierre  passed  along 
the  whole  length  of  the  corridor  to  the  stairs,  and,  scowling 
and  clasping  his  head  in  both  hands,  he  went  down  to  the  first 
landing.  The  Swiss  was  standing  at  the  front  door.  From 
the  landing  which  Pierre  had  reached,  another  flight  of  stairs 
led  to  the  rear  entrance.  Pierre  went  down  this  and  came 
out  into  the  yard.  No  one  had  seen  him.  But  on  the  street, 
as  soon  as  he  left  the  g*ates,  the  coachmen  waiting  with  their 
equipages,  and  the  dvornik^  or  yard  tender,  saw  the  count,  and 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  346 

took  off  their  hats  to  him.  Conscious  of  their  glances  fastened 
upon  him,  Pierre  acted  like  an  ostrich  which  hides  its  head  in 
the  sand  so  as  not  to  be  seen;  he  dropped  his  head,  and, 
hastening  his  steps,  ran  out  into  the  street. 

Of  all  the  business  which  faced  Pierre  that  morning,  the 
business  of  assorting  losiph  Alekseyevitch's  books  and  papers 
seemed  to  him  most  needful. 

He  took  the  first  izvoshchik  that  happened  to  come  along, 
and  ordered  him  to  drive  to  the  Patriarch's  Pools,*  where  the 
widow  Bazdeyeva  lived.  As  he  kept  glancing  about  on  all  the 
caravans  of  people,  making  haste  to  escape  from  Moscow,  and 
balanced  his  obese  frame  so  as  not  to  be  tipped  out  of  the  ram- 
shackly  old  drozhsky,  Pierre  experienced  the  same  sort  of 
reckless  enjoyment  felt  by  a  truant  boy.  He  entered  into 
conversation  with  the  driver. 

The  izvoshchik  informed  him  that  arms  had  been  that  day 
distributed  to  the  populace  in  the  Ki-eml,  and  that  on  the 
morrow  they  were  all  going  out  to  the  Tri  Gonii  barrier,  and 
that  a  great  battle  would  take  place  there. 

On  reaching  the  Patriarch's  Pools,  Pierre  had  to  make  some 
little  search  for  Bazdeyefs  house,  as  he  had  not  been  there 
for  some  time.  He  approached  the  wicket  door.  Gerasim, 
the  same  sallow,  l^eardless  little  old  man  whom  Pierre  had 
seen  five  years  before  at  Torzhok,  with  losiph  Alekseyevitch, 
came  out  at  his  knock. 

"  At  home  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

"  Owing  to  present  circumstances,  Sofya  Danilovna  and  her 
children  went  yesterday  to  their  Torzhok  country  seat,  your 
ilhistriousness." 

"  Nevertheless  I  will  come  in ;  I  must  assort  the  books," 
said  Pierre. 

"Do,  I  beg  of  you;  the  brother  of  the  late  lamented  — 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  be  his  !  —  Makar  Alekseyevitch  —  is 
left  here,  as  you  will  deign  to  know  —  he  is  very  feeble,"  said 
the  old  servitor. 

Makar  Alekseyevitch  was,  as  Pierre  well  knew,  losiph  Alek- 
seyevitch's  half-witted  brother,  who  was  addicted  to  drink. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Come  on,  come,"  said  Pierre,  and  he 
entered  the  house. 

A  tall,  bald,  red-nosed  old  man,  in  a  dressing-gown,  and  with 
galoches  on  his  bare  feet,  was  standing  in  the  reception-room. 
When  he  saw  Pierre,  he  testily  muttered  something,  and 
shuffled  off  into  the  corridor. 

•  patriarshiye  Prudui 


346  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  He  once  had  great  intellect,  but  now,  as  you  will  deign  to 
observe,  he  has  weakened,"  said  Gerasim.  "  Would  you  like 
to  go  into  the  library  ?  " 

Pierre  nodded  assent. 

^^  The  library  remains  just  as  it  had  been  left,  ^ith  seals  on 
everything.  Sofya  Danilovna  gave  orders  that  if  you  sent 
any  one  they  were  to  have  the  books." 

Pierre  went  into  the  same  gloomy  cabinet  into  which,  during 
the  Benefactor's  life,  he  had  gone  with  such  trepidation.  It 
was  now  dusty,  and  had  not  been  touched  since  losiph  Alek- 
seyevitch's  death :  it  was  gloomier  than  ever. 

Gerasim  opened  one  of  the  shutters,  and  left  the  room  on 
his  tiptoes.  Pierre  crossed  the  floor,  went  to  one  of  the  book- 
cases in  which  MSS.  were  kept,  and  took  out  one  of  the  most 
important  of  the  documents  of  the  order  at  that  time.  These 
were  some  of  the  original  acts  of  the  Scotch  branch,  with  ob- 
servations and  explanations  in  the  hand  of  the  Benefactor. 

He  took  a  seat  at  the  dust-encumbered  writing-table,  and 
spread  the  manuscripts  in  front  of  him,  opened  them,  then 
shut  them,  folded  them  up,  and,  finally,  pushing  them  awaj, 
rested  his  head  on  his  hands  and  fell  into  deep  thought 

Several  times  Gerasim  cautiously  came  and  looked  into  the 
library,  and  found  Pierre  still  in  the  same  attitude.  Thns 
passed  more  than  two  hours.  Gerasim  permitted  himself  to 
make  a  little  stir  at  the  door  so  as  to  attract  his  attention; 
Pierre  heard  him  not. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  send  away  the  driver  ?  " 

"  Akh !  yes,"  said  Pierre,  starting  from  his  reverie  and 
hastily  jumping  to  his  feet.  — "  Listen,"  he  added,  taking 
Gerasim  by  his  coat-button,  and  looking  down  upon  the  little 
old  man  with  glittering,  humid  eyes,  full  of  enthusiasm  — 
"  Listen,  do  you  know  that  to-morrow  there  is  to  be  a  battle  ?  ^ 

'*  They  say  so,"  replied  Gerasim. 

''  I  beg  of  you  not  to  tell  any  one  who  I  am.  And  do  what 
I  tell  you  "  — 

"  I  will  obey,"  replied  Gerasim.  "  Do  you  wish  something 
to  eat  ?  " 

'^No,  but  I  want  something  else.  I  want  a  peasant's  diesa 
and  a  pistol,"  said  Pierre,  unexpectedly  reddening. 

*^  I  will  obey,"  said  Gerasim,  after  thinking  a  moment. 

All  the  rest  of  this  day  Pierre  spent  alone  in  the  Benefac- 
tor's library,  restlessly  pacing  from  one  corner  of  the  room  to 
the  other,  as  Gerasim  could  hear,  and  sometimes  talking  to  him- 
self, and  he  spent  the  night  in  a  bed  made  ready  for  hua  thei^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  847 

Gerasim,  with  the  equanimity  of  a  servant  who  has  seen 
many  strange  things  in  his  day,  accepted  Pierre's  residence 
without  amazement,  and  seemed  well  satisfied  to  have  some 
one  to  wait  upon.  That  same  evening,  without  even  asking 
himself  what  was  the  reason  therefor,  he  procured  for  Pierre  a 
kaftan  and  hat,  and  promised  on  the  following  day  to  get  the 
pistol  that  he  wished. 

Makai*  Alekseyevitch,  twice  that  afternoon,  shuffling  along 
in  his  galoohes,  came  to  his  door  and  halted,  looking  inquisi- 
tively at  Pierre.  But  as  soon  as  Pierre  turned  round  to  him 
he  wrapped  his  dressing-gown  around  him  with  a  look  of  in- 
jured annoyance,  and  hastily  made  off. 

It  was  while  Pierre,  dressed  in  his  coachman's  kaftan,  pro- 
cured and  refitted  for  him  by  Gerasim,  and  accompanied  by 
the  old  man,  was  on  his  way  to  get  the  pistol  at  the  Sukharef 
tower,  that  he  fell  in  with  the  Kostof s. 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

On  the  night  of  September  13,  Kutuzof s  order  for  the 
Bussian  troops  to  retire  through  Moscow  to  the  Riazan  high- 
way was  promulgated. 

The  vanguard  moved  in  the  night.  The  troops  marching  at 
night  took  their  time  and  proceeded  slowly  and  in  good  order ; 
but  at  daybreak  the  troops  that  reached  the  Dorogomilovsky 
Bridge  saw  in  front  of  them,  on  the  other  side,  endless  masses 
of  troops,  packed  together,  hurrying  across  the  bridge  and 
toiling  along  the  street  and  avenues,  blocking  them  up,  while 
others  were  pressing  on  them  from  the  rear. 

And  an  unreasonable  haste  and  panic  took  possession  of  the 
troops.  The  whole  mass  struggled  forward  to  the  bridge,  and 
across  the  river  by  the  bridge,  by  the  fords,  and  by  boats. 
Kntuzof  gave  orders  to  be  driven  round  by  back  streets  to  the 
other  side  of  Moscow. 

By  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  fourteenth,  only  some 
of  the  troops  of  the  rearguard  were  left,  with  ample  room  in 
the  Dorogomilovsky  suburb.  The  bulk  of  the  army  was  by 
that  time  fairly  on  the  other  side  of  Moscow  and  beyond 
Moscow. 

At  this  same  time — ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Septem- 
ber 14 — Napoleon  stood,  surrounded  by  his  troops,  on  the 
Poklonnaya  Hill^  and  gazed  at  the  landscape  opened  out  before 
him. 


848  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

From  the  seventh  until  the  fourteenth  of  September — from 
the  battle  of  Borodino  until  the  entry  of  the  enemy  into  Mos- 
cow —  every  day  of  that  anxious,  of  that  fateful  week  was  dis- 
tinguished by  unusual  autumn  weather,  which  always  fills  peo- 
ple with  surprise,  when  the  sun,  though  moving  low,  bums  more 
fiercely  than  in  the  spring,  when  every  object  stands  out  in 
the  thin,  clear  atmosphere  dazzling  the  eye,  when  the  lungs 
expand  and  ai*e  refreshed  by  taking  in  the  fragrant  autumn 
air,  and  when,  during  the  mild  dark  nights,  golden  stars  slip 
from  tlie  skies  —  a  constant  source  of  terror  and  delight. 

On  September  14,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  weather 
was  still  the  same.  The  brilliancy  of  the  morning  was  en- 
chanting. Moscow,  from  the  Poklonnaya  Hill,  was  spread 
out  spaciously  with  its  river,  its  gardens  and  chui-ches,  and,  as 
it  seemed,  still  alive  with  its  own  life,  with  its  cupolas  palpi- 
tating like  stars  in  the  i*ays  of  the  sun. 

At  the  sight  of  this  strange  city,  with  the  fantastic  forms 
of  its  unusual  architecture,  Napoleon  experienced  that  some- 
what envious  and  uneasy  curiosity  which  men  are  wont  to  ex- 
perience at  the  sight  of  unusual  forms  of  a  foreign  life,  which 
they  have  never  known.  Apparently,  this  city  was  alive  with 
all  the  energy  of  its  special  life.  By  those  vague  signs 
whereby  even  at  a  distance  one  can  infallibly  distinguish  a 
live  body  from  a  corpse,  Napoleon,  from  the  top  of  the  Po- 
klonnaya Hill,  could  feel  the  palpitation  of  life  in  the  city,  and 
felt,  as  it  were,  the  breathing  of  that  mighty  and  be^uitiful 
body. 

£very  Russian,  looking  at  Moscow,  feels  that  she  is  his 
mother:  every  foreigner,  looking  upon  her,  even  though  he 
cannot  appreciate  this  feeling  for  the  motherhood  of  the  city, 
must  feel  the  feminine  chaiucter  of  this  city,  and  Napoleon 
felt  it. 

^'  Cettb  ville  amatlque  aux  innomhrahles  eglisMy  Moseou  la 
/Sainte.  La  voila  done  enfifiy  cette  fameuse  ville/  H  Stait 
feTjfps,  —  There  she  is  at  last.  It  was  time ! "  said  Napoleon, 
and,  dismounting,  he  commanded  to  have  spread  before  him 
the  plan  of  that  Holy  Moscow,  with  its  innumerable  churches, 
. —  and  he  had  his  interpreter,  Lelorme  d'Ideville,  summoned. 

"  Une  ville  occupSe  par  Vennevii  ressemble  a  une  fille  qui  a 
perdu  son  honneur,^^  he  said  to  himself,  relocating  the  remark 
that  he  had  made  to  Tutchkof  at  Smolensk.  And  it  was  as  a 
"deflowered  virgin  "  that  he  looked  upon  this  Oriental  beauty, 
never  seen  before  by  him,  now  lying  prone  at  his  feet 
3traQge  it  was  to  himself  that  at  last  his  long  desire,  which 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  849 

had  seemed  impossible,  was  to  be  gratified.  In  the  clear 
morning  light,  he  contemplated  now  the  city  and  then  the 
plan,  and  studied  the  characteristics  of  this  city,  and  the  cer- 
tainty that  he  should  possess  it  excited  him  and  filled  him 
with  awe. 

*'  Could  it  hare  been  otherwise  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  Here 
she  is  —  this  capital  at  my  feet,  awaiting  her  fate.  Where 
now  is  Alexander,  and  what  thinks  he  now  ?  Strange,  beauti- 
ful, magnificent  city!  And  how  strange  and  splendid  this 
moment ! " 

And  then  thinking  of  his  warriors,  he  said  to  himself,  '<  In 
what  a  light  I  must  appear  to  them  !  This  is  the  reward  for 
all  these  men  of  little  faith,"  he  mused,  as  he  gazed  about  him 
on  those  who  were  near  him,  and  at  the  troops  coming  up  the 
hill  and  falling  into  line. 

"One  word  from  me,  one  movement  of  my  hand,  and  de- 
stroyed is  the  ancient  capital  of  the  tsars.  Mais  ma  clemence 
est  toujours  prampte  a  descendre  sur  lea  vaincus,  I  must  be 
magnanimous  and  truly  great.  —  But,  no,  it  can't  be  true  that 
I  am  at  Moscow" — this  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  him. — 
''Yet  there  she  lies,  at  my  feet,  her  golden  cupolas  and  crosses 
gleaming  and  palpitating  in  the  rays  of  the  sun.  But  I  will 
show  mercy  to  her !  On  yon  ancient  memorials  of  barbarism 
and  despotism  I  will  inscribe  the  mighty  words  of  justice 
and  mercy  —  This  will  be  the  most  cruel  thing  of  all  to 
Alexander ;  I  know  him."  (It  seemed  to  Napoleon  that  the 
principal  significance  of  what  had  taken  place  lay  in  the  set- 
tlement of  his  personal  dispute  with  Alexander.)  "  From  the 
heights  of  the  Kreml — yes,  that  Kreml  yonder — yes,  I  will 
grant  him  the  laws  of  justice,  I  will  show  him  the  meaning  of 
true  civilization.  I  will  compel  the  generations  of  boydrs  to 
remember  with  affection  the  name  of  their  conqueror.  I  will 
tell  the  deputations  that  I  have  had,  and  still  have,  no  desire 
for  war,  that  I  waged  war  only  on  the  false  policy  of  their 
court,  that  I  love  and  reverence  Alexander,  and  that  I  will 
grant  conditions  of  peace  in  Moscow,  worthy  of  myself  and 
my  peoples.  I  have  no  desire  to  iake  advantage  of  the  for- 
tunes of  war  to  humiliate  an  esteemed  monarch.  'BoyArs,' 
I  will  say  to  them,  *  I  have  no  wish  for  war ;  my  desire  is  for 
the  peace  and  prosperity  of  my  subjects.'  However,  I  know 
that  their  presence  will  inspire  me,  and  I  will  speak  to  them 
as  I  always  speak :  clearly,  triumphantly,  and  maiestically. 
Bat  can  it  be  true  that  I  am  at  Moscow  ?  Yes,  lo  I  there 
she  is. 


860  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  Qu^on  m'aniine  les  boyards  —  Have  the  boj&rs  brought  to 
me,"  he  said,  addressing  his  suite. 

A  general  with  a  brilliant  staff  instantly  galloped  off  after 
the  boyArs. 

Two  hours  passed.  Napoleon  ate  his  breakfast,  and  then 
took  up  his  position  on  the  same  spot  on  the  Poklonnaya  Hill, 
and  waited  for  the  deputation.  His  speech  with  the  boyirs 
was  already  clearly  outlined  in  his  fancy.  This  discourse 
should  be  full  of  dignity,  and  of  that  grandeur  which  Napoleon 
understood  so  well. 

Napoleon  himself  was  fascinated  by  this  tone  of  magnanim- 
ity which  he  fully  intended  to  use  toward  Moscow.  In  Ids 
fancy,  he  named  a  day  for  a  reception  in  the  palace  of  the 
tsars  —  at  which  all  the  Russian  grandees  would  mingle  with 
the  grandees  of  the  French  emperor.  He  mentally  named  a 
govenior,  such  a  one  as  would  be  able  to  influence  the  popu- 
lation in  his  favor.  As  he  happened  to  know  that  Moscoir 
had  many  religious  establishments,  he  decided,  as  he  thought 
it  over,  that  all  these  institutions  should  experience  his 
bounty.  He  thought  that  just  as  in  Africa  he  was  bound  to 
put  on  a  bumus  and  attend  a  mosque,  so  here  in  Moscow  he 
must  be  generous  after  the  manner  of  the  tsars.  And,  in 
order  completely  to  win  the  hearts  of  the  Russians,  he,  like 
every  Frenchman,  unable  to  conceive  any  sentiment  without 
some  reference  to  ma  ch^re,  via  tendre,  ma  pauvre  mhre,  he 
decided  that  on  all  these  establishments  he  should  order  to 
be  inscribed  in  great  letters :  J^TABLISSEMENT  BltBlt 
A  MA  CHJ6rE  MtiRE:  "no,  simply,  MAISON  DE  MA 
MtiRE^^  he  decided  in  his  own  mind.  "  But  am  I  really  at 
Moscow  ?  Yes,  there  she  is  before  me ;  but  why  is  it  that 
the  deputation  of  the  citizens  is  so  long  in  appearing  ? "  he 
wondered. 

Meantime,  in  the  rear  ranks  of  the  emperor's  suite,  a  whis- 
])ered  and  excited  consultation  was  taking  place  among  his 
generals  and  marshals.  Those  who  had  been  sent  to  drum  up 
a  deputation  retunied  with  the  tidings  that  the  city  was 
deserted,  that  all  had  departed  or  were  departing  from  Mos- 
cow. The  faces  of  the  generals  grew  pale  and  anxious.  They 
were  not  frightened  because  Moscow  was  abandoned  by  its 
inhabitants,  —  serious  as  that  event  might  well  appear  to 
them,  —  but  they  were  afraid  of  the  i-esponsibility  of  explain- 
ing the  fact  to  the  emperor  :  how,  how  could  it  be  done  with- 
out exposing  his  majesty  to  that  terrible  position  which  the 
French  call  ridwule,  to  explain  to  him  that  he  had  vaiDly 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  851 

waited  for  the  bojars  all  this  time,  that  there  was  a  throng  of 
drunken  men  in  the  city,  and  that  was  all  I 

Some  declared  that  it  was  necessary,  in  the  circumstances, 
to  get  up  a  deputation  of  some  sort  or  other;  others  com- 
bat^ this  notion,  and  insisted  that  they  must  tell  the  empe- 
ror the  truth,  after  first  skilfully  and  cautiously  preparing  his 
mind  for  it. 

"  II  faudra  le  lui  dire  tout  ds  meme,  —  We  must  tell  him, 
nevertheless,"  said  the  gentlemen  of  the  suite.  '^  Mais, 
messieurs  "  — 

The  position  was  all  the  more  difficult  from  the  fact  that 
the  emperor,  now  that  he  had  fully  considered  his  schemes 
of  magnanimity,  was  patiently  pacing  back  and  forth  before 
the  plan  of  the  city,  looking  from  time  to  time,  with  hand 
shading  eyes,  down  the  road  to  Moscow,  and  smiling  with 
gayety  and  pride. 

<<  Mais  t^est  impossible  !  "  exclaimed  the  gentlemen  of  the 
suite,  shrugging  their  shoulders,  and  not  venturing  to  pro- 
nounce the  terrible  word  which  all  understood  :  le  ridicule. 

Meantime,  the  emperor  wearied  of  his  fruitless  waiting, 
and,  by  his  quick,  theatrical  instinct,  conscious  that  the 
''  majestic  moment,"  by  lasting  too  long,  was  beginning  to  lose 
its  majesty,  waved  his  hand. 

A  single  report  of  a  signal  gun  rang  forth,  and  the  troops 
which  enclosed  Moscow  on  all  sides  moved  toward  Mos- 
cow by  the  Tverskaya,  Kaluzhskaya,  and  Dorogomilovskaya 
barriers.  Swifter  and  swifter,  one  after  canother,  at  double- 
quick  or  on  galloping  steeds,  moved  the  troops,  hidden  in 
clouds  of  dust  raised  by  their  trampling  feet,  and  making  the 
welkin  ring  with  the  commingling  roar  of  their  shouts. 

Carried  away  by  the  movement  of  the  troops,  Napoleon 
rode  along  with  them  to  the  Dorogomilovskaya  barrier,  but 
there  again  he  paused,  and,  dismounting,  walked  for  a  long 
time  down  the  Kammerkolezhsky  rampart,  in  expectation  of 
the  deputation. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Moscow  meantime  was  deserted. 

There  were  still  people  there  ;  five-sixths  of  all  the  former 
inhabitants  were  still  left,  but  it  Mvas  deserted.  It  was 
deserted  just  in  the  same  sense  as  a  starving  bee-hive  that  has 
lost  its  queen  bee. 


852  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

In  the  queeiiless  hive,  life  has  practically  cec^sed,  but  at  a 
superficial  view  it  seems  as  much  alive  as  others. 

Just  as  merrily  in  the  bright  rays  of  the  midday  sun  the 
bees  hum  around  the  queenless  hive,  just  as  they  hum  around 
the  other  living  hives ;  the.  honey  smell  is  carried  just  as  far 
away;  the  bees  make  their  flights  from  it  just  the  same. 
But  it  requires  only  a  glance  into  it  to  understand  that  there 
is  no  longer  any  life  in  that  hive.  The  bees  do  not  fly  in  the 
same  way  as  from  the  living  hives.  The  bee-master  recog- 
nizes a  different  odor,  a  different  sound.  When  he  taps  on 
the  walls  of  such  a  hive,  instead  of  that  instantaneous, 
friendly  answer  which  had  been  the  case  of  yore,  the  buzzing 
of  ten  thousands  of  bees,  lifting  their  stings  threateningly, 
and  the  swift  fanning  of  wings  producing  that  familiar,  aiiy 
hum  of  life,  he  is  answered  by  an  incoherent  buzzing,  a  faint 
rumbling  in  the  depths  of  the  empty  hive. 

From  the  apertures  comes  no  more,  as  formerly,  that  fine, 
winy  fragrance  of  honey  and  pollen,  nor  wafts  thence  that 
warm  breath  of  garnered  sweets,  but  the  odor  of  the  honey 
is  mingled  with  the  effluvium  of  emptiness  and  decay. 

No  more  you  find  at  the  entrance  the  guardians  of  the  hive, 
trumpeting  the  alarm,  curling  up  their  stings,  and  making 
ready  to  perish  for  the  defence  of  the  swarm.  No  more  that 
equable  and  gentle  murmur  of  palpitating  work,  like  the 
sound  of  bubbling  waters,  but  instead  you  hear  the  incohe- 
rent, fitful  buzz  of  disorder.  Back  and  forth  around  the  hive, 
coyly  and  cunningly,  fly  the  black,  oblong,  honey-coated  plun- 
derer bees ;  they  sting  not,  rather  they  slip  away  from  periL 
Before,  they  never  flew  in  unless  they  were  laden,  but  when 
they  flew  out  again  they  were  stripped  of  their  burden  of 
bee-bread ;  now  they  fly  off  laden  with  honey. 

The  bee-master  opens  the  lower  compartment  and  looks 
into  the  bottom  of  the  hive.  Instead  of  black  bunches  of 
juicy  bees  bustling  with  labor,  clinging  to  each  other's  legs, 
and  hanging  down  to  the  very  us  (as  the  bottom  board  of  the 
hive  is  called),  and  with  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  labor,  con- 
structing the  waxen  walls,  now  stupefied,  shrivelled  bees  crawl 
here  and  there  aimlessly  across  the  floor  and  on  the  walls. 

Instead  of  a  floor  neatly  jointed  with  propolis  and  swept 
by  winnowing  wings,  he  sees  it  littered  with  crumbs  of  cells 
and  bee-dirt,  half-dying  bees  scarcely  able  to  move  their  legs, 
and  bees  entirely  dead  and  left  unscavengered. 

The  bee-master  opens  the  upper  compartment  and  looks  at 
the  top  of  the  hive. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  363 

Instead  of  compact  rows  of  beds  filling  all  tiie  cells  of  the 
honeycomb  and  warming  the  l&FVse,  he  sdef),  to  be  sure,  the 
artistic,  complex  edifice  of  the  oomb,  l»it  no  longer  in  that 
state  of  perfection  which  it  had  shown  before.  All  is  neg- 
lected and  befouled.  Diisky  robber  wasps  make  haste  to 
thrust  their  impertfiienoes  stealthily  among  the  works;  his 
own  bees,  shrivelled,  curled  mp,  withered,  as  though  old  age 
had  come  upon  them,  languidly  crawl  about,  disturbing  no 
one,  wishing  for  naught,  and  balked  of  all  consciousness  of 
life.  Dvtnes,  biiiiiM<i-bees,  beetles,  and  bee-moths  come  blun- 
dering in  their  flight  against  the  walls  of  the  hive.  Here  and 
there  among-4J>c  cells  filled  with  honey  and  dead  larvae  can 
be  heard  occasionally  an  angry  hriuzhzh  ;  now  and  then  a  pair 
of  bees,  through  old  custom  and  instinct,  try  to  clear  out  the  cell, 
and,  zealously  exerting  all  their  feeble  forces,  drag  forth  the  dead 
bee  or  dead  drone,  themselves  not  knowing  why  they  do  so. 

In  another  corner  two  aged  bees  lazily  fight,  or  clean  them- 
selves, or  feed  each  other,  not  knowing  whether  friendship  or 
enmity  impels  them.  In  still  a  third  place,  the  throng  of 
bees,  crowding  one  another,  fall  upon  some  victim  and  strike 
and  suffocate  it.  And  there  a  weakened  or  injured  bee  falls 
slowly  and  lightly,  like  eider  down,  from  above  upon  the  heap 
of  the  dead. 

The  bee-master  breaks  open  some  of  the  waxen  cells,  in 
order  to  see  the  brood.  Instead  of  the  compact  black  circles 
with  thousands  of  bees  crouched  back  to  back  and  contem- 
plating the  lofty  mysteries  of  generation,  he  sees  hundreds  of 
downcast,  half-dead,  unconscious  skeleton  bees.  Almost  all 
of  them  have  died  unconsciously,  as  they  sat  in  the  holy  of 
holies,  which  they  had  been  guarding,  and  from  which,  long 
ago,  the  spirit  had  fled.  From  them  arises  the  eflluvium  of 
decay  and  death. 

Only  a  few  of  them  stir  feebly,  try  to  lift  themselves,  fly 
indolently  and  settle  on  the  hostile  hand  without  strength 
left  to  sting  it  ere  they  die  —  the  rest  that  are  dead  shower 
down  like  fish  scales. 

The  bee-master  shuts  up  the  compartment,  puts  a  chalk 
mark  on  the  stand,  and  when  the  time  comes,  knocks  it  open 
and  drains  out  the  honey. 

In  the  same  way  Moscow  was  deserted,  when  Napoleon, 
weaiy,  uneasy,  and  in  bad  humor,  walked  back  and  forth  at 
the  Kammerkolezhsky  ramparts,  waiting  for  the  deputation 
— a  ceremony  which,  although  one  of  mere  show,  he  neverthe- 
less affected  to  consider  absolutely  indispensable. 
VOL.  3.—  23. 


S54  ^^tt  AND  PEACE. 

It  was  only  out  of  thoughtlessness  that  in  the  Various  qiiar. 
ters  of  the  city  men  still  stirred  about,  keeping  up  the  ordi- 
nary forms  of  life,  and  not  themselves  realizing  what  they 
were  doing. 

When  at  last  Napoleon  was  informed,  with  proper  ciicum- 
locution,  that  Moscow  was  deserted^  he  gave  his  informant  a 
fierce  look,  and,  turning  away,  continued  his  silent  promenade. 

<<  Have  my  carriage  brought ! "  he  said.  He  took  his  seat 
in  it  by  the  side  of  his  aide-de-camp  and  rode  into  the  suburb. 

"  Moscou  deserte  I  Quel  evenement  invraisemblable^  —  How 
incredible ! "  he  muttered  to  himself. 

He  did  not  enter  the  city  proper,  but  put  up  at  a  hotel  in 
the  Dorogomilovsky  suburb. 

Le  cmcp  de  theatre  avait  rati  —  His  theatrical  climax  had 
fallen  through. 

CHAPTER  XXL 

The  Russian  troops  poured  across  Moscow  from  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  until  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  they 
had  taken  with  them  the  last  fleeing  inhabitants  and  the 
wounded. 

The  largest  division  of  the  troops  during  the  movement  passed 
over  the  Kamennoi,  Moskovoretsky,  and  Yauzsky  bridges. 

While  they  wei*e  flowing  in  two  streams  around  the  Kreml 
and  over  the  two  former — the  Stone  and  Moscow  River 
bridges  —  a  tremendous  mob  of  soldiers,  taking  advantage  of 
the  delay  and  crush,  ran  back  from  the  bridge,  and  stealthily 
and  noiselessly  sneaked  by  Vasili  Blazhennui  *  and  through 
the  Borovitskiya  gates  into  the  city,  to  the  Krasnaya  Flo- 
shchad  or  Red  Place,  where  they  knew,  by  their  keen  scent, 
that  they  might  without  much  difficulty  lay  their  hands  on 
what  did  not  belong  to  them. 

A  similar  throng  of  men,  as  though  in  search  of  cheap  bar- 
gains, also  thronged  the  Gostinnui  Dvor — Moscow's  great 
bazaar  —  in  all  its  alleys  and  passageways.  But  absent  were 
the  x^ci'sistent,  softly  wheedling  voices  of  the  shopkeepers; 
absent  the  pedlers  and  the  variegated  throng  of  women  pll^ 
chasers.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  uniforms  and  the  cloaks 
of  weaponless  soldiers,  entering  without  bui*dens  and  return- 
ing to  the  ranks  laden  with  spoil. 

*  Vasili  Blazbc^nnai,  the  many-bulbed,  turreted,  fasceted,  and  fantaitic 
cathedral  of  St.  Basil,  built  by  Ivan  tlio  Terrible,  who,  in  order  ti^at  itsboold 
not  be  reduplicated,  liad  the  architect's  eyes  put  out. 


nrAli  AND  PEACE.  865 

Merchants  and  bazaar-men  —  a  few  of  them  —  ran  about 
amongst  the  soldiers,  like  crazy  men,  opening  and  closing 
their  shops,  and  themselves  helping  the  g^lant  soldier  lads  to 
carry  off  their  wares. 

On  the  square  in  front  of  the  Gostinnui  Dvor  stood  drum- 
mers beating  to  arms,  but  the  rattle  of  the  drums  had  not  its 
usual  effect  to  call  back  the  soldier  plunderers,  but  on  the  con- 
trary drove  them  to  run  farther  and  farther  from  its  signal. 

Among  the  soldiers,  at  the  shops  and  in  the  passageways, 
could  be  seen  men  in  gray  kaftans  and  with  shaven  heads. 

Two  officers,  one  with  a  scarf  over  his  uniform,  and  riding 
a  thin,  iron-gray  steed,  the  other  in  a  cloak  and  on  foot,  stood 
at  the  corner  of  Ilyinka  Street,  engaged  in  conversation.  A 
third  officer  dashed  up  to  them. 

"  The  general  orders  that  they  be  all  driven  out  instantery  at 
any  cost.  Why,  there  was  never  the  like  of  it  seen  I  Half  of 
the  men  have  left  the  ranks.  —  Where  are  you  going  ?  —  And 
you,  too  ? "  he  cried,  first  to  one  and  then  to  three  infantry 
soldiers,  who  without  their  arms,  and  holding  up  the  tails  of 
their  overcoats,  were  sneaking  past  him  to  rejoin  their  ranks. 
«  Halt,  you  dogs ! " 

"Yes,  but  please  try  to  collect  them,"  replied  the  other 
officer.  — "  You  can't  do  it !  the  only  way  is  to  march  more 
rapidly,  and  then  the  ones  in  the  rear  couldn't  drop  out,  that's 
all." 

"  But  how  move  faster,  or  move  at  all,  when  there's  a  halt 
and  a  jam  at  the  bridge  ?  Why  not  post  sentinels,  and  keep 
them  from  breaking  ranks  ?  " 

"Forward  and  snake  them  out ! "  cried  the  senior  officer. 

The  officer  in  the  scarf  dismounted,  beckoned  up  the  drum- 
mer, and  went  with  him  under  the  arch.  A  number  of  sol- 
diers started  on  the  double-quick.  A  merchant  with  red 
pimples  all  over  his  cheeks  and  around  his  nose,  and  with  an 
expression  of  cool,  calculating  composure,  came  to  the  officer 
with  all  the  haste  compatible  with  his  elegant  dignity,  and, 
wringing  his  hands:  "Your  nobility,"  said  he,  "do  me  a 
favor;  give  me  your  protection.  As  far  as  any  small  trifles  go 
we  are  only  too  glad,  you  know,  —  if  you  please  I  will  bring 
you  some  cloth  instantly  —  glad -enough  to  give  a  gentleman  a 
eovple  of  rolls,  it's  a  pleasure  to  us  because  we  are  sure  that 
— but  this,  this  is  out-and-out  robbery !  Please !  if  they 
had  only  set  a  guard,  or  at  any  rate  let  us  know  in  time  to 
shut  up  "  — 

A  number  of  merchants  gathered  around  the  officer. 


^56  WAR  AND  PEACn. 

"  Eh !  it's  a  waste  of  breath  to  whine  like  that ! "  said  one 
of  them,  a  lean  man  with  a  grave  face.  "Men  with  their 
heads  off  don't  weep  for  their  hair !  — Let  'em  have  what  they 
want ! "  And  he  made  an  energetic  gesture,  and  came  to  the 
officer's  side. 

"It's  fine  talk  for  yon,  Ivan  Sidoruitch!"  exclaimed  the 
first  speaker,  angrily,  —  "I  beg  of  you,  your  nobility  ! " 

"  Fine  talk  !*"  echoed  the  lean  man.  "  I  have  yonder  three 
shops,  and  a  hundred  thousand  worth  of  goods.  How  can  we 
have  protection  when  the  troops  are  off  ?  *  God's  powers  are 
not  ours.' "  * 

"  I  beg  of  you,  your  nobility,"  persisted  the  first  merchant, 
making  a  low  bow.  The  officer  stood  in  uncertainty,  and  his 
face  showed  his  irresolution. 

"But,  after  all,  what  affair  is  it  of  mine!"  he  suddenly 
cried,  and  went  with  swift  strides  toward  the  front  of  the  line. 

In  one  shop  that  was  open,  resounded  blows  and  curses,  and, 
as  the  officer  entered,  one  of  the  men  in  a  gray  kaftan  and 
with  shaven  head  was  flung  out  violently. 

This  man,  all  doubled  up,  slunk  past  the  merchants  and  the  of- 
ficers. The  officer  flew  at  the  soldiers  who  were  in  the  shop.  But 
just  at  that  instant  the  terrible  yells  of  a  tremendous  throng 
were  heard  on  the  Moskvoretsky  Bridge,  and  the  officer  hurried 
across  the  square. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  demanded ;  but 
his  comrade  had  Already  spurred  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
outcry,  past  Vasili  Blazhennui.  The  officer  mounted  and  set 
out  after  him.  When  he  reached  the  bridge  he  saw  two  can- 
non unlimbered,  the  infantry  running  along  the  bridge,  several 
telyegas  overturned,  a  host  of  frightened  faces,  and  all  the  sol- 
diers roaring  with  laughter. 

Kear  the  cannons  stood  a  team  drawn  by  a  pair  of  horses. 
Behind  the  team,  between  the  wheels,  four  grayhouuds,  with 
collars  on,  were  huddled  together.  The  team  was  loaded  with 
a  mountain  of  household  furniture,  and  on  the  very  top^ 
next  a  baby's  high-chair  with  its  legs  turned  up  in  the  air, 
sat  a  peasant  woman  uttering  the  most  piercing,  piteous 
squeals. 

The  officer  was  told  by  his  comrades  that  the  yells  of  the 
throng  and  the  woman's  squeals  arose  from  the  fact  that  Gen- 
eral  Yermolof,  when  he  rode  up  to  this  mob  and  learned  that 
the  soldiers  were  scattered  about  plundering  the  shops  because 
of  the  crowd  of  citizens  encumbering  the  bridge,  had  ordered 

*  Bdzhyu  VlasC  nie  rvkami  sIUmV. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  35T 

th^  cannon  to  be  unlimbered,  and  to  cleat  the  bridge  as  an  ex- 
ample.   The  crowd,  trying  to  escape,  overturning  the  teams, 
running  into  each  other,  yelling  desperately,  had  cleared  the 
^bridge ;  and  the  troops  were  allowed  to  proceed. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  city  proper,  meantime,  was  deserted.  Almost  no 
one  was  on  the  streets.  The  house  gates  and  shops  were  all 
locked  up.  Here  and  there,  in  the  vicinity  of  drinking- 
saloons,  could  be  heard  occasional  shouts  of  revelry  or 
dnmken  singing.  Not  a  carriage  passed  along,  and  rarely 
were  heard  the  steps  of  pedestrians. 

In  the  Povarskaya  it  was  perfectly  still  and  deserted.  The 
enormous  courtyard  of  the  Rostofs  was  littered  with  wisps 
of  straw  and  the  droppings  of  the  horses ;  not  a  soul  was  visible. 

In  the  house  itself,  abandoned  with  all  its  costly  contents^ 
two  human  beings  were  in  the  great  drawing-room.  These 
were  the  dvomik,  Ignat,  and  the  groom,  Mishka,  Vasilyitch'a 
grandson,  who  had  been  left  behind  with  the  old  man,  in  Mos- 
cow. Mishka  had  opened  the  harpsichord,  and  was  drumming 
on  it  with  one  finger.  The  dvomik,  with  his  arms  akimbo,, 
and  with  a  smile  of  self-satisfaction,  was  standing  in  front 
of  the  mirror. 

«  Wan't  that  smart  ?  Hey  ?  Uncle  Ignrit  ?  "  asked  the  lad,, 
suddenly  beginning  to  pound  with  both  hands  on  the  keys. 

"Would  you  mind!"*  replied  Ignat,  the  smile  that  an- 
swered his  smile  in  the  glass  growing  ever  broader  and  broader 
with  amazement. 

"You  unconscionable  creatures  !  Aren't  you  ashamed  of 
yourselves ! "  suddenly  exclaimed  the  voice  of  Mavra  Kuzmi- 
nitchna,>who  had  stolen  noiselessly  into  the  room.  "Ekat 
what  a  conceited  simpleton  grinning  at  his  own  teeth !  That's 
a  nice  way  to  treat  us !  There's  nothing  put  away  yon,  and 
Vasilyitch  clean  beat  out !    Have  done  with  this  !  " 

Ignat,  hitching  up  his  belt,  ceased  to  smile,  and,  submissively 
dropping  his  eyes,  left  the  room. 

"  Little  auntie,*  I  was  playing  very  softly  !  "  said  the  lad. 

"I'll  softly  yovil  You  little  scamp!"  cried  Mavra  Kuzmi- 
nitchna,  shaking  her  fist  at  him.  "  Go,  get  ready  the  samovar 
for  your  granddad !  " 

Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  whisking  the  dust  from  the  harpsi- 

»  Uh  tvi,  t  Tymnka. 


S58  WAtt  AltD  PEACE. 

chord,  closed  it,  and  with  a  heavy  sigh  left  the  drawing-ioom 
and  locked  the  door  behind  her. 

On  reaching  the  dvor,  ^lavra  Kuzminitchna  paused  to  con- 
sider where  she  should  next  turn  her  steps ;  whether  to  drink 
tea  with  Vasilyitch  in  the  wing,  or  to  the  storeroom  to  finish 
])utting  away  what  was  still  left  to  put  away. 

Swift  steps  were  heard  coming  down  the  quiet  street.  The 
steps  halted  at  the  wicket  gate  ;  a  hand  rattled  the  latch  and 
tried  to  open  it. 

Mavra  Kuzminitchna  went  to  the  gate. 

«  Who  is  wanted  ?  " 

"  The  count.  Count  Ilya  Andreyitch  Rostof ." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

'^  An  officer.  I  should  much  like  to  see  him,"  said  a  pleas- 
ant, gentlemanly  voice. 

Mavra  Kuzminitchna  opened  the  wicket.  And  into  the  dvor 
walked  a  chubby-faced  officer  of  about  eighteen,  with  a  strong 
family  resemblance  to  the  Rostofs. 

"  They  have  gone,  bityushka.  They  were  pleased  to  go 
yesterday  afternoon,"  said  Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  in  an  aSeo- 
tionate  tone. 

The  young  officer  standing  in  the  gateway,  as  though  unde- 
cided whether  to  come  in  or  to  go  away,  clucked  his  tongue. 

<'  Akh  !  what  a  shame ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  ought  to  have 
come  yesterday  —  Akh !     What  a  pity  ! " 

Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  meantime,  had  been  attentively  and 
sympathetically  scrutinizing  the  familiar  Rostof  traits  in  the 
young  man's  face,  and  his  well-worn  cloak  and  the  i-uu-dowu 
boots  that  he  wore. 

"  But  what  do  you  want  of  the  count  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Now  I  declare  I  What  can  I  do  ?  "  exclaimed  the  young 
man,  in  a  tone  of  vexation,  and  took  hold  of  the  wicket  with 
the  intention  of  going  away.  Then  he  paused  again  irreso- 
lutely. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  suddenly,  "  I  am  a  relative  of  the 
count's,  and  he  has  always  been  very  good  to  me.  Just  look 
here,  do  you  see  ?  "  —  he  glanced  down  at  his  cloak  and  boots 
with  a  frank,  gay  smile.  —  "  And  I'm  getting  out  at  elbows, 
and  I  haven't  a  copper ;  so  I  was  going  to  ask  the  count "  — 

Mavra  Kuzminitchna  did  not  allow  him  to  finish  speaking. 
"  You  just  wait  a  wee  minute,*  batyushka ! "  said  she.  "Just 
one  wee  minute."  And  the  instant  the  young  officer  had  let 
go  of  the  latch^  Mavra  Kuzminitchna  turned  about,  and,  with 

*  Minutuichka, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  859 

her  old  wbman^s  gait,  she  rapidly  waddled  across  the  rear 
dvor  to  the  wing  where  her  own  rooms  were. 

While  Mavra  Kuzminitchna  was  trotting  off  to  her  room, 
the  officer  walked  up  and  down  the  dvor,  dropping  his  head, 
contemplating  his  ragged  boots,  and  slightly  smiling. 

"  What  a  shame  that  I  have  missed  my  dear  little  uncle. 
But  what  a  nice  old  woman  !  Where  did  she  go  to  ?  And  I 
should  like  to  know  what  is  the  nearest  way  for  me  to  reach 
my  regiment :  it  must  have  got  to  the  Rogozhskaya  gate  by 
this  time,"  said  the  young  officer  to  himself. 

Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  with  a  terrified  and,  at  the  same  time, 
resolute  face,  and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  checkered  handker- 
chief tied  into  a  knot,  came  hurrying  back  from  her  room. 
Before  she  had  gone  many  steps  she  untied  the  handkerchief, 
and  took  out  of  it  a  "  white  note  "  of  twenty-five  rubles  assig- 
nats,  and  hastily  handed  it  to  the  officer. 

"  If  his  illustriousness  were  at  home,  of  course,  he  would 
help  a  relative,  but  as  it  is  perhaps  —  these  times  "  —  Mavra 
Kuzminitchna  faltered,  and  grew  confused ;  but  the  officer  had 
no  scruples,  and  showed  no  haste,  but  he  grasped  the  bank- 
note, and  thanked  Mavra  Kuzminitchna. 

"Christ  be  with  you  —  Khristos  s  vami,  bdtyuslika — God 
save  you  ! "  exclaimed  Mavra  Kuzminitchna,  making  a  low 
obeisance,  and  going  down  to  the  gate  with  him. 

The  officer  smiled  as  though  amused  at  himself,  and,  shaking 
his  head,  started  off  down  the  deserted  streets,  almost  at  a 
run,  in  order  to  overtake  his  regiment  at  the  Yauzsky  Bridge. 

But  Mavra  Kuzminitchna  stood  long  with  tears  in  her  eyes  in 
front  of  the  closed  wicket  gate,  contemplatively  shaking  her 
head,  and  conscious  of  an  unusual  gush  of  motherly  affection 
and  pity  for  the  young  officer,  whom  she  had  never  seen  before. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Ix  an  unfinished  house,  in  the  Varvarka,  the  lower  part  of 
which  was  occupied  by  a  drinking-saloon,  were  heard  drunken 
shouts  and  songs.  On  benches,  by  the  tables  in  the  small, 
filthy  room,  sat  a  dozen  or  so  of  factory  hands.  All  of  them 
were  tipsy,  sweaty,  with  clouded  eyes,  and  they  were  singing 
with  wide,  yawning  mouths  and  bloated  cheeks.  They  were 
singing,  each  on  his  own  account,  laboriously,  with  all  their 
might  and  main,  apparently  not  because  they  felt  like  singing, 


B60  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

but  simply  to  show  that  they  were  intoxicated  and  were  on  a 
spree. 

One  of  them,  a  tall,  fair-complexioned  young  fellow,  in  a 
tslean  blue  chii'ika  or  smock-frock,  was  standing  up  as  their 
leader.  His  face,  with  its  delicate,  straight  nose,  would  have 
been  handsome  had  it  not  been  for  the  thin,  compressed,  con- 
stantly twitching  li])s,  and  the  clouded,  ugly-looking,  unchan- 
ging eyes.  He  stood  over  them  as  they  sang,  and,  apparently 
possessed  by  some  fancy,  he  solemnly,  and  with  angular 
motion,  waved  his  white  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  while  he  tried 
to  spread  his  dirty  fingers  to  an  unnatural  extent.  The 
sleeve  of  his  chiilka  was  constantly  coming  down,  and  the 
young  fellow  kept  tucking  it  up  again  with  his  left  hand,  as 
though  it  were  especially  impoi*tant  to  keep  that  white,  blue- 
veined,  restless  arm  entirely  bare. 

While  they  were  in  the  midst  of  the  song,  the  sound  of  a 
scuffle  and  fisticuffs  was  heard  on  the  steps  leading  to  the 
entry.  The  tall  young  man  waved  his  hand.  "That'll  do!" 
he  cried  impeiutively ;  "a  fight,  boys!  "and  he,  while  still 
trying  to  keep  his  sleeves  tucked  up,  hastened  out  to  the 
steps. 

The  factory  hands  staggered  after  him.  The  factory  hands, 
who  had  that  morning  been  singing  in  the  kabak  under  the 
leadership  of  the  tall  young  fellow,  had  brought  the  tapster 
some  hides  from  the  factoiy,  and  exchanged  them  for  wine. 
Some  blacksmiths,  from  a  neighboring  smithy,  hearing  the 
i*umpus  in  the  kabak,  and  supposing  that  it  had  been  violently 
broken  open,  thought  that  they  would  like  to  take  a  hand  also. 

A  quarrel  had  ensued  on  the  steps.  The  tapster  had  gotten 
into  a  squabble  with  one  of  the  smiths  at  the  very  door,  and 
just  as  the  factory  hands  arrived  on  the  scene,  this  blacksmith 
tore  himself  free  from  the  tapster,  and  fell  face  down  on  the 
sidewalk. 

A  second  blacksmith  forced  his  way  into  the  door,  and  was 
pressing  up  against  the  tapster  with  his  chest. 

The  young  fellow,  with  the  sleeve  rolled  up,  as  he  came  out, 
dealt  the  obstreperous  blacksmith  a  heavy  blow  in  the  face^ 
and  cried  savagely,  — 

"  Boys  I  they're  killing  ours  ! " 

By  this  time  the  first  blacksmith  had  picked  himself  up,  and, 
dashing  off  the  blood  from  his  bruised  face,  he  set  up  a  lachry- 
mose yell,  — 

"  Police !  murder !  —  A  man  killed  !  Help  !  " 

"Oi  batyushki !  they're  murdering  a  man  !     There's  murder 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  Wl 

going  on ! "  screamed  a  woman,  running  out  from  the  gates  of 
the  adjoining  house.  A  thi'ong  of  the  populace  collected 
around  the  bleeding  blacksmith. 

"Isn't  it  enough  for  you  to  plunder  the  people,  and  rob 
them  of  their  last  shirt,"  cried  some  voice,  addressing  the  ta^v 
ster,  —  "  but  you  have  to  kill  a  man  ?     You  murderer ! " 

The  tall  young  fellow,  standing  on  the  steps,  rolled  his 
bleary  eyes  first  on  the  tapster,  then  on  the  smiths,  as  though 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  which  first  he  was  In  duty  bound 
to  take  up  the  quarrel  with.  "  Murderer !  '*  he  suddenly  cried 
to  the  tapster.     "  Tie  him,  boys !  '* 

"  So  I'm  the  one  to  be  tied,  am  I  ?  "  yelled  the  tapster, 
defending  himself  against  the  men  who  started  to  lay  hands 
on  him,  and,  snatching  off  his  cap,  he  flung  it  on  the  ground. 
As  though  this  action  had  some  mysterious,  ominous  signifi- 
cance, the  factory  hands  who  had  surrounded  the  tapster 
paused  irresolute. 

"  I'm  for  order,  brother,  I  understand  very  well.  I'm  going 
for  the  police.  You  suppose  I  won't  go  ?  All  rioting  to<lay  was 
particularly  forbidden  ! "  cried  the  tester,  picking  up  his  cap. 

'•  Come  on,  then,  let's  go  ! "  and  "  Come  on,  then,  let's  go  !  " 
cried  first  the  tapster,  and  then  the  tall  young  man,  and  they 
moved  down  the  street,  side  by  side.  The  bloody-faced  black- 
smith fell  in  with  them.  The  factory  hands  and  a  motley 
crowd  of  people  followed  them,  talking  and  shouting. 

At  the  corner  of  Moroseika  Street,  opposite  a  great  house 
witii  closed  shutters,  and  a  shoemaker's  signboard  on  it,  stood 
a  score  of  j^imeymen  shoemakers  with  dismal  faces  —  lean, 
weary-looking  men,  in  khalats  and  torn  chti'ikas. 

"  He  ought  to  settle  his  men's  accounts ! "  exclaimed  a  thin 
master  workman  with  a  Jewish  beard  and  knitted  brows. 
"  But  now  he's  sucked  our  very  blood,  and  thinks  it's  quits  ! 
He's  led  us  by  the  nose,  yes,  he  has  for  a  whole  week.  And 
now  he's  got  us  to  the  last  post,  and  has  skipped  himself." 

When  the  master  workman  saw  the  bloody-faced  man  and 
the  crowd,  he  ceased  speaking,  and  all  the  bootmakers,  with 
eager  curiosity,  joined  the  hurrying  crowd. 

"  Where's  the  crowd  going  ?  " 

"Why,  everybody  knows  !    We're  going  to  the  nachalnik !  " 

"Say  !     Is't  true  that  ours  is  beaten  ?  " 

"  You  thought  so,  did  you  I     See  what  the  men's  saying ! ' ' 

Questions  and  answers  were  exchanged.  The  tapster,  taking 
advantage  of  the  growing  mob,  stepped  aside  from  the  people, 
and  returned  to  his  kabak. 


862  ^^R  ^^■^  PEACE. 

The  tall  young  man,  not  noticing  the  disappearance  of  Ida 
enemy  the  tapster,  and  waving  his  bare  arm,  went  on  speaking 
vociferously,  attracting  general  attention.  The  crowd  huddled 
close  around  him  pre-eminently,  supposing  that  he  might  be 
able  to  give  some  reasonable  answer  to  the  questions  that  in- 
terested them  all. 

"  He  talk  about  order !  talk  about  laws !  Why,  we  must 
depend  on  the  authorities !  Ain't  I  right,  orthodox  believers  ?'* 
cried  the  tall  young  fellow,  almost  noticeably  smiling.  "  Does 
he  think  there  ain't  any  authorities?  How  could  we  get 
along  without  authorities  ?  If  it  weren't  for  them,  why,  we'd 
—  there'd  be  no  end  of  plundering ! " 

"  What  nonsensical  talk ! "  cried  some  speaker  in  the  crowd. 
"  Why,  then,  have  they  gone  and  left  Moscow  ?  They  have 
been  making  fun  of  you,  and  you  swallowed  it  all  down!" — 
"  How  many  of  our  soldiers  are  there  on  the  march !  So  you 
think  they'll  let  him  in,  do  you  ?"  —  "  That's  what  the 
authorities  is  for ! "  —  "  Just  listen  to  yon !  What  baby  talk 
he's  giving  us ! "  Such  were  the  remarks  made  in  the  crowd 
called  out  by  the  tall  young  fellow's  words. 

Near  the  walls  of  the  Kitai  Gorod*  another  small  knot  of 
men  were  gathered  around  a  man  in  a  frieze  cloak,  who  held 
a  sheet  of  paper  in  his  hands. 

"  The  ukase  !  the  ukase  !  He's  reading  the  ukase  !  he's 
reading  the  ukase ! "  cried  various  voices  in  the  throng,  and  the 
populace  rushed  toward  the  reader. 

The  man  in  the  frieze  overcoat  was  reading  Rostopchin's 
"  placard  "  —  the  afishka  of  September  elevenths  When  the 
crowd  gathered  round  him  he  became,  as  it  were,  confused,  but 
at  the  demand  of  the  tall  young  fellow,  who  forced  his 
way  up  to  him,  he  began  at  the  beginning  of  the  alishka 
again. 

"To-morrow  morning  early  I  am  going  to  his  serene  high- 
ness the  prince,"  read  the  young  man  with  a  slight  tremor 
in  his  voice.  "  His  serene  highness !  "  repeated  the  tall 
young  fellow  triumphantly  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  a 
frown  on  his  brow  —  "  in  order  to  talk  things  over  with  him, 
to  act  and  to  help  the  troops  exterminate  the  villains.  We'll 
knock  the  wind  out  of  them,"  pursued  the  reader  and  paused. 

*  The  8o-oaUed  **  China  Town  "  of  Moscow  :  "  perhaps  derived  ftom 
Kita'i-gorod  in  Podolia,  the  birthplace  of  Helena,  mother  of  Ivan  IV.,  who 
founded  the  Kitai  of  MoecoW)  enclosing  the  bazaars  and  palaces  of  the  nobles 
and  separated  from  the  Kreml  by  a  vast  space  called  the  Bed  Place,  or  Piaoe 
Beautiful.'*  —  (A.  Bambaud.) 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  863 

"Has  he  seen  him  ?  "  cried  the  tall  young  fellow  triumphantly. 
"He's  kept  clear  of  him  the  whole  distance ! " 

"  And  we  shall  send  these  guests  of  ours  to  the  devil.  I 
am  coming  .back  to  dinner,  and  will  then  set  to  work  and 
well  give  it  to  these  rascals  hot  and  heavy,  and  wipe  'em  out 
of  existence."* 

The  final  words  were  read  by  the  reader  in  utter  silence. 
The  tall  young  fellow  gloomily  dropped  his  head.  It  was 
evident  that  no  one  undei*stood  those  final  words.  Especially 
the  sentence  "  I  shall  come  back  to  dinner,"  offended  the  good 
sense  of  the  reader  even,  and  the  hearers  as  well.  The  feeling 
of  the  populace  was  pitched  to  a  high  key,  and  this  was  too 
simple  and  unnecessarily  commonplace ;  it  was  exactly  what 
each  one  of  them  might  have  said,  and  therefore  what  a 
ukase  emanating  from  the  supreme  authority  had  no  business 
tosav. 

All  stood  in  melancholy  silence.  The  tall  young  fellow 
pursed  his  lips  and  swayed  slightly. 

"Why  not  go  and  ask  him  ?  "  —  "There  is  he  himself ! "  — 
"How  would  you  ask  him?"— "Why  not?"— "He  will 
explain  it  to  us  " —  Such  were  the  remarks  heard  in  different 
parts  of  the  crowd,  and  general  attention  was  directed  to  the 
drozhsky  of  the  politsimeister  or  chief  of  police,  driving 
across  the  square  accompanied  by  two  mounted  dragoons. 

The  chief  of  police  had  been  that  morning  by  the  count's 
orders  to  set  fire  to  the  boats,  and,  as  it  happened,  this  errand 
had  procured  for  him  a  goodly  sum  of  money  which  at  that 
very  moment  was  safely  reposing  in  his  pocket.  When  he 
saw  a  great  throng  of  people  hurrying  toward  him  he  com- 
manded the  driver  to  pull  up. 

"What  is  this  crowd  ?  "  he  shouted  to  the  men  who  came 
up  timidly  ahead  of  the  others,  and  paused  near  the  drozhsky. 
"What  is  this  crowd?  I  should  like  to  know,"  asked  the 
politsimeister,  who  had  received  no  answer. 

"Your  nobility,  they"  —  began  the  man  in  the  frieze  cloak 
who  had  been  the  reader,  "your  nobility,  they  —  they  accept 
the  most  illustrious  count's  proclamation,  and  are  willing  to 
obey,  and  they  don't  value  their  lives,  and  this  isn't  a  riot  at 
all,  they  wouldn't  think  of  stirring  one  up,  as  the  most  illus-. 
trious  count "  — 

"  The  count  has  not  gone,  he  is  in  town,  and  arrangements 
will  be  made  for  you.  Drive  on  — pashol "  —  cried  he  to  the 
coachman.    The  crowd  stood  quietly  pressing  around  those 

*  ScMlayem,  dedUlayem  i  oidUlayem* 


364  W^^  ^^^  PEACE. 

who  had  heard  what  the  official  said,  and  looking  at  the 
receding  drozhsky. 

Just  then  the  politsimeister  glanced  around  in  terror,  said 
something  to  his  coachman,  and  his  horses  were  sent  off  at  a 
sharper  trot. 

"  Fooled,  boys !  Let  us  go  to  the  count  himself ! "  cried 
the  tall  young  fellow.  —  "  Don't  let  him  escape  ! "  —  "  Make 
him  give  an  account!" — "Hold  him,"  cried  various  voices, 
and  the  men  started  on  the  run  after  the  drozhsky. 

The  crowd  following  the  chief  of  police  hurried  along  with 
a  roar  of  voices  to  the  Lubyanka. 

"How  is  this?  The  gentry  and  the  merchants  have  all 
gone  off,  and  we  are  betrayed !  What !  are  we  dogs,  that  we 
are  left  ?  "  was  said  by  more  than  one  in  the  crowd. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

On  the  evening  of  September  13,  after  his  interview  with 
Kutuzof,  Count  Rostopchin,  offended  and  wounded  because  he 
had  not  been  invited  to  the  council  of  war,  and  because  Kutuzof 
paid  no  attention  to  his  offer  to  take  part  in  defence  of  the 
capital,  amazed  at  the  discovery  that  he  had  made  while  at  the 
camp,  that  the  tranquillity  of  the  capital  and  the  patriotic 
disposition  of  its  inhabitants  were  regarded  not  merely  of 
secondary  importance,  but  rather  as  absolutely  trivial  and  insig- 
nificant —  offended,  wounded  and  amazed  by  all  this.  Count 
Rostopchin  had  returned  to  Moscow. 

After  finishing  his  dinner,  the  count,  without  undressing,  lay 
down  on  his  couch,  and  at  one  o'clock  was  awakened  by  a  courier 
who  brought  him  a  letter  from  Count  Kutuzof.  In  this  letter 
Kutuzof^  after  informing  him  that  the  troops  were  to  retire 
beyond  Moscow  along  the  Riazan  highwav,  asked  the  count  if 
he  would  be  good  enough  to  send  a  number  of  police  chinov- 
niks  to  conduct  the  troops  across  the  city. 

This  was  no  news  to  Count  Rostopchin.  Not  only  during 
his  conference  with  Kutuzof  on  the  Poklonnaya  Hill,  but  ever 
since  the  battle  of  Borodino,  when  all  the  generals  who  came 
to  Moscow  declared  with  one  voice  that  it  was  impossible  to 
give  battle,  and  when,  by  the  count's  consent,  the  crown  treas- 
ure had  been  sent  out  of  the  city,  and  alreadv  half  of  the 
inhabitants  had  left.  Count  Rostopchin  was  well  aware  that 
Moscow  Avas  to  be  abandoned;  but  nevertheless  tliia  news, 
conveyed  in  the  form  of  a  simple  note,  containing  Kutuzof  a 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  865 

command  and  received  at  midnight,  in  the  midst  of  his  first 
sleep,  amazed  and  annoyed  the  count. 

Afterwards  in  explaining  his  action  at  that  time,  Count 
Eostopchin  wrote  in  several  instances  that  he  had  two 
objects  of  especial  importance  in  view :  de  maintenir  la  tvanr 
quUlite  d  Moscou  et  d* en  fairs  partir  les  habitants  —  "  to  main- 
tain good  order  in  Moscow,  and  to  expedite  the  departure  of 
the  inhabitants." 

If  we  grant  this  twofold  object,  any  of  Rostopchin's  actions 
would  be  irreproachable.  Why  were  not  the  precious  things 
of  Moscow  carried  away,  —  weapons,  cartridges,  powder,  stores 
of  grain  ?  Why  were  thousands  of  the 'inhabitants  treacher- 
ously informed,  to  their  i-uin,  that  Moscow  was  not  to  be 
abandoned  ? 

"To  preserve  tranquillity  in  the  capital,"  is  Count  Bostop- 
chin's  explanation  and  answer. 

Why  were  packages  of  unnecessary  papers  from  the  court- 
house and  Leppich's  balloon,  and  other  articles  sent  out  ?  "  In 
order  to  leave  the  city  empty,"  again  says  Coimt  Rostopchin's 
explanation.' 

Only  grant  the  premise  that  this  and  that  threatened  the 
city's  tiunquillity,  and  every  sort  of  procedure  would  be 
justifiable. 

All  the  horrors  of  the  Terror  were  based  merely  on  the 
attempt  to  preserve  the  tranquillity  of  Paris. 

On  what  was  based  Count  Rostopchin's  effort  to  keep  the 
Moscow  populace  tranquil  in  1812  ?  What  reason  was  there 
for  supposing  that  any  tendency  toward  popular  disturbance 
existed  in  the  city  ?  The  citizens  had  left,  the  troops  retreat- 
ing filled  Moscow.  Why  should  this  have  led  to  any  riots 
among  the  people  ? 

Neither  in  Moscow  alone  nor  anywhere  in  all  Russia,  during 
the  invasion  of  the  enemy,  was  there  anything  like  an  insur- 
rection. On  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  of  September,  more 
than  ten  thousand  inhabitants  remained  in  Moscow,  and 
except  the  crowd  collected  in  the  governor-general's  dvor,  and 
that  at  his  own  instigation,  there  was  no  trouble. 

Evidently  there  would  have  been  still  less  reason  to  ex- 
pect excitement  among  the  populace  if  Rostopchin,  after  the 
oattle  of  Borodino,  when  the  abandonment  of  Moscow  was 
evident  or  at  least  probable,  had,  instead  of  stirring  up  the 
people  by  the  distribution  of  arms  and  placards,  taken 
measures  to  remove  all  the  treasure,  the  gunpowder,  the 
projectiles  and  the  specie,  and  fairly  explained  to  the  people 
that  the  city  was  to  be  abandoned. 


366  ^VAR  AND  PEACE, 

Kostopchin,  a  hot-tempered,  sanguine  man,  who  had  always 
been  concerned  in  the  higher  administrative  circles,  though  ke 
had  genuine  patriotic  feeling,  had  not  the  slightest  comprehen- 
sion of  that  populace  which  he  thought  he  directed.  From 
the  earliest  occupation  of  Smolensk  by  the  enemy,  Rostopchin, 
in  his  imagination,  conceived  that  he  was  to  play  the  part  of 
director  of  the  popular  sentiment  in  the  heart  of  Russia.  Not 
only  did  it  seem  to  him  — as  it  seems  to  every  administrator— 
that  he  was  ruling  the  external  affairs  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Moscow,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  directed  their  impulses 
by  means  of  his  proclamations  and  '^placards  "  comx>osed  in  that 
rakish  style  which  makes  the  people  contemptible,  and  which 
they  do  not  comprehend  when  they  hear  it  from  their  superiors. 
The  beautiful  role  of  director  of  the  popular  sentiment  was 
so  pleasing  to  Rostopchin,  he  stuck  to  it  so  assiduously,  that 
the  imperative  necessity  for  him  to  step  down  and  out  of  it,  — 
the  imperative  necessitv  of  abandoning  Moscow,  with  any 
heroic  climax,  took  him  by  surprise ;  and  the  ground  on  which 
he  had  been  standing  was  suddenly  cut  out  from  under,  and  he 
really  knew  not  what  to  do. 

Although  he  foresaw  it,  still  with  all  his  soul  he  refused  to 
believe,  until  the  last  moment,  that  Moscow  was  to  be  aban- 
doned, and  he  did  nothing  with  that  end  in  view.  The  inhab- 
itants left  the  city  against  his  will.  If  he  sent  out  the  court- 
records,  it  was  only  because  the  chinovniks  insisted  upon  it^ 
and  the  count  consented  against  his  better  judgment. 

He  himself  was  wholly  occupied  in  that  role  which  he  had 
taken  upon  himself.  As  often  happens  with  men  endowed 
with  a  vivid  imagination,  he  had  long  before  known  that  -Mos- 
cow would  have  to  he  abandoned,  but  he  knew  it  only  by  his 
reason,  and  his  whole  soul  revolted  against  the  belief  because 
he  was  not  yet  carried  by  his  imagination  to  the  height  of 
this  new  position. 

All  his  activity,  assiduous  and  energetic  as  it  was,  —  how 
far  it  was  profitable  and  re-acted  upon  the  populace,  is  another 
question^  —  all  his  activity  was  directed  simply  toward  arousing 
in  the  inhabitants  the  feeling  which  he  himself  experienced  — 
of  patriotic  hatred  against  the  French,  and  confidence  in  him- 
self. 

But  when  the  event  assumed  its  actual  historical  propor- 
tions, when  it  seemed  trivial  to  express  his  hatred  merely  in 
words  against  the  French,  when  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
express  this  hatred  by  a  conflict,  when  self-confidence  began 
p>  appear  disadvantageous  in  face  of  the  one  great  qaestion 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  867 

that  concerned  Moscow,  when  the  whole  population  like  one 
man,  flinging  away  their  possessions,  streamed  out  of  Moscow, 

{)roTing  by  this  act  of  negation  all  the  power  of  the  popu- 
ar  sentiment,  —  then  the  role  which  Rostopchin  had  selected 
seemed  suddenly  absurd.  He  suddenly  felt  himself  alone, 
weak,  and  ridiculous,  with  nothing  solid  to  stand  upon. 

On  being  wakened  from  sound  sleep  and  receiving  a  cold 
and  imperative  note  from  Kutuzof,  Rostopchin  felt  all  the 
more  excited  from  the  very  guiltiness  to  which  he  confessed. 
Everything  that  had  been  expressly  intrusted  to  him  was  left 
in  Moscow  —  all  the  crown  treasures  that  he  should  have  had 
removed  out  of  the  city.  There  was  now  no  possibility  of 
getting  them  away. 

"Who  is  to  blame  for  this  ?  Who  let  it  come  to  this  ?  "  he 
mused  "  Of  course  it  was  not  I.  As  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
everything  was  all  ready.  1  held  Moscow  as  in  a  vice.  And 
this  is  the  pass  to  which  they  have  brought  things.  Knaves  ! 
traitors ! "  he  exclaimed  mentally,  not  having  a  very  clear  idea 
to  whom  he  meant  to  apply  the  terms  knave  and  traitor,  but 
feeling  that  he  was  in  duty  bound  to  hate  these  traitors,  who- 
ever they  were,  who  were  to  blame  for  the  false  and  ridiculous 
position  in  which  he  found  himself. 

All  that  night  Rostopchin  gave  out  orders  to  all  who  came 
for  them  from  every  part  of  Moscow.  His  intimates  had 
never  seen  the  count  so  gloomy  and  irascible. 

"  Your  illustriousness,  a  messenger  from  the  Chancery  De- 
partment for  orders  "  —  "  from  the  Consistory  "  —  "  from  the 
Senate  "  —  "from  the  University  "  —  "  from  the  Foundling 
Asylum  "  —  "  the  suffragan  has  sent  to ''  —  "  wants  to  know  "  — 
"  What  orders  are  to  be  given  to  the  fire  brigade  ?  "  —  "  the 
superintendent  of  the  prison  "  —  "  the  director  of  the  Lunatic 
Asylum." 

Thus  all  night  long  without  cessation  reports  were  brought 
to  the  count.  To  all  these  queries  the  count  gave  curt  and 
surly  answers,  which  showed  that  any  regulations  of  his  were 
now  unnecessary,  that  all  the  preparations  which  he  had  so 
carefully  elaborated  some  one  had  now  rendered  nugatory,  and 
that  this  some  one  would  have  to  shoulder  all  the  responsibility 
for  what  was  now  taking  place. 

"  Well,  tell  that  blockhead  that  it  is  his  business  to  guard 
his  papers,"  he  replied  to  the  query  from  the  Chancery  De- 
partment. "  Well,  now,  what  is  that  rot  about  the  fire  bri- 
gade ?  "  —  **  If  they  have  horses  let  'em  go  to  Vladimir  I "  w, 
♦*  Don't  leave  them  for  the  French." 


868  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

''  Your  illastriousness,  the  overseer  of  the  Lunatic  Asjlum 
is  here :  what  orders  do  you  give  to  him  ?  " 

"What  orders?  Let  *em  all  out,  that's  all  —  let  the  luna- 
tics loose  in  the  city.  When  lunatics  are  at  the  head  of  oar 
armies,  God  means  for  these  to  be  out ! " 

When  asked  what  to  do  with  the  convicts  who  were  in  the 
jail,  the  count  wrathfully  shouted  to  the  inspector:  — " WTiat? 
Did  you  expect  me  to  give  you  a  couple  of  battalions  as  escort, 
when  there  aren't  any  to  be  had  ?     Let  'em  out ;  that's  all." 

"Your  illustriousness,  there  are  the  politicals,  Mieshkof 
and  Vereshchagin.-' 

"  Vereshchagin !  Isn't  he  hanged  yet  ?  "  screamed  Bostop- 
chin  —  "  Bring  him  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

By  nine  o'clock  a.m.,  when  the  troops  were  already  on  the 
way  across  Moscow,  no  one  any  longer  came  to  ask  the  count 
what  dispositions  were  to  be  made.  All  who  could  leave  had 
left  on  their  own  responsibility :  those  who  remained  behind 
decided  for  themselves  what  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  da 

The  count  commanded  his  horses  to  be  brought  round  to 
take  him  to  Sokolniki,  and  he  was  sitting  in  his  cabinet  with 
folded  arms,  scowling,  sallow,  and  glum. 

To  every  administrator  in  quiet,  stormless  times,  it 
seems  that  only  by  his  efforts  the  population  committed  to 
his  care  lives  and  moves,  and  in  this  consciousness  of  his  in- 
dispensable services  he  finds  the  chief  reward  for  his  labors 
and  efforts. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that,  so  long  as  the  historical  sea  is  oalm, 
the  pilot-administrator  in  his  fragile  craft,  who  holds  by  his 
boat-hook  to  the  ship  of  State,  and  while  moving,  must  ima- 
gine that  it  is  by  his  efforts  the  ship  which  he  is  steering 
moves,  But  only  let  a  storm  arise,  the  sea  grow  tempestuous 
and  toss  the  ship  itself,  and  then  any  such  illusion  is  impossi- 
ble. The  ship  drives  on  in  its  own  prodigious,  independent 
course,  the  boat-hook  is  not  sufficient  for  the  tossing  ship,  and 
the  pilot  is  suddenly  reduced  from  the  position  of  director, 
the  fountain-head  of  force,  to  a  humiliated,  useless,  and  feeble 
man. 

Bostopchin  realized  this,  and  this  was  what  vexed  his  soul. 

The  chief  of  police,  who  had  been  stopped  by  the  throng, 
came  to  the  count  at  the  same  time  as  his  adjutant,  who 


WAR  Attb  PEAC^.  869 

brought  word  that  the  horses  were  ready.  Both  were  pale ; 
and  the  politsimelster,  having  reported  the  accomplishment  of 
his  commission,  informed  the  count  that  the  dvor  was  full  of 
a  throng  of  people  desiring  to  see  him; 

Rostopchin,  not  answerihg  a  single  word,  got  up  and  with 
swift  strides  passed  into  his  luxurious,  brilliant  drawing-room, 
went  to  the  balcony  door,  took  hold  of  the  latch,  then  dropped 
it  again  and  crossed  to  the  i^indow,  from  which  the  wholS 
throng  could  be  seen. 

The  tall  young  fellow  with  a  sullett  face  was  standing  iU 
the  front  row,  gesticulating,  and  making  some  remark.  The 
bloody-faced  bljlcksmith  stood  next  him.  Through  the  closed 
windows  could  be  heard  the  roar  of  their  voices. 

"  Carriage  ready  ?  "  asked  Rostopchin,  leaving  the  window. 

"  It  Is,  your  illustriousness,^^  said  the  adjutant. 

Rostopchin  again  went  to  the  balcony  door. 

"Now  what  do  they  want  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  politsimelster. 

"  Your  illustriousness,  they  declafe  that  they  have  come  by 
your  orders,  ready  to  go  out  against  the  French.  But  it  is  a 
riotous  mob,  your  illustriousness.  I  escaped  with  my  life. 
Tour  illustriousness,  may  I  be  bold  enough  to  suggest  ^'  — 

"  Be  good  enough  to  withdraw ;  I  know  what  is  to  be  done, 
without  your  advice,"  savagelv  screamed  Rostopchin.  Hf^ 
stood  by  the  balcony  door,  looking  down  at  the  throng. 
"This  is  what  they  have  brought  Russia  to  !  This  is  the  way 
they  have  treated  me!"  brooded  Rostopchin,  feeling  uncon- 
trollable rage  rising  in  his  heart  against  whoever  might  be 
considered  as  the  cause  of  what  had  taken  place.  As  often 
happens  with  hot-tempered  men,  he  was  overmastered  by  rage, 
but  ne  was  still  in  search  of  some  scapegoat  on  whom  to  vent  it. 

"  Look  at  that  populace,  the  dregs  of  the  people,"  he  said  to 
himself,  in  French,  as  he  gazed  down  at  the  mob.  "  The  plebs 
stirred  up  by  their  folly  !  They  must  have  a  victim,"  *  came 
into  his  head,  as  he  gazed  at  the  tall  young  fellow  gesticulating 
his  arms.  And  this  idea  came  into  his  head  precisely  for  the 
reason  that  he  himself  wanted  a  victim,  an  object  for  his  wrath. 

"Carriage  ready  ?  "  he  demanded  a  second  time. 

"It  is,  your  illustriousness.  What  orders  do  you  give  in 
regard  to  Vereshchagin  ?  He  is  waiting  at  the  stairs,"  replied 
the  adjutant. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Rostopchin,  as  though  struck  by  some  unex- 
pected thought. 

*  "Lavoila  lapopxdace,lalie  dupeupletlaplebe  qu'iU  Qnt  saulevie  par 
Iturtotiise.    Illetirs  faut  une  victime." 

VOL.  3.-24. 


876  Vl^Ak  AND  PBACS. 

And,  quickly  throwing  the  door  open,  he  went  With  resolute 
steps  out  upon  the  balcony.  The  talking  suddenly  hushed) 
hats  and  caps  were  doffed,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  on  the 
count. 

"  Good-day,  children  ! "  cried  the  count  hurriedly,  and  in  a 
loud  tone.  "  Thank  you  for  coming*  I  will  be  down  directly; 
but,  first  of  all,  we  must  settle  the  account  with  a  villain^  We 
must  pimish  the  villain  who  is  the  cause  of  Moscow's  ruiiL 
Wait  for  me  ! " 

And  the  count  retired  from  view,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him. 

An  approving  roar  of  satisfaction  ran  through  the  thtoAg; 

"  Of  course  he'll  settle  with  all  villains ! "  — ^ "  You  talked 
about  the  French  ! "  — ^  «  He'll  bring  things  to  order ! "  said 
the  people,  as  though  reproaching  each  other  for  their  little 
faith. 

In  a  few  minutes  an  officer  came  hastily  out  of  the  rear  door, 
gave  some  order,  and  a  line  of  dragoons  was  formed.  The 
throng  eagerly  nished  from  the  balcony  toward  the  steps.  Roe- 
topchin,  coming  out  angrily  with  swift  steps  upon  the  poich^ 
looked  around  him,  as  though  searching  for  some  one. 

"  ^Vhere  is  he  ?  "  asked  the  count.  And,  at  the  same  in-" 
stant  that  the  words  left  his  mouth,  he  saw  coming  around  the 
corner  of  the  house,  between  two  dragoons,  a  young  man,  with 
a  long,  thin  neck,  and  with  one-half  of  his  head  shaven,  though 
the  hair  had  begun  to  grow  again.  This  young  man  was 
dressed  in  a  tattered  foxskin  short  tulup  lined  with  blue  cloth 
—  it  had  once  been  a  stylish  garment  —  and  dirty,  hempen 
convict  drawers,  stuffed  into  fine  boots,  covered  with  mud  and 
run  down  at  the  heels.  On  his  slender,  weak  legs,  he  dragged 
along  heavy  iron  shackles,  which  made  his  gait  difficult  and 
irresolute. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Rostopchin,  hastily  turning  his  eyes  away 
from  the  young  man  in  the  foxskin  tulupchik,  and  pointing  to 
the  lower  step  of  the  porch. 

"  Stand  him  there ! " 

The  young  man,  with  clanking  chains,  heavily  dragged  him* 
self  to  the  spot  indicated ;  and,  after  pulling  up  with  his  finger 
the  collar  of  his  tulupchik,  which  pinched  nim,  and  twice 
stretching  out  his  long  neck  and  sighing,  he  folded  in  front  of 
his  belly  submissively  his  slender  hands,  which  were  not  those 
of  a  man  accustomed  to  work.  Silence  prevailed  for  several 
seconds,  until  the  young  man  had  fairly  taken  his  position  on 
the  steps.    Only  in  the  rear  of  the  crowd,  where  the  people 


WAR  AND  PSACe.  371 

were  tiying  to  press  forward,  wei-e  heard  grunts  and  groans 
and  jostling  and  the  shuiHing  of  moving  feet. 

Rostopehin,  waiting  until  the  prisoner  was  in  the  designated 
place,  frowned,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 

"Children!"  cried  he,  in  a  voice  ringing  out  with  metallic 
clearness,  "  this  man,  Yereshchagin,  is  the  scoundrel  who  has 
lost  us  Moscow ! " 

The  young  man  in  the  foxskin  tulupchik  stood  in  a  submis- 
sive attitude,  with  his  wrists  crossed  on  his  abdomen,  and 
slightly  stooping.  He  hung  his  head  with  its  mutilation  of 
shaven  hair ;  his  young  face  wore  a  hopeless  expression.  At 
the  iirst  words  spoken  by  the  count,  he  slowly  raised  his  head 
and  glanced  at  the  count,  as  though  wishing  to  say  something, 
or,  at  least,  to  get  his  eye.  But  Kostopchin  looked  not  at 
him.  On  the  young  man's  long,  slender  neck,  behind  his  ear, 
a  vein  stood  out  like  a  whipcord,  tense  and  livid,  and  his  face 
suddenly  flushed. 

All  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him.  He  returned  the  gaze  of 
the  throng,  and,  as  though  he  found  some  cause  for  hope  in 
the  expression  of  the  faces,  he  gave  a  timid  and  pitiful  smile, 
and,  again  dropping  his  head,  shifted  his  feet  on  the  step. 

"  He  is  a  traitor  to  his  tsar  and  his  country  ;  he  has  sold 
himself  to  Bonaparte;  he  alone  out  of  all  the  Russians  has 
shamed  the  name  of  Russian,  and  by  him  Moscow  has  been 
destroyed,"  harangued  Rostopchin  in  a  steady,  sharp  voice ; 
but  suddenly  he  gave  a  swift  glance  at  Vereshchagin,  who  con- 
tinued to  stand  in  the  same  submissive  attitude.  This  glance 
seemed  to  set  him  beside  himself.  Raising  his  hand,  he 
shouted,  stepping  almost  down  to  the  crowd,  — 

"  Take  the  law  into  your  own  hands !  I  give  him  over  to 
you!" 

The  throng  made  no  answer,  and  merely  pressed  together 
more  and  more  densely.  To  be  crushed  together,  to  breathe 
in  that  infected  atmosphere,  to  be  unable  to  stir,  and  to  expect 
something  unknown,  incomprehensible,  and  terrible,  was  above 
human  endurance.  The  men  standing  in  the  front  row,  who 
saw  and  heard  all  that  was  taking  place  before  them  with 
startled,  wide-staring  eyes  and  gaping  mouths,  exerted  all 
their  force,  and  resisted  with  their  backs  the  forward  thrust 
and  pressure  of  the  rear  ranks. 

"Kill  him  !  — let  the  traitor  perish  and  not  shame  the  name 
of  a  Russian ! "  shouted  Rostopchin.  "  Kill  him  !  I  order 
it!"  The  mob,  hearing  not  the  words  but  the  venomous 
sounds  of  Rostopchin's  voice,  groaned  and  moved  forward,  then 
instantly  stood  still  again 


872  WAR  AND  PP. ACE. 

"  Count !  "  exclaimed,  amid  the  momentary  silence  that 
had  instantly  ensued,  the  timid,  but  at  the  same  time  theatri- 
cal, voice  of  Vereshchagin,  —  "  Count,  there  is  one  God  over 
us,"  —  said  Vereshchagin,  lifting  his  head ;  and  again  the 
thick  vein  on  his  slender  neck  filled  out  with  blood,  and  the 
red  flush  spread  over  his  face  and  died  away.  He  had  not 
said  what  he  meant  to  say. 

"  Kill  him !  I  order  it ! "  shouted  Eostopchin,  suddenly  grow- 
ing as  pale  as  Vereshchagin. 

"Draw  sabres!"  commanded  the  officer  to  the  drs^oons, 
himself  unsheathing  his  sabre. 

Anothef  and  still  more  violent  billow  rolled  through  the 
Crowd,  and,  running  up  to  those  in  the  front  rows,  it  seemed  to 
lift  them,  and,  reeling,  broke  against  the  very  steps  of  the 
porch.  The  tall  young  fellow,  with  a  petrified  expression  of 
face,  and  with  his  hand  arrested  in  mid-air,  stood  almost  next 
Vereshchagin. 

"  Cut  him  down ! "  came  the  whispered  command  of  the 
officer  to  the  dragoons;  and,  suddenly,  one  of  the  dragoons, 
his  face  distorted  with  rage,  gave  Vereshchagin  a  blow  on  the 
head  with  his  dull  broadsword. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Vereshchagin,  who  gave  a  short  cry  of  amaze- 
ment, and  looked  around  in  terror  and  as  though  he  could  not 
understand  why  this  was  done  to  him.  The  same  groan  of 
amazement  as  oefore  ran  through  the  throng.  "  O  Ix)rd — 0 
Gospodi !  "  exclaimed  some  voice. 

But,  instantly  following  the  cry  of  amazement  uttered  by 
Vereshchagin,  he  gave  a  piteous  shriek  of  pain,  and  that 
shriek  was  his  undoing.  The  barrier  of  humane  feeling 
stretched  to  the  highest  tension,  and  holding  back  the  mob, 
suddenly  broke.  The  crime  was  begun,  and  it  had  to  be 
accomplished.  The  lugubrious  groan  of  reproach  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  fierce  and  jnaddened  roar  of  the  mob.  Like  the 
seventh  and  last  wave  which  wrecks  the  ship,  this  final,  irre- 
sistible billow  impelled  from  the  rear  was  borne  through  to 
those  in  front,  overwhelmed  them,  and  swallowed  up  every- 
thing. 

The  dragoon  who  had  used  his  sword  was  about  to  repeat 
his  blow.  Vereshchagin,  with  a  cry  of  horror,  warding  off  the 
stroke  with  his  arm,  leaped  among  the  people.  The  tall 
young  fellow,  against  whom  he  struck,  grasped  his  slender 
neck  with  his  hands,  and  with  a  savage  yell  fell  together  with 
him  under  the  trampling  feet  of  the  frenzied  crowd. 

Some  beat  and  mangled  Vereshchagin ;  others,  the  tall  young 


WAR  AND  PKACe.  87S 

fellow.  And  the  ories  and  yells  of  the  surging  mtiltitiide  and 
of  the  men  who  were  trying  to  rescue  the  tall  young  fellow 
only  the  more  excited  the  virulence  of  the  mob.  It  was  long 
before  the  dragoons  were  able  to  extricate  the  tall  factory  hand^ 
who  was  half  beaten  to  deaths  and  covered  with  blood.  And 
it  was  long,  in  spite  of  all  the  hot  haste  with  which  the  throng 
strove  to  finish  the  job  which  they  had  begun,  before  those 
men  who  were  beating,  trampling,  and  mangling  Vereshchagiii 
were  able  to  kill  him ;  but  the  throng  pressed  them  on  every 
hand,  and  at  the  centre  it  was  like  a  solid  mass  rocking  and 
swaying  from  side  to  side,  and  gave  them  no  chance  either  to 
finish  with  him  Or  to  let  him  go. 

"Finish  him  with  an  axe,  hey?"  —  "They've  crushed  him 
well."  —  "  The  traitor!  he  sold  Christ."  —  "  Is  he  alive  yet?" 

—  "  He's  a  tough  one  ! "  —  "  He  gets  his  deserts."  —  "  Try  it 
with  a  bar ! "  —  "  Isn't  he  dead  yet  ?  " 

Only  when  the  victim  ceased  to  struggle,  and  his  shrieks  ^ 
gave  way  to  the  measured,  long  death-rattle,  did  the  mob  begin 
hastily  to  avoid  the  spot  where  lay  the  corpse  covered  with 
gore.    Each  one  came  up,  gave  a  look  at  what  had  been  done, 
and,  full  of  horror,  remoi*se,  and  amazement,  pressed  back. 

"0  Lord,  men  are  like  wild  beasts!  wonder  any  one  was 
spared ! "  exclaimed  some  voice  in  the  crowd. 

"And  a  young  fellow  too ! "  —  " Must  be  a  merchant's  son.'* 

—  "What  a  mob!"  —  "They  say  he's  the  wrong  one."  — 
"What  do  you  mean — the  wrong  one?"  —  "O  Lord!"  — 
"Some  one  else  was  beaten  to  death  too ! " — "They  say  he  just 
escai)ed  with  his  life ! "  —  "  Oh,  what  people  ! "  —  "  Ain't  it  a 
sin  to  be  afraid  of  ?  "  These  remarks  were  made  by  the  same 
men,  as  with  painfully  pitiful  faces  they  looked  at  the  dead 
body  with  the  face  smeared  with  blood  and  begi-imed  with 
dust,  and  the  long,  slender  neck  half  hacked  off. 

A  zealous  police  chinovnik,  thinking  it  unbecoming  to  have 
a  corpse  encumbering  his  excellency's  yard,  ordered  the  dra- 
goons to  drag  it  forth  into  the  street.  Two  dragoons  seized 
the  body  by  the  mutilated  legs  and  hauled  it  out.  The  blood- 
stained, dust-begrimed,  dead,  shaven  head,  rolling  on  the  long 
neck,  was  dragged  along  thumping  upon  the  ground.  The 
mob  surged  away  from  the  corpse. 

At  the  moment  that  Yereshohagin  fell,  and  the  mob  with  a 
savage  yell  burst  forward  and  rushed  over  him,  Eostopchin 
turned  suddenly  pale,  and,  instead  of  going  to  the  rear  stairs, 
where  his  horses  were  waiting  for  him,  he,  without  knowing 


374  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

where  or  wherefore,  started  with  sunken  head  and  swift  steps 
along  the  corridor  that  led  to  the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor. 
The  count's  face  was  pallid,  and  he  could  not  keep  his  lower 
jaw  from  trembling  as  though  he  had  an  ague. 

"  Your  illustriousness,  this  way  —  where  are  you  going  ?  — 
this  way  if  you  please ! "  exclaimed  a  trembling,  frightened 
voice  behind  him. 

Count  Rostopchin  was  in  no  condition  to  answer,  and,  obedi- 
ently wheeling  about,  he  took  the  direction  whither  he  was 
called.  At  the  rear  entrance  stood  his  calash.  Even  here  the 
distant  roar  of  the  excited  mob  reached  his  ears.  Count  Ros- 
topchin hastily  sprang  into  the  carriage,  and  ordered  the 
coachman  to  drive  to  his  suburban  house  at  Sokolniki. 

When  they  reached  the  Miasnitskaya,  and  the  yells  of  the 
mob  were  no  longer  heard,  the  count  began  to  feel  qoalms  of 
conscience.  He  remembered  now  with  dissatisfaction  the 
excitement  and  terror  which  he  had  displayed  before  his 
subordinates.  ^^La  poptddce  est  terrible^  elle  est  hideusey'^  he 
said  to  himself  in  French.  ''  lis  sant  comme  les  loups  qu^on  ne 
peut  apaiser  qu^avec  de  la  chair — they  are  like  wolves,  which 
can  only  be  appeased  with  flesh." 

"  Count,  thei'e  is  one  God  over  us ! "  Vereshchagin's  words 
suddenly  recurred  to  him,  and  a  disagreeable  feeling  of  chill 
ran  down  his  back.  But  this  feeling  was  only  raomentazy, 
and  Count  Rostopchin  smiled  a  scornful  smile  at  himself. 

"  I  had  other  obligations,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  The  people 
had  to  be  appeased.  Many  other  victims  have  perished,  and 
ai'e  perishing  for  the  public  weal."  * 

Ajid  he  began  to  consider  the  general  obligation  which  he 
had  toward  his  family,  the  capital  committed  into  his  keeping, 
and  his  own  safety  —  not  as  Feodor  Vasilyevitch  Rostopchin 
—he  understood  that  Feodor  Vasilyevitch  Rostopchin  would 
sacriflce  himself  for  the  Hen  pnhliqtie  —  but  as  the  governor- 
general  and  the  repositary  of  power,  and  the  authorized  repre- 
sentative of  the  tsar. 

"  If  I  were  only  Feodor  Vasilyevitch,  ma  ligne  de  eonduUe 
autrait  He  tout  autrement  trage  —  but  as  I  was,  I  was  in  du^ 
bound  to  preserve  my  life  and  the  dignity  of  the  govemor- 
general." 

Slightly  swaying  on  the  easy  springs  of  his  equipage,  and 
no  longer  hearing  the  terrible  sounds  of  the  mob,  Rostopchin 
grew  calmer  physically,  and,  as  always  happens,  simultaneously 

*  "  J'avais  cTautres  devoirs.    II  fallait  apaiser  le  peupU,    Bien 
Victimes  ont  p^ri  et  p^rissent  pour  le  oien  publique" 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  875 

96  physical  calm  returned  his  reason  furnished  him  arguments 
for  moral  tranquillity. 

The  idea  that  soothed  Eostopchin  was  not  new.  Never 
since  the  world  began  and  people  began  to  slaughter  one 
another  has  man  committed  crime  against  his  fellow  without 
soothing  himself  with  this  idea.  This  idea  is  le  bien  publique 
—  the  hypothetical  weal  of  other  men. 

The  man  not  carried  away  by  his  passions  never  knows 
what  this  weal  is,  but  the  man  who  had  committed  a  crime 
always  knows  very  well  what  constitutes  it.  And  Rostopchin 
how  knew. 

He  not  only  did  not  reproach  himself  for  what  he  had  done, 
but  he  even  found  reason  for  self-congratulation  that  he  had  so 
happily  succeeded  in  taking  advantage  of  this  fortuitous  cir- 
cmnstance  for  punishing  a  criminal,  and  at  the  same  time  paci- 
fying the  mob. 

"  Vereshcbagin  was  tried  and  condemned  to  death,"  said 
Rostopchin  to  himself  —  though  Vereshcbagin  had  only  been 
^condemned  by  the  Senate  to  the  galleys.  "  He  was  a  traitor 
jand  a  spy  ;  I  could  not  leave  him  unpunished,  and,  besides,  I 
killed  two  birds  with  one  stone  —  Jefaisais  d^une  pierre  deux 
wups,  I  offered  a  victim  to  pacify  the  people,  and  I  punished 
an  evil-doer." 

By  the  time  he  reached  his  suburban  house,  and  began 
to  make  his  domestic  arrangements,  he  had  become  perfectly 
calm. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  count  was  driving  behind 
swift  horses  across  the  Sokolnichye  Pole,  with  his  mind  per- 
fectly oblivious  to  what  had  happened,  and  thinking  only  of 
events  to  come.  He  was  on  his  way  now  to  the  Yauzsky 
bridge,  where  he  had  been  told  Kutuzof  was  to  be  found. 

Coxint  Rostopchin  was  preparing  mentally  the  angry  and 
caustic  reproaches  with  which  lie  intended  to  load  Kutuzof  for 
deceiving  him  so.  He  would  give  that  old  court  fox  to  under- 
stand that  the  responsibility  for  all  the  misfortunes  which 
would  flow  from  the  abandonment  of  the  capital,  from  the  de- 
struction of  Russia  (as  Rostopchin  supposed  it  to  be),  would 
redound  upon  his  old  gray  head,  which  was  so  entirely  lacking 
in  brains.  While  Rostopchin  was  thinking  over  what  he 
should  say  to  him,  he  angrily  straightened  himself  up  in  his 
calash  and  looked  fiercely  about  him  on  all  sides. 

The  Sokolnichye  Pole  was  deserted.  Only  at  one  end,  near 
the  poor-house  and  lunatic  asylum,  could  be  seen  a  few  groups 
of  men  in  white  raiment  and  several  solitaries  of  the  same 


S7e  WAtl  AND  PEACE. 

sort,  who  were  hastening  across  tlie  "field,"  shouting  some- 
thing and  gesticulating. 

One  of  these  men  ran  so  as  to  cut  off  Count  Rostopchin's 
calash.  The  count  and  his  coachman  and  the  dragoons  all 
gazed  with  a  dull  sense  of  terror  and  curiosity  at  these  liber- 
ated lunatics,  and  especially  at  the  one  who  was  running 
toward  them. 

The  lunatic,  unevenly  bounding  along  ou  his  long,  thin  legs, 
and  with  his  white  khalat  flying  out  behind  him,  was  running 
with  all  his  might,  not  taking  his  eyes  from  the  count,  yelling 
something  in  a  hoarse  voice  and  signalling  for  the  carnage 
to  stop.  His  gloomy  and  impassioned  face,  overgrown  with 
Uneven  blotches  of  beard,  was  haggard  and  sallow.  His  dark, 
agate-colored  eyes,  with  their  saffron  whites,  rolled  frenziedly- 

"  Stop  I  Hold  on,  I  say  ! "  he  cried  in  piercing  tones,  and 
panting  he  began  again  to  shout  with  extravagant  intonations 
and  gestures. 

He  came  up  with  the  calash,  and  ran  along  by  the  side  of  it 

**  Thrice  have  they  killed  me,  thrice  have  I  risen  from  the 
dead.  They  have  stoned  me,  they  have  crucified  me.  I  shall 
rise  again  —  I  shall  rise  again — I  shall  rise  again.  They 
have  torn  my  body  to  pieces.  They  have  overthrown  the 
kingdom  of  God.  Thrice  shall  I  tear  it  down,  and  thrice  shall 
I  build  it  again  ! "  he  yelled,  raising  his  voice  higher  and  higher. 

Count  R-ostojxjhin  suddenly  paled,  just  as  he  had  paled 
when  the  mob  threw  itself  on  Vereshchagin.  He  looked 
away.  "  Dri^-drive  faster ! "  he  called  to  the  coachman  in 
a  trembling  voice.  The  calash  sprang  forward  with  all  the 
speed  of  the  horses,  but  still  for  a  long  time  the  count  could 
hear,  growing  more  and  more  distant,  that  senseless,  despairing 
cry,  while  before  his  eyes  all  he  could  see  was  the  amazedly 
frightened,  bloody  face  of  the  "traitor"  in  the  fur  tulupcbik. 

This  vision  was  now  so  vivid  that  Rostopchin  felt  it  was 
deeply  etched  into  the  very  substance  of  his  heart.  He  now 
clearly  realized  that  he  should  never  outlive  the  bloody  trace 
of  this  recollection,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  this  terrible 
remembrance,  the  longer  he  lived,  even  to  the  end  of  his  days, 
would  grow  more  and  more  cruel,  more  painful. 

He  heard,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  even  now  the  ring  of  his  own 
words  :  "  Kill  him  !  If  you  don't,  you  shall  answer  to  me  for 
it  with  your  heads  ! " 

"  Why  did  I  say  those  words  ? "  he  asked  himself,  almost 
despairingly.  "  I  need  not  have  said  them,"  he  thought,  "and 
then  nothing  would  have  happened." 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  877 

He  saw  the  face  of  the  dragoon  who  gave  the  blow  change 
from  terror  to  ferocity,  and  the  glance  of  silent,  timid  reproach 
which,  that  young  man  in  the  foxskin  tulup  gave  him  — 

"But  I  did  it  not  for  myself.  I  was  obliged  to  perform 
that  part.  La  plehe  —  le  trait  re  —  le  bienpublique"  he  said  to 
himself. 

The  troops  were  still  crowding  the  bridge  over  the  Yauza. 
It  was  saltry.  Kutuzof,  with  contracted  brows  and  in  dismal 
mood,  sat  on  a  bench  near  the  bridge,  and  was  playing  with 
his  whip  in  the  sand,  when  a  calash  drove  up  to  him  in  hot 
haste.  A  man  wearing  a  general's  uniform  and  a  plumed  hat, 
and  with  wandering  eyes  expressing  a  mixture  of  wi-ath  and 
terror,  got  out,  and,  approaching  Kutuzof^  began  to  say  some- 
thing to  him  in  French. 

This  was  Count  Bostopchin. 

He  told  Kutuzof  that  he  had  come  to  him  because  Moscow 
and  the  capital  were  no  more,  and  the  army  was  all  that  was  left. 

"  It  would  have  been  different  if  your  serene  highness  had 
not  told  me  you  would  not  abandon  Moscow  without  giving 
battle ;  then  this  would  not  have  happened  at  all,"  said  he. 

Kutuzof  glanced  at  Eostopchin,  and,  as  though  not  taking 
in  the  full  significance  of  the  words  addressed  to  him,  he 
seemed  to  be  exerting  all  his  energies  to  read  the  peculiar 
expression  that  was  written  in  the  face  of  the  man  addressing 
him. 

Rostopchin  grew  confused,  and  stopped  speaking.  Kutuzof 
shook  his  head  slightly,  and,  not  taking  his  inquisitive  glance 
from  Rostopchin's  face,  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  No,  we  will 
not  give  up  Moscow  without  a  struggle  ! " 

Whether  Kutuzof  was  thinking  of  something  entirely  aloof 
when  he  said  those  words,  or  said  them  on  purpose,  knowing 
their  absurdity,  at  all  events  liostopchiu  made  no  reply,  and 
hastily  turned  away  from  him.  And,  strange  enough !  the 
governor-general  of  Moscow,  the  haughty  Count  Rostopchin, 
taking  a  whip  in  his  hand,  went  to  the  bridge,  and  began  to 
shout,  and  hurry  along  the  teams  that  were  blocked  together 
there. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  troops  under  Murat 
entered  Moscow.  In  front  rode  a  detachment  of  WUrttemberg 
hussars ;  next  followed  the  King  of  Naples  in  person,  mounted^ 
and  surrounded  by  a  large  suite. 


i 


878  ^^AR  AND  PEACE. 

Near  the  centre  of  the  Arbat,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  chuidi 
of  Nikola  Yavlenniii,*  Murat  reined  in,  and  waited  for  a  report 
from  the  van  as  to  the  state  of  the  cifcy  fortress,  "  le  Kremlitu" 
Around  Murat  gathered  a  small  knot  from  among  the  citizens 
who  had  remained  in  Moscow.  All  gazed  with  shy  perplexity 
at  this  long-haired,  foreign  "  nachalnik,"  so  gorgeously  bedi- 
zened with  feathers  and  gold. 

"  Say !  that  one's  their  tsar,  ain't  he  ?  "  queried  low  voices. 

The  interpreter  approached  the  knot  of  men. 

"  Hats  off ! "  —  "  Hats ! "  men  were  heard  in  the  throng, 
admonishing  one  another.  The  interpreter  addressed  himself 
to  an  old  dvornik,  and  asked  if  it  were  far  to  the  Kreml.  The 
dvol*nik,  hearing  the  strange  Polish  accent  with  which  the 
man  spoke,  and  not  comprehending  that  he  was  speakings  to 
him  in  Russian,  did  not  understand  what  was  said  to  him,  and 
slipped  behind  the  others. 

Murat  beckoned  up  the  interpreter,  and  commanded  him  to 
ask  where  the  Russian  army  was.  One  of  the  citizens  made 
out  what  was  asked,  and  several  voices  suddenly  began  to 
reply  to  the  interpreter.  A  French  officer  came  galloping 
back  from  the  van,  and  reported  to  Murat  that  the  fortress 
gates  were  closed,  and  that  probably  there  was  an  ambuscade. 

*'  Very  good,"  said  Murat,  and,  addressing  oue  of  the  gentle- 
men of  his  suite,  he  commanded  him  to  have  four  light  field- 
pieces  brought  up,  and  to  batter  down  the  gates. 

The  artillery  set  forth  on  the  gallop  from  the  column  that 
was  just  behind  Murat,  and  ci-ossed  the  Arbat.  On  reaching 
the  end  of  the  Vozdvizhenka,  or  Holy-Rood  Street,  the  artil- 
lery stopped,  and  deployed  on  the  square.  A  number  of 
French  officers  took  command  of  the  cannon,  aimiug  tlieni 
and  scrutinizing  the  Kreml  through  their  field-glasses. 

The  bells  began  to  ring  for  vespers  in  the  Kreml,  and  this 
sound  startled  the  French.  They  supposed  that  it  was  an 
alarm.  Several  of  the  infantry  soldiers  ran  toward  the 
Kutafya  gates.  Beams  and  planks  barricaded  the  gates.  Two 
musket-shots  rang  sharply  out  from  behind  the  gates  as  soon 
as  the  officer  and  his  detachment  started  to  approach.  The 
general,  standing  by  the  cannon,  shouted  some  command  to 
the  officer,  and  the  officer  and  one  of  the  soldiers  hastened 
back.  Three  more  musket-shots  rang  out  from  the  gates. 
One  shot  wounded  a  French  soldier  in  the  leg,  and  a  strange 
yell  from  many  throats  was  heard  behind  the  barricade.  From 
the  faces  of  the  French  —  general,  officers,  and  meu — simal> 

*  St.  Nicholas  ol  the  Miraculous  Apparition.. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  879 

taneonslj,  as  though  at  word  of  command,  vanished  their 
former  expression  of  gayety  and  calm,  and  in  its  place  came 
an  obstinate,  concentrated  expression  of  readiness  for  battle 
and  suffering.  For  all  of  them,  from  marshal  down  to  the 
most  insignificant  soldier,  this  place  was  no  longer  the  Vozd- 
vizhenka,  Mokhovaya,  Kutafya,  and  Troitskiya  Gates,  but  it 
was  the  new  locality  of  a  new  battle-lield,  in  all  probability 
destined  to  be  deluged  with  blood ;  and  all  prepai-ed  for  this 
battle. 

The  yells  from  the  gates  ceased.  The  cannon  were  pointed. 
The  artillerists  blew  up  their  lighted  slow-matches.  The 
officer  gave  the  command ;  feu  !  fire !  and  two  hissing  sounds 
of  canister-shot  followed  one  after  the  other.  The  grape  clat- 
tered on  the  stones  of  the  gateway,  on  the  beams  and  the 
barricade,  and  two  puffs  of  smoke  floated  away  over  the  square. 

A  few  seconds  later,  when  the  echoes  of  the  reports  had 
died  out  along  the  stone  walls  of  the  Kreml,  a  stmnge  noise 
was  heard  over  the  heads  of  the  French.  An  enormous  flock 
of  jackdaws  arose  above  the  walls,  and  cawing,  and  flapping 
their  countless  wings,  circled  around  in  the  air.  At  the  same 
instant  a  single  human  yell  was  heard  in  the  gates,  and  through 
the  smoke  appeared  the  flgure  of  a  hatless  man  in  a  kaftan. 
He  held  a  musket,  and  aimed  it  at  the  French,  "^e?^/" 
cried  the  artillery  officer  a  second  time,  and  at  exactly  the 
same  instant  rang  out  one  musket-shot  and  two  cannon-shots. 

Smoke  again  concealed  the  gates. 

Behind  the  barricade  no  one  any  longer  moved,  and  the 
French  infantiy  soldiers  and  their  officers  again  approached 
the  gates.  At  the  gates  lay  three  men  wounded  and  four 
dead.  Two  men  in  kaftans  were  in  full  flight  down  along  the 
walls  to  Znamenka. 

^EtUeve^-mol  ga  —  Clear  'em  away,"  said  the  officer,  indi- 
cating the  beams  and  the  corpses ;  and  the  French,  flnishing 
the  wounded,  flung  the  corpses  down  behind  the  fence.  "AV 
leves^^moi  ga  "  was  all  that  was  said  about  them,  and  they  were 
flung  away,  and  afterwards  were  removed  so  as  not  to  foul  the 
air.  Only  Thiers  consecrates  to  their  memory  a  few  eloquent 
lines:  — 

"  These  wretches'had  taken  possession  of  the  sacred  stronghold,  seized 
ftTMurms  from  the  arsenal,  and  attacked  the  French.  A  few  of  them  were 
pot  to  the  swoni,  and  the  Kreml  was  purged  of  their  presence."  * 

*  "  Cet  miserables  avatejit  envahi  la  citadeUe  tutcreef  8*etaient  empar^  de$ 
futih  de  Vargenal,  et  tiraient  (ces  jniserables)  sur  les/ran^ais.  On  en  sabrq 
^tul^ues-unif  e<  onpvr^ea  le  Kremlin  de  leur  presence^** 


880  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Murat  was  informed  that  the  way  was  clear.  The  Frencli 
poured  through  the  gates,  and  began  to  set  up  their  camp  in 
the  Senatskaya  Square.  The  soldiers  flung  chairs  out  of  the 
windows  of  the  Senate  House  into  the  square,  and  used  them 
as  fuel  for  their  fires. 

Other  divisions  crossed  through  the  Kreml,  and  took  up 
their  stations  along  the  Moroseika,  Lubyanka,  Pokrovka.  Still 
others  settled  themselves  in  the  *  Vozdvizhenka,  Znamenka, 
Nikolskaya,  and  Tverskaya.  Finding  nowhere  any  houses 
open  to  them,  the  French  quai-tered  themselves,  not  as  they 
usually  would  in  a  city,  but,  as  it  were,  formed  a  camp  inside 
the  city  limits. 

The  French,  though  ragged,  hungry,  weary,  and  reduced  to 
one-half  of  their  original  numbers,  entered  Moscow  in  regular 
military  order.  It  was  a  jaded,  exhausted,  but  still  martial 
and  redoubtable  army. 

But  such  it  was  only  until  that  moment  when  the  soldiers 
of  that  army  were  distributed  in  their  lodgings.  As  soon  as 
the  men  of  the  various  regiments  began  to  scatter  among  the 
rich  and  deserted  mansions,  then  the  martial  quality  disap- 
peared forever,  and  the  men  were  neither  converted  into  citi- 
zens, nor  retained  their  character  as  soldiers,  but  changed  into 
something  betwixt  and  between,  called  maraudera. 

When,  five  weeks  later,  these  same  men  marched  out  of 
Moscow,  they  were  still  no  longer  troops.  They  were  a  throng 
of  marauders,  each  one  of  whom  brought  or  carried  away 
with  him  a  quantity  of  articles  which  seemed  to  him  precious 
or  necessary. 

The  object  of  each  of  these  men,  as  they  left  Moscow,  was 
not,  as  formerly,  to  prove  themselves  warriors,  but  to  preserve 
what  they  had  obtained.  Like  the  monkey  which  has  thrust 
its  paw  into  the  narrow  neck  of  the  jug,  and  grasped  a  hand- 
ful of  nuts,  and  will  not  open  its  fist  lest  it  lose  its  prize,  thus 
destroying  itself,  —  the  French,  on  leaving  Moscow,  were  evi- 
dently doomed  to  perish,  in  consequence  of  lugging  their 
plunder  with  them,  since  to  relinquish  what  they  had  taken  as 
plunder  was  as  impossible  as  it  was  impossible  for  the  mon- 
key to  let  go  of  its  handful  of  nuts. 

Ten  minutes  after  each  regiment  of  the  French  host  made 
its  entry  into  any  given  quarter  of  Moscow,  there  was  nol 
left  a  single  soldier  or  officer.  Men  in  capotes  and  gaiters 
could  be  seen  in  the  windows  of  the  houses,  boldly  exploring 
the  rooms.  In  cellars  and  storerooms,  the  same  men  were 
flaking  free  with  provisions  and  stores.    In  the  yards  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  881 

same  men  were  tearing  open  or  breaking  down  the  batn  and 
stable  doors.  They  kindled  fires  in  kitchens,  and  with  sleeves 
rolled  up  they  baked,  kneaded,  and  cooked,  they  frigHtened  op 
confused  or  wheedled  women  and  children.  There  were  a 
host  of  these  men  everywhere  in  the  shops  and  in  the  houses ; 
but  army  there  was  none. 

On  that  day,  oi-der  after  order  was  issued  by  the  French 
commanders,  with  the  object  of  preventing  the  troops  from  scat- 
tering about  through  the  city  —  stern  rescripts  against  offering 
violence  to  the  inhabitants,  or  marauding,  and  insisting  upon 
a  general  roll  call  at  evening,  but,  in  spite  of  such  precautions, 
the  men,  who  just  before  had  constituted  an  army,  wandered 
about  through  the  rich,  deserted  city,  which  still  abounded  in 
comforts  .and  enjoyments. 

As  a  famished  herd  of  cattle  go  huddled  together  over  a 
barren  field,  but  instantly  become  uncontrollable  and  scatter  as 
soon  as  they  come  into  rich  pasture  lands,  so  did  this  army 
separate  and  scatter  irreclaimably  through  the  opulent  city. 

There  were  no  citizens  in  Moscow,  and  the  soldiers  were 
absorbed  in  it  (like  water  in  sand),  and,  bursting  all  restraint, 
radiated  out  in  every  direction  from  the  Kreml,  which  was 
tiieir  first  objective  point. 

Cavalrymen,  coming  to  some  merchant's  mansion  abandoned 
with  all  its  treasures,  and  finding  stabling  sufiicient  for  their 
own  horses  and  others  besides,  nevertheless  proceeded  to  take 
possession  of  the  one  adjoining,  because  it  seemed  better  still. 

In  many  cases,  a  man  or  group  of  men  would  take  posses- 
sion of  several  houses,  and  scratch  the  name  of  the  claimant 
in  chalk  on  the  doors,  and  quarrel  and  even  come  to  blows  with 
men  of  other  regiments. 

Such  soldiers  as  failed  to  find  accommodations  ran  along 
the  streets  inspecting  the  city,  and  when  word  was  given  out 
that  the  whole  city  was  abandoned,  they  made  haste  to  find 
and  take  whatever  was  valuable. 

In  the  Karetnui  Kiat,  or  the  carriage  mart,  there  were  shops 
fall  of  equipages ;  even  the  generals  crowded  here,  selecting 
calashes  and  coaches. 

Such  inhabitants  as  were  left  invited  the  French  command- 
ers to  lodge  in  their  houses,  thereby  hoping  to  escape  from 
being  plundered. 

There  was  an  abundance  of  wealth,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
no  end  to  it.  Everywhere,  in  a  circle  from  the  place  first 
occupied  by  the  French,  there  were  places,  as  yet  unknown 
and  unexplored,  where^  as  it  seemed  to  the  Fi^iich,  there  must 


382  WA^  A^^  PEACE. 

be  still  greater  riches.  And  Moscow  even  more  and  moze 
absorbed  them  into  itself.  Just  as  the  conseqnenoe  of 
pouring  water  upon  dry  earth  is  that  the  water  disappears 
and  the  dry  earth  as  well,  so  in  exactly  the  same  way  the 
consequence  of  a  hungry  army  pouring  into  a  well-fumished, 
abandoned  city  was  its  destiiiction,  and  the  destruction  of  the 
opulent  city,  and  filth  follows ;  conflagrations  and  marauding 
follow. 

The  French  attributed  the  burning  of  Moscow  to  the  sav- 
age patriotism  of  Rostopchin  —  au  patriotisme  firace  de  i^o»- 
topchine,  —  the  Eussians,  to  the  savagery  of  the  French-  In 
last  analysis,  responsibility  for  the  burning  of  Moscow  was 
not  due  and  cannot  be  attributed  to  any  one  person  or  to  any 
number  of  persons. 

Moscow  was  burned  because  it  was  in  a  condition  when 
every  city  built  of  wood  must  bum,  independently  of  the 
question  whether  they  had  or  had  not  one  hundred  and 
thirty  wretched  fire-engines.  Moscow  had  to  burn  because  its 
inhabitants  had  (]^serted  it,  and  as  inevitably  as  a  heap  of 
shavings,  upon  which  live  coals  are  dropped,  must  bum. 

A  wooden  city,  which  has  its  conflagrations  almost  e^rety 
day  in  spite  of  the  police  and  the  proprietors,  careful  of  their 
houses,  could  not  fail  to  bum  when  the  inhabitants  were  gone 
and  their  places  taken  by  soldiers,  who  smoked  their  pipes, 
made  camp-fires  of  senators'  chairs  in  the  Senatskaya  Square, 
and  cooked  their  meals  there  twice  a  day. 

Even  in  times  of  peace,  when  troops  are  quartered  in  vil« 
lages,  the  number  of  fires  is  immediately  increased.  How 
much  greater  must  the  probabilities  of  conflagration  be  in  a 
deserted  city  built  of  wood  and  occupied  by  a  foreign  army  ! 

Le  patriotisme  feroce  de  Rostopchine  and  the  savagery  of  the 
French  were  not  to  blame  for  this.  The  burning  of  Moscow 
was  due  to  the  soldiers'  pipes,  to  the  cook-stoves,  the  ca.nip- 
fires,  to  the  negligence  of  hostile  troops,  when  houses  w^ere 
occupied  by  men  not  their  owners. 

Even  if  there  were  incendiaries  (which  is  very  doubtful,  sinoe 
there  was  no  reason  for  setting  fires,  and  such  action  would 
have  been  hard  and  perilous),  they  could  not  be  considered  as 
the  cause  of  the  conflagration,  since  it  would  have  taken  place 
without  them. 

However  flattering  it  was  for  the  French  to  blame  Bostop- 
chin's  savage  patriotism,  and  for  the  Russians  to  blame  the 
Villain  Bonaparte,  or,  in  later  times,  to  place  the  heroic  torch. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  888 

in  the  hands  of  their  own  people,  it  is  impossible  not  to  see 
that  such  an  immediate  cause  of  the  conflagration  had  no  real 
existence,  because  Moscow  had  to  burn,  as  every  town,  every 
factory,  and  every  house,  would  be  burned,  when  abandoned 
by  its  owners,  and  strangers  had  taken  possession  and  were 
cooking  their  victuals  in  it. 

Moscow  was  burned  by  its  citizens,  —  that  is  true ;  not,  how- 
ever, by  the  citizens  who  remained,  but  by  those  who  went 
away. 

Moscow,  occupied  by  the  enemy,  did  not  remain  intact  like 
Berlin,  Vienna,  and  other  cities,  simply  because  the  inhabit- 
ants did  not  come  forth  to  offer  the  French  the  bread  and  salt 
—  Khlyeb-sol — of  hospitality,  and  the  keys  of  the  city,  but 
left  it 

CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

The  soaking-M^  of  the  French  into  Moscow,  spreading  out 
star-wise,  reached  the  quarter  where  Pierre  was  now  living, 
onlv  in  the  evening  of  September  14. 

After  the  two  days  which  Pierre  had  spent,  solitary,  and  in 
such  an  unusual  manner,  he  had  got  into  a  state  of  mind  that 
bordered  on  insanity.  His  whole  being  was  possessed  by  one 
importunate  idea.  He  himself  knew  not  how  or  when  it  came 
about,  but  this  idea  had  such  mastery  of  him  that  he  remem- 
bered nothing  of  the  past,  had  no  comprehension  of  the  present, 
and  what  he  saw  and  heard  seemed  as  tliough  it  had  happened 
in  a  dream. 

Pierre  had  left  his  home  simply  and  solely  to  escape  from 
the  complicated  coil  of  social  demands  which  held  him,  and 
from  which  he  could  not,  in  his  situation  at  the  time,  tear  him- 
self away.  He  had  gone  to  losiph  Alekseyevitch's  house 
ostensibly  to  arrange  the  late  owner's  books  and  papers,  and 
simply  because  he  was  in  search  of  some  alleviation  from  the 
demands  of  life ;  and  his  recollections  of  losiph  Alekseyevitch 
were  connected  in  his  mind  with  that  world  of  eternal,  tran- 
quil, and  solemn  thoughts  which  were  diametrically  opposed  to 
the  confused  coil  in  which  he  felt  himself  entangled. 

He  sought  a  quiet  refuge,  and  actually  found  it,  in  losiph 
Alekseyevitch's  library.  When,  in  the  dead  silence  of  the 
room,  he  sat  down  and  leaned  his  elbows  on  his  late  friend's 
dust-covered  writing-table,  the  recollections  of  the  last  few 
days  began  one  by  one  to  rise  before  him,  calmly,  and  in  their 
proper  significance,  especially  that  of  the  battle  of  Borodino, 


884  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

and  that  irresistible  sense  of  his  own  insignificance  and  false- 
ness in  comparison  with  the  truth,  simplicity,  and  forceful- 
ness  which  had  so  impressed  him  in  that  class  of  men  he 
called  Tltet/. 

When  Gerasim  aroused  him  from  his  brown  study,  the 
thought  occurred  to  Pierre  that  he  was  to  take  a  part  in  the 
supposed  popular  defence  of  Moscow.  And,  with  this  end  in 
view,  he  had  immediately  sent  Gerasim  to  procure  for  him  a 
kaftan  and  pistol,  and  explained  to  him  his  intention  of  con- 
cealing his  identity  and  remaining  in  losiph  Alekseyevitch's 
house. 

Afterwards,  in  the  coui*se  of  the  first  day  spent  alone  and 
idly,  —  for,  though  he  several  times  tried,  he  could  not 
put  his  mind  on  the  Masonic  manuscripts,  —  the  thought  of 
the  cabalistic  significance  of  his  name  in  connection  with  that 
of  Bonaparte's  occurred  vaguely  to  him  :  but  this  thought  which 
he  had  before  conceived,  that  VRtisse  Besuhof  was  predestined 
to  overthrow  the  power  of  the  Beast,  now  came  to  him  only  as 
one  of  the  illusions  which  thronged  his  imagination,  without 
logical  connection,  and  vanished  without  leaving  any  trace. 

When,  after  the  purchase  of  the  kaftan,  —  with  the  purpose 
merely  of  taking  part  in  the  popular  defence  of  Moscow,  — 
Pierre  met  the  Rostofs,  and  Natasha  had  said  to  him :  "  Yon 
are  going  to  remain  ?  Akh  !  How  nice !  "  the  thought  had 
flashed  through  his  mind  that  truly  it  would  be  nice,  even  if 
Moscow  were  captured,  for  him  to  remain  in  Moscow  and  fulfil 
his  predestination. 

On  the  following  day,  with  the  sole  idea  not  to  spare  him- 
self, and  not  to  keep  aloof  from  anything  in  which  they  took 
part,  he  went  to  the  Tri  Gorui  barrier.  But  when  he  reached 
home  again,  convinced  that  no  attempt  was  to  be  made  to 
defend  Moscow,  the  consciousness  suddenly  came  over  him 
that  what  had  hitherto  seemed  merely  a  possibility  had  now 
become  absolutely  imperative  and  unavoidable.  It  was  his 
duty  to  remain  in  Moscow  lucof/nlto,  to  fire  at  Napoleon  and 
to  kill  him  :  —  either  he  must  perish  himself,  or  put  an  end 
to  the  misery  which  afflicted  all  Europe,  and  was  caused,  as 
Pierre  reasoned,  by  Napoleon  alone. 

Pierre  knew  all  the  particulars  of  the  German  student's 
attempts  on  Bonaparte's  life  in  Vienna  in  1809,  and  he  was 
aware  that  the  student  had  been  shot.  And  the  danger  to 
which  he  was  about  to  expose  his  life  in  carrying  out  his 
purpose  filled  him  with  still  stronger  zeal. 

Two  feelings  of  equal  intensity  irresistibly  attracted  Pierre 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  385 

to  execute  his  project.  The  first  was  the  feeling  that  sacrifice 
and  sufPeriiig  were  demanded  from  him  as  a  penalty  for  the 
consciousness  of  the  general  wretchedness  —  that  feeling 
which,  on  the  seventh,  had  impelled  him  to  go  to  Mozhaisk 
and  even  into  the  very  thick  of  the  conflict,  and  now  drove 
him  from  his  home  to  sleep  on  a  hard  sofa,  and  to  share 
<Jerasim's  meagre  fare,  instead  of  enjoying  the  luxuries  to 
which  he  was  accustomed. 

The  second  was  that  vague,  exclusively  Russian  scorn  for  all 
things  conventional,  artistic,  human,  for  all  that  is  counted 
by  the  majority  of  men  to  be  the  highest  good  in  the  world. 

It  was  in  the  Slobodsky  palace  that  Pierre  had  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  experienced  this  strange  and  bewitching  feel- 
ing, when  he  suddenly  arrived  at  the  consciousness  that  wealth 
and  power  and  life  —  everything  that  men  arrange  and  cherish 
with  such  passionate  eagerness,  even  if  it  is  worth  anything  — 
are  of  no  consequence  compared  to  the  enjoyment  which  is  the 
concomitant  of  their  sacrifice. 

It  is  this  feeling  that  impels  the  volunteer  to  drink  up  his 
last  kopek,  the  drunkard  to  smash  mirrors  and  glasses  with- 
out any  apparent  cause,  although  he  knows  that  it  will  cost 
him  his  last  coin  to  pay  for  them ;  the  feeling  which  impels 
a  man,  committing  (in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  word) 
<jrazy  actions,  to  put  forth  all  his  personal  force  and  strength, 
thereby  testifying  to  the  existence  of  a  higher  justice  outside 
of  human  conditions  and  ruling  life. 

From  that  very  day  when  Pierre  for  the  first  time  experienced 
this  feeling  in  the  Slobodsky  palace,  he  had  been  constantly 
under  its  influence ;  but  now  only  he  found  full  satisfaction 
for  it.  Moreover,  at  the  present  moment,  Pierre  was  kept  up 
to  his  intention,  and  deprived  of  the  possibility  of  renouncing 
it,  by  what  he  had  already  done  in  that  direction.  His  flight 
from  home,  and  his  kaftan,  and  his  pistol,  and  his  announce- 
ment to  the  Rostofs  that  he  should  stay  in  Moscow,  all  would 
be  meaningless  —  nay,  it  would  be  contemptible  and  ridicu- 
lous—  Pierre  knew  that  by  instinct  —  if,  after  all,  he  should 
do  what  the  others  had  done,  and  leave  Moscow. 

Pierre's  physical  condition,  as  was  always  the  case,  corre- 
sponded with  his  mental.  The  coarse,  unusual  beverages 
which  he  had  been  drinking  those  days,  the  abstinence  from 
wine  and  cigars,  the  dirty,  unchanged  linen,  the  two  almost 
sleepless  nights  which  he  had  spent  on  the  short,  pillow- 
less  sofa,  ^1  this  had  reduced  Pierre  to  a  state  akin  to 
lunacy. 

VOL.3.  — 26. 


386  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

It  was  already  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  French 
had  entered  Moscow.  Pierre  knew  it,  but,  instead  of  acting, 
he  thought  only  of  his  enterprise,  considering  all  its  minutest 
details.  In  his  imagination  he  did  not  dwell  with  such  keen- 
ness of  vision  on  the  act  itself  of  firing  the  shot,  or  upon  the 
death  of  Napoleon,  but  he  imagined  with  extraordinary  vivid- 
ness, and  with  a  melancholy  delight,  his  own  ruin  and  his  heroic 
courage. 

"  Yes,  one  for  all !  I  must  accomplish  it  or  perish ! "  he 
said  to  himself.  "Yes,  I  will  go  up  to  him — and  then  sud- 
denly —  with  a  pistol  —  or  would  not  a  dagger  be  better  ?  "  — 
mused  Pierre.  —  "  However,  it  is  immaterial.  —  *  Not  I,  but  the 
hand  of  Providence  punishes  thee  1 '  I  will  exclaim."  Pierre 
was  rehearsing  the  words  which  he  should  utter  as  he  killed 
Napoleon.  —  " '  Well,  then,  take  me,  punish  me,' "  Pierre  went 
on  to  say,  still  further  imagining  the  scene,  and  drooping  his 
head  with  a  melancholy  but  firm  expression  of  countenance. 

While  Pierre,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  was  thus 
musing,  the  library  door  was  suddenly  flung  open,  and  the 
figure  of  Makar  Alekseyevitch  appeared  on  the  threshold, 
absolutely  changed  from  his  former  attitude  of  wild  shyness. 

His  khalat  was  flung  open.  His  face  was  flushed  and  dis- 
torted. He  was  evidently  drunk.  Seeing  Pierre,  he  was  for 
the  flrst  moment  confused  ;  but,  remarking  signs  of  confusion 
in  Pierre,  he  immediately  expressed  his  satisfaction,  and  came 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  tottering  on  his  thin  legs. 

"  They're  scared ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse,  confidential 
voice.  "  I  tell  you ;  '  We  won't  surrender.'  That's  what  I 
say  —  Right?  —  Hey,  mister?"  He  deliberated  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  til  en,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  the  pistol  on  the  table, 
he  grasped  it  with  unexpected  quickness  and  ran  into  the 
corridor. 

Gerasim  and  the  dvornik,  who  had  followed  at  Makar  Alek- 
seyevitch's  heels,  stopped  him  in  the  entry  and  tried  to  take 
away  the  pistol.  Pierre  came  out  into  the  corridor,  and  looked 
with  pity  and  disgust  on  the  half-witted  old  man.  Makar 
Alekseyevitch,  scowling  with  the  effort,  clung  to  the  pistol, 
and  screamed  in  his  hoarse  voice  something  that  he  evidently 
considered  very  solemn. 

"  To  arms !  Board  'em  !  *  You  lie  !  you  sha'n't  have  it,"  he 
yelled. 

"  There,  please,  that'll  do.  Have  the  goodness  to  put  it  up, 
please.      Now    please,  barin, "  —  said  Gerasim^   cautiously 

•  Na  abordage  ! 


War  and  pKAcn.  88t 

taking  Makar  Aleks^yeviidh  by  the  elbows  and  trying  to  force 
him  back  to  the  door. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Bonaparte  ?  "  screamed  Makar  Alekse- 
yitch. 

"That  is  not  right,  sir.  Please  come  into  your  room;  you 
are  all  out  of  breath.    Please  let  me  have  the  pistol." 

"  Away  with  you,  you  scurvy  slave  !  Touch  me  not !  Do 
you  see  this  ! "  yelled  Makar  Alekseyitch,  brandishing  the  pis- 
tol.   "  Board  'em ! '' 

"Look  out  I"  whispered  Gerasim  to  the  dvomik.  They 
seized  Makar  Alekseyitch  by  the  arms  and  dragged  him  to  the 
door. 

The  room  was  filled  with  the  confused  sounds  of  the  scuffle 
and  the  hoarse,  drunken  sounds  of  the  panting  voice. 

Suddenly  a  new  and  penetrating  scream  of  a  woman  was 
heard  from  the  steps,  and  the  cook  mn  into  the  entry. 

"  Here  they  are  !  Oh,  ye  saints  of  my  sires  ! ! !  —  Oh,  God  1 
here  they  are  !     Four  of  them  on  hoi'seback !  " —  she  cried., 

Gerasim  and  the  dvomik  let  go  of  Makar  Alekseyitch's 
arms,  and  in  the  silence  which  suddenly  ensued  the  pounding 
of  several  hands  was  heard  on  the  outside  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

PiSBBis,  deciding  for  himself  that,  until  the  time  came  for 
the  fulfilment  of  his  project,  it-  was  best  not  to  disclose  his 
identity,  or  his  knowledge  of  French,  stood  in  the  half-opened 
door  leading  into  the  corridor,  intending  instantly  to  go  and 
hide  himself  as  soon  as  the  French  entered.  But  the  French 
came  in,  and  Pierre  had  not  stirred  from  the  door :  an  indefin- 
able curiosity  seized  him. 

There  were  two  of  them.  One  was  an  officer,  tall,  gallant- 
looking,  and  handsome ;  the  other  evidently  a  soldier,  or  his 
servant,  short  and  stubbed,  lean  and  sunburned,  with  sunken 
cheeks  and  a  stupid  expression  of  face.  The  officer,  resting 
his  weight  on  a  cane,  and  limping  a  little,  came  forward. 
Having  advanced  a  few  steps,  the  officer,  as  though  deciding 
that  the  rooms  were  good,  halted,  and  turned  round  to  some 
soldiers  who  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  in  a  tone  of  com- 
mand shouted  to  them  to  bring  in  their  horses.  Having 
attended  to  this,  the  officer,  with  a  gallant  gesture,  lifting  high 
his  elbow,  twisted  his  mustache  and  then  touched  his  cap :  — 


886  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

m 

^^  Bonjour  la  compagnie  /  ^^  he  cried  cheerily  with  a  smflc 
and  glancing  round. 

No  one  made  any  answer. 

"  Votis  etes  le  bourgeois  ?  —  Are  you  the  master  of  the 
house  ?  "  asked  the  officer,  addressing  Oerasim.  Gterasim,  with 
a  scared,  questioning  look,  stared  at  the  officer. 

"  Quarteei',  quarteer  —  logement !  "  exclaimed  the  officer,  su^ 
veying  the  little  man  from  top  to  toe,  with  a  condescending 
and  benevolent  smile:  "The  French  are  jolly  boys.  Que 
diahle  !  Vot/ons  !  Don't  get  touchy,  old  man  ! ''  he  added, 
slapping  the  startled  and  silent  Gerasim  on  the  shoulder.  "^ 
ptt  /  Dltes  doncy  on  ne  parte  done  frangaijt  dans  cette  hour 
tiqtie  P"  he  added,  glancing  around  and  catching  Pierre's  eyes 
as  he  slunk  aside  from  the  door. 

The  officer  again  addressed  himself  to  Gerasim.  He  tried 
to  make  the  old  man  show  him  the  rooms  in  the  house. 

"  Barin  gone  —  No  understand  !  —  my  —  you  —  your  "  — 
stammered  Gerasim,  striving  to  make  his  words  more  compre- 
hensible by  speaking  in  broken  Russian. 

The  French  officer,  with  a  smile,  waved  his  hands  in  front  of 
Gerasim's  nose,  giving  him  to  understand  that  he  did  not 
understand  him,  and  he  limped  again  to  the  door  where  Pierre 
was  standing.  Pierre  started  to  go  away  in  order  to  hide 
from  him,  but  just  at  that  instant  he  saw  through  the  open 
door  of  the  kitchen  Makar  Alekseyitch  peering  out,  with  the 
pistol  in  his  hand.  With  the  cunuingness  of  a  madman, 
Makar  Alekseyitch  gazed  at  the  Frenchman,  and,  raising  the 
pistol,  aimed :  — 

"Board  'em  I"  cried  the  drunken  man  and  cocked  the  pistd. 

The  Frenchman,  hearing  the  shout,  turned  i*ound,  and  at  that 
instant  Pierre  flung  himself  on  the  drunkard.  But,  before 
Pierre  had  time  to  seize  and  throw  up  the  pistol,  Makar 
Alekseyitch  got  his  fingers  on  the  cock  and  a  sharp  report 
rang  out,  deafening  them  all  and  filling  the  passage  with  gun- 
powder smoke.  The  Frenchman  turned  pale  and  sprang  back 
to  the  door. 

Pierre  seized  the  pistol  and  flung  it  away  and  ran  after  the 
officer,  and  (then  forgetting  his  intention  of  not  revealing  his 
knowledge  of  French)  began  to  speak  with  him  in  French. 

"  You  are  not  wounded  ?  "  he  asked  with  solicitude. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  officer,  examining  himself.  "  But 
I  had  a  narrow  escape  that  time,"  he  added,  pointing  at  the 
broken  plastering  on  the  wall.  "  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  he  de- 
manded, giving  Pierre  a  stern  look. 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  889 

"I  am  really  greatly  distressed  at  what  has  just  happened," 
said  Pierre,  speaking  fluently,  and  entirely  forgetting  the  part 
he  was  going  to  play.  "  He  is  crazy,  an  unfortunate  man  who 
^  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing."  * 

The  officer  turned  to  Makar  Alekseyitch  and  seized  him  by 
the  collar.  Makar  Alekseyitch,  thrusting  out  his  lips,  swayed 
as  though  he  were  sleepy  and  stood  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  Brigand !  you  shall  answer  for  this ! "  said  the  Frenchman, 
taking  off  his  hand.  "  It's  in  OTir  nature  to  be  merciful  after 
victory,  but  we  do  not  forgive  traitors,"  he  added  with  a  look 
of  gloomy  solemnity  on  his  face,  and  with  a  graceful,  ener- 
getic gesture. 

Pierre  continued  in  French  to  urge  the  officer  not  to  be  too 
hard  on  this  half-witted  drunkard.  The  Frenchman  listened 
in  silence,  without  a  change  in  his  scowling  face,  then  sud-* 
denly  turned  to  Pierre  with  a  smile.  He  looked  at  him 
for  a  few  seconds  without  speaking.  His  handsome  face  as- 
sumed a  tragically  sentimental  expression,  and  he  held  out  hid 
hand :  —  "  Voiis  vi^avez  sanve  la  vie  /  Vons  ^tes  frangais  !  "  he 
said.  For  a  Frenchman  this  inference  was  beyond  question. 
To  do  a  magnanimous  action  was  alone  possible  to  a  French- 
wan,  and  to  save  the  life  of  Monsieur  Ramhall,  capUaine  du 
13^  leger^  was  unquestionably  the  greatest  deed  of  all. 

But,  reasonable  as  this  inference  was  or  the  conviction 
which  the  officer  based  upon  it,  Pierre  felt  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  disclaim  it. 

"cTJ?  9iiis  rttsse,^^  he  said  rapidly. 

"  Tititi !  tell  that  to  others,"  said  the  Frenchman,  smiling 
and  raising  a  warning  finger.  "  By  and  by  you  can  tell  me 
all  about  it.  Charme  de  re?icoiitrer  un  com2)atriote.  Eh  bien! 
What  shall  we  do  with  this  man  ?  "  he  added,  already  address- 
ing Pierre  as  though  he  were  his  brother. 

Even  if  Pierre  were  not  a  Frenchman,  having  once  granted 
him  that  appellation,  —  the  highest  in  the  world,  —  he  could 
never  disavow  it,  said  the  French  officer's  whole  tone,  and  the 
expression  of  his  face. 

In  reply  to  the  last  question,  Pierre  once  more  explained 
who  Makar  Alekseyitch  was,  explained  that  just  before  their 
arrival  this  witless  drunkard  had  got  hold  of  the  loaded  pistol, 
and  they  had  just  been  trying  to  get  it  away   from  him ; 

■  ••  Vons  n'Hes  fxu  blesai  ?  "  —  "Je  crois  que  norij  mats  je  Vai  manque  belle 
eette  fots-ct.  Quel  e*t  cet  homme  P  "  —  "Ah,  je  suit  vraiment  au  ddsespoir  de 
ce  qui  vient  d*arriver.  Vest  un  fou,  un  malheureux  qui  7ie  savaii  pas  ee  qu^il 
faitatt." 


390  WAk  ANJ)  PEACM. 

•         •  •      " 

finally,  he  begged  hiiii  ib  let  this  matter  go  withbiit  poniflhing 
him. 

The  Frenehmail  swelled  out  his  ch^st  and  made  a  legal 
gesture  with  his  hatid :  -^ 

"  Vous  m'dvez  sauve  la  vie.  Vous  etes  frangais.  Vous  de- 
mandez  ea  grdce?  Je  vous  Vaccorde,  QtCon  emmhie  cet 
homvie! — Take  this  tuaii  away ! "  exclaimed  the  French  offieer 
rapidly  and  energetically,  and^  linking  his  arm  with  that  of 
Pierre,  the  man  whom  for  having  saved  his  life  he  admitted 
into  fellowship  with  the  French,  he  went  with  him  into  the 
house. 

The  soldiers  who  had  been  in  the  dvor  when  they  heard  the 
pistol-shot  hastened  into  the  entry,  asking  what  was  tip,  and 
expressing  their  readiness  to  punish  the  offenders;  but  the 
officer  sternly  repressed  them. 

"  You  shall  be  called  when  you  are  needed,"  said  he. 

The  soldiers  flocked  out.  The  man  who  had  meantime 
explored  the  larder  came  back  to  the  officer  and  reported  find- 
ing soup  and  roast  mutton,  and  asked  if  he  should  bring  it. 

**  Capitalne,  ils  ont  de  la  80vx>e  et  du  gigot  de  nioutan  dans  la 
euisiney^'  said  he.     ^^Fatit-il  votis  Vapporter  ?  " 

<<Oui,  et  le  vinr^  said  the  captain. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

As  the  French  officer  and  Pierre  went  in  together,  Pierre 
felt  that  it  was  his  duty  once  more  to  assure  the  captain 
that  he  was  not  French  and  he  wanted  to  go,  but  the  French 
officer  would  not  even  hear  to  such  a  thing.  He  was  so 
extremely  polite,  courteous,  and  good-natured,  and  so  genuinely 
grateful  for  having  had  his  life  preserved,  that  Pierre  had  nc^ 
the  heai-t  to  refuse  him,  and  therefore  sat  down  with  him  in 
the  drawing-room,  which  happened  to  be  the  first  which  they 
entered. 

At  Pierre's  asseveration  that  he  was  not  a  Frenchman,  the 
captain,  evidently  not  comprehending  how  it  could  enter  the 
heart  of  man  to  refuse  such  a  flattering  designation,  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  declared  that  if  he  were  resolutely  bent  on 

Eassing  for  a  Russian,  he  might  do  so,  but  still,  nevertheless, 
e  was  eternally  bound  to  him  by  the  feeling  of  gratitude  for 
saving  his  life. 

If  this  man  had  been  gifted  with  the  slightest  capacity  for 
entering  into  the  feelings  of  others,  and  had  guessed  Pierre's 


WAU  AND  PSACX.  89l 

fientunentS;  Pierre  would  undoubtedly  have  left  him,  but  this 
man's  impermeability  to  everything  except  his  own  personality 
quite  won  Pierre. 

^^Frangais  on  prince  russe  incognitOj^  said  the  Frenchman, 
Bcmtinizing  Pierre's  fine  but  soiled  linen,  and  the  ring  on  his 
finger,  "  I  owe  you  my  life,  and  I  oifer  you  my  friendship.  A 
Frenchman  ueyer  forgets  an  insult  or  a  favor.  That  is  all  I 
have  to  say." 

In  the  tones  of  this  officer's  voice,  in  the  expression  of  his 
face,  in  his  gestureSj  there  was  so  much  affability  and  good- 
breeding  (in  the  French  use  of  the  terms),  that  Pierre,  gfiving 
back  unconsciously  smile  for  smile,  pressed  the  proifered 
hand.  "  Captains  Ramball  du  13*^  leger,  decorS  pour  V affaire 
du  19"*,"  he  went  on  to  say,  introducing  himself  with  a  smile 
of  exuberant  self-satisfaction  curling  his  lips  under  his  mus- 
taches. "Would  you  not  tell  me,  now,  with  whom  I  have 
the  honor  of  conversing  so  agreeably,  instead  of  beiug  in  the 
ambulance  with  that  idiot's  pistol  ball  in  me  ?  "  * 

Pierre  replied  that  he  could  not  tell  him  his  name,  and 
reddened  as  he  tried  to  think  of  some  name,  to  invent  some 
reason  for  not  giving  his  own ;  but  the  Frenchman  made  haste 
to  relieve  him. 

"  I  beg  of  you  ! "  said  he.  "  I  appreciate  your  scruples :  you 
are  an  officer  —  an  officer  of  rank,  perhaps.  You  have  borne 
arms  against  us  —  it  is  not  my  affair.  I  owe  my  life  to 
you.  That  is  enough  for  me.  I  am  wholly  at  your  service. 
You  are  a  gentleman?"  he  added,  with  just  a  shade  of 
question. 

Pierre  nodded  assent. 

"  Your  given  name,  please ;  I  ask  nothing  more.  Monsieur 
Pierre,  you  say  —  excellent !  —  That  is  all  that  I  wish  to 
know."  t 

When  the  mutton  and  omelet,  the  samovar,  vodka,  and 
wine  which  the  French  had  obtained  from  a  Russian  cellar 
were  brought,  Ramball  invited  Pierre  to  share  in  this  repast, 
and  instantly  he  himself  fell  to,  ravenously  and  hastily  attack- 
ing the  viands  like  a  healthy  hungry  man,  chewing  lustily 

•  **  Voudr^Z'VOUs  bien  me  dire  a  present y  a  quij^ai  Vhonnenrdeparleraiissi 
firir^ahlemeni  au  lieu  derester  a  Vambtiletice  avec  la  balle  de  ce/oii  dcuis  le 
conw  ?  " 

T  "  Z)c grace.  Je  comprends  tos  raisons ;  vous  ete^  ojfflcier  — qfficier  sup^r" 
ieWf  peutStre.  Vous  aoez  porti  les  amies  contre  tious.  Ce  n^'est  pas  mon 
affaire,  Je  vous  dois  la  vie.  Cela  me  sitffit,  Je  suis  tout  a  t^oiis.  Vovs  ilea 
geniUhommef  Votre  nom  de  bapteme/s*U  vovs  plait.  Je  ne  demande  pas 
darantage.  Monsieur  Pierre,  dites^ous — par/ait!  —  (Test  tout  ce  que  je 
disiresavoir." 


892  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

* 
with  his  sound,  strong  teeth,  constantly  smacking  his  lips,  and 

exclaiming,  "  Excellent,  exqais  !  " 

His  face  grew  flushed  and  sweaty.  Pierre  was  hungry,  and 
participated  with  great  satisfaction  in  this  dinner. 

Morel,  the  servant,  brought  a  sauce-pan  full  of  warm  water, 
and  set  in  it  a  bottle  of  red  wine.  He  also  brought  a  bottle 
of  kvas  which  he  had  found  in  the  kitchen,  and  wanted  to 
experiment  with. 

This  beverage  was  already  known  to  the  French  and  had 
received  a  name.  They  called  kvas  lirnonade  de  cockon,^ 
pig's  lemonade,  —  and  Morel  had  taken  possession  of  this 
limonade  de  cochon  which  he  had  found  in  the  kitchen. 

But  as  the  capita ine  possessed  wine  that  had  been  plun- 
dered somewhere  as  he  passed  through  the  city,  he  left  the 
kvas  to  Morel,  and  devoted  himself  to  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux. 
He  wrapped  the  bottle  up  to  the  neck  in  a  napkin,  and  poured 
the  wine  out  for  himself  and  Pierre.  Himger  alleviated  and 
the  wine  enlivened  the  captain  more  and  more,  and  during 
all  the  dinner-time  he  chattered  without  cessation. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Mr.  Pierre,  I  owe  you  a  handsome  taper  for 
having  saved  me  from  that  —  that  madman.  .  .  .  You  see  I 
have  balls  enough  in  my  body  as  it  is.  There's  one" — he 
touched  his  side  —  "received  at  Wagram,  and  two  at  Smo- 
lensk "  — he  indicated  the  scar  on  his  cheek.  "And  this  leg, 
you  see,  can't  walk.  I  received  that  on  the  seventh,  in  the 
great  battle  of  the  Moskva.  Ye  gods !  that  was  fine !  You 
ought  to  have  seen  it !  It  was  a  deluge  of  fire.  You  blocked 
out  a  tough  job  for  us !  I  shouldn't  blame  you  for  boasting 
about  it  1  by  the  Devil,  I  shouldn't !  And  on  my  word,  in 
spite  of  the  cold  which  I  took,  I  should  be  willing  to  begin  it 
all  over  again.     I  pity  those  who  didn't  see  it !  " 

"  I  was  there  !  "  said  Pierre. 

"  What !  really  ?  Well,  then,  so  much  the  better,"  said  the 
Frenchman.  "  You  are  glorious  enemies,  all  the  same.  The 
great  redoubt  held  her  own,  by  all  the  powers.  And  you 
made  us  pay  dear  for  it.  I  got  in  it  three  times,  just  as  sure 
as  you  see  me.  Three  times  we  were  right  on  the  guns,  and 
three  times  we  were  knocked  over  like  pasteboard  soldiers ! 
Oh,  it  was  fine,  Mr.  Pierre !  Your  grenadiers  were  superb, 
by  heavens  !  Six  times  running  I  saw  them  close  up  ranks 
and  march  out  as  though  they  were  goin^  to  a  review  !  Fine 
fellows !  Our  king  of  Naples,  who  is  a  perfect  dab  at  such 
things,  cried,  '  Bravo  ! '  Ah !  ha !  good  soldiers  —  quite  our 
match ! "    said  he  with  a  smile, '  after  a   moment's    silence. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  893 

"So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better,  Mr.  Pierre  !  Terri- 
ble in  battle  .  .  .  gallant  with  the  fair  ones  ! "  —  he  winked 
and  smiled  —  ^Hhat's  the  Frenchman,  Mr.  Pierre,  ain't  that 
so?"* 

The  captain  was  so  naively  and  good-naturedly  jovial,  frank, 
and  self-satisfied  that  Pierre  himself  almost  winked  as  he 
looked  at  him. 

Apparently  the  word  <'  gallant "  reminded  the  captain  of  the 
state  of  Moscow. 

"By  the  way,  tell  me  now,  is  it  true  all  the  ladies  have  left 
Moscow  ?  A  strange  notion !   What  had  they  to  be  afraid  of  ?  " 

"Wouldn't  the  French  ladies  leave  Paris  if  the  Eussians 
marched  in  ?  "  retoi-ted  Pierre. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  The  Frenchman  burst  into  a  gay,  hearty 
laugh,  and  slapped  Pierre  on  the  shoulder.  <^  Ah !  that  is  a  good 
one,"  he  went  on  to  remark.    "  Pa  ris  ? — Ma  is  Pa  risy  Paris  "  — 

^^  Paris  la  capUale  du  mofide/"  said  Pierre,  finishing  his 
sentence. 

The  captain  looked  at  Pierre.  It  was  a  habit  of  his  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence  to  hesitate  and  give  one  a  steady  look  from 
his  laughing,  friendly  eyes. 

"  There,  now,  if  you  had  not  said  that  you  were  Russian,  I 
would  have  wagered  you  were  Parisian.  You  have  something 
about  you"  —  and,  having  said  this  compliment,  he  again 
paused  and  looked. 

"I  have  been  at  Paris.  I  spent  some  years  there,"  said 
Pierre. 

"Ah!  that  is  very  evident.  Paris!  A  man  who  doesn't 
know  Paris  is  a  barbarian.  You  can  tell  a  Parisian  by  the 
smell  two  leagues  off !    Ca  se  sent  a  deux  lieux.    Paris  is  Talma, 

*  "  (hii,  mon  cher  M.  Pierre,  je  voua  dois  une  fiere  chandelle  de  rn'ovoir 
tavv^  —de  cet  enrar/^.  —  J'en  ai  ansez,  voyez-vons,  de  ha  Ilea  dans  le  corps. 
Kn  voUh  une.  a  Wagram  et  deux  a  Smolensk.^ Et  c€t(ejambe,comtne  voua 
royez,  qui  ne  vevt  pas  marcher.  Vest  a  la  (jrande  bataille  dnl  ala  Moscowa 
que  fai  re^t  vo-  i>acre  IHeu,  cXait  beau!  II  fallait  voir  f  o ;  c'dtait  un 
deluge  defeii.  Vous  nous  urez  iailU  vne  rude  besof/ne  ;  vous  pouvez  vovs  en 
varUtTi  nam  d'un  petit  bonhomme  !  Et,  ma  parole,  malyr^  la  tour,  que 
fai  yayn^,je  serais  pret  a  recommencer.  Je  plains  ccux  qui  n'ont  pas  va  9a. — 
J'lj  ai  ^W.  — Bah,  vraiment !  eh  bien,  tant  mieux.  Vovs  iteji  defiers  ennemis, 
tout  de  mime,  Im  f/rande  redovte  a  4t^  t4nace,  nom  d'un  pipe!  Et  vous 
nous  a' fait  crdnement  payer.  Ty  suis  alle  trois  fois,  tel  que  vous  me  voyez, 
Trois/ois  novs  ^tions  sur  les  canons  et  trois  fois  on  nous  a  culbutii  et  comme 
des  eapvcins  de  cartes.  Oh  !  c'4tait  superbe,  M.  Pierre  I  Vos  yrenadiers  ont 
eU  superbeSf  tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  Je  les  ai  vn  six  fois  de  suite  serrer  les  rangs 
et  marcher  comme  a  vne  revue.  Les  beaux  hommes  !  Notre  rot  de  Naples, 
7»«  s'y  connait,  a  cri4 :  *  Bravo  !  '  Ah  !  ah  !  soldals  comme  nous  autres/ 
TatU  mieu7C,tant  mieux,  M.Pierre!  Terribles  en  batailles—ycUants  awcc 
its  beUest  voUa  les  Franqais,  M.  Pierre,  ri'est  ce  pas  f  " 


894 


WAR  AND  PEACE. 


la  Duchesnois,  Potier,  la  Sorbonne,  //?«  boulevards  !  "  and,  per- 
ceiving that  his  conclusion  was  somewhat  inconsequential,  he 
made  haste  to  add :  "  There  is  only  one  Paris  in  the  world. 
You  have  been  in  Paris,  and  you  remain  Russian !  Well,  I  do 
not  esteem  you  the  less  for  it." 

Under  the  influence  of  the  wine  which  he  had  dmnk,  and 
after  the  days  spent  in  solitude  with  his  sombre  thoughts, 
Pierre  could  not  help  experiencing  a  certain  satisfaction  m 
talking  with  this  jolly  and  good-tempered  gentleman. 

"  To  return  to  your  ladies :  they  are  said  to  be  pretty.  What 
a  crazy  notion  to  go  and  bury  themselves  in  the  steppes,  when 
the  French  army  is  at  ^Moscow  !  What  a  chance  they  have 
missed !  Your  muzhiks !  that's  another  thing !  but  you  are 
civilized  beings,  and  ought  to  know  us  better  than  that.  We 
have  captured  Vienna,  Berlin,  Madrid,  Naples,  Rome,  War- 
saw —  all  the  capitals  of  the  world.  We  are  feared,  but  we 
are  loved.  There's  no  harm  in  knowing  men  like  us.  And 
then  the  emperor  "  —  he  began,  but  Pierre  interrupted  him. 

"  Z'emj9ere?«r,"  repeated  Pierre,  and  his  face  suddenly  as- 
sumed a  gloomy  expression  of  confusion  —  "  Est  ce  que  Vem-- 
2)ereur  ?  "  — 

"  The  emperor !  He  is  generosity,  clemency,  justice,  order^ 
and  genius  itself !  That's  what  the  emperor  is !  I,  Ramball, 
tell  you  so.  I,  the  very  person  before  you,  was  his  enemy 
eight  years  ago!  My  father  was  a  count  and  an  enti^rL 
Bufc  this  man  was  too  much  for  me.  He  conquered  mc  I 
could  not  resist  the  spectacle  of  the  glory  and  grandeur  with 
which  he  was  loading  France.  When  I  understood  what  he 
wanted,  when  I  saw  that  he  was  making  a  perfect  bed  of  lau- 
rels for  us,  do  you  know,  I  said  to  myself :  *  There's  a  sov- 
ereign for  you,'  and  I  gave  myself  to  him.  And  tliat's  the 
whole  story.  Oh,  yes,  my  dear  sir,  he  is  the  greatest  man  of 
the  ages  past  or  to  come." 

"  Is  he  at  Moscow  ?  "  asked  Pierre,  stammering,  and  with 
a  guilty  countenance. 

The  Frenchman  looked  at  Pierre's  guilty  face,  and  smiled. 
"  No :  he  will  make  his  entrance  to-morrow,"  *  said  he,  and 
went  on  with  his  stories. 


mais  V0U9  mitres  gens  civilises^  I'ous  devriez  nous  eonnaitre  mieux  que  fs. 
Nous  avons  pris  Vienne^  Berlin,  Madrid,  Naples,  Rome,  Varsovie  —  t^nttet 
les  cai^itales  du  monde.  —  On  nous  craint,  mais  on  notts  aime.  Notu 
bons  a  connidire.  —Et  puis  I*empercur,  —  Vemperexirl    (TeH  to  g€i 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  395 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  noise  of  many 
voices  at  the  gate,  and  by  Morel  coming  in  to  explain  to  the 
captain  that  some  WUi'ttemberg  hussars  had  made  their 
appearance  and  wanted  to  stable  their  horses  in  the  same 
(Ivor,  which  was  pre-occupied  by  the  captain's  horses. 

The  difficulty  arose  principally  from  the  fact  that  the  hus- 
sars did  not  understand  what  was  said  to  them. 

The  captain  commanded  the  old  non-commissioned  officer 
to  be  brought  into  his  presence,  and,  in  a  stern  voice,  he  began 
to  question  him :  To  what  regiment  did  he  belong  ?  Who 
was  his  chief  ?  and,  By  what  authority  he  permitted  himself 
to  take  possession  of  quarters  that  were  pre-empted  ? 

In  reply  to  the  first  two  questions  the  German,  whose 
knowledge  of  French  was  but  slender,  named  his  regiment 
and  his  superior,  but  in  reply  to  the  last,  which  he  didn't 
miderstand,  he  began  to  explain  in  German  interlarded  with  a 
few  words  of  broken  Fi'ench,  that  he  was  the  billeter  of  his 
regiment,  and  that  he  had  been  ordered  by  his  colonel  to  take 
possession  of  all  the  houses  in  the  row. 

Pierre,  who  knew  German,  interpreted  for  the  captain  what 
the  Wtlrttemberger  said,  and  he  repeated  the  captain's  answer 
in  Crermaa  to  the  hussar.  When  at  last  he  understood  what 
was  meant^  the  German  yielded,  and  withdrew  his  men.  The 
captain  went  to  the  steps  and  gave  some  orders  in  a  loud 
voice. 

When  he  returned  to  the  room,  Pierre  was  still  sitting  in 
the  same  place  as  before,  with  his  hands  clasped  on  top  of 
his  head.  His  face  expressed  suffering.  He  was  actually 
suffering  at  that  moment.  When  the  captain  went  out  and 
Pierre  was  left  alone,  he  suddenly  came  to  his  senses,  and 
realized  the  position  in  which  he  found  himself.  Cruelly  as 
he  felt  the  fact  that  Moscow  was  captured  and  that  these  for- 
tunate victora  were  making  themselves  at  home  in  the  city, 
and  patronizing  him,  still  it  was  not  this  which  chiefly  tor- 
mented Pierre  at  the  moment.  He  was  tortured  by  the 
consciousness  of  his  own  weakness.  The  few  glasses  of  wine 
tiuut  he  had  dnuik,  the  conversation  with  this  good-natured 

fa  d^mence,  la  justice^  Vordrct  le  g€nie :  voilh  Veinpereur  !    (Test  moU  Ram- 
boU,  qui  V0U4  ie  dit.    Tel  que  vottB  me  voyez,  VitaU  eon  ennemi,  ily  a  encore 


wi  qu'il  natte/cdmit  tine  litiere  de  lavrierSf  voye2-voti8,je  me  9vi8  dit :  Voila 
nn  $ouverain.  Et  Je  fne  exiis  donn4  a  ltd.  Oht  om^  mon  cher,  c'est  le  plus 
ffrand  homme  dee  siecles  pasaiee  et  a  venir:'  —  '*E8t-U  a  Moeoou  /  "  —  "  Son^ 
U/era  eon  entre  demain.** 


396  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

man,  had  destroyed  that  darkly  determined  mood  in  which 
Pierre  had  been  living  for  a  day  or  two,  and  which  was  indis- 
pensable for  the  fulfilment  of  his  purpose. 

Pistol  and  dagger  and  kaftan  were  ready.  Napoleon  would 
make  his  entree  on  the  morix)w.  Pierre  felt  that  it  was  lig^t 
and  profitable  to  kill  the  ^<  evil-doer/'  but  he  felt  that  now  be 
should  not  accomplish  his  purpose. 

Why? 

He  knew  not^  but  he  had  the  presentiment  that  he  should 
not  carry  out  his  intention.  He  struggled  against  this  con- 
sciousness of  his  weakness,  but  vaguely  felt  that  he  should 
not  get  the  mastery  of  it,  that  his  former  dark  thoughts  about 
vengeance,  assassination,  and  self-sacriiice  had  scattered  hke 
dust  at  the  first  contact  with  his  fellow-men. 

The  captain,  slightly  limping  and  whistling  some  tune, 
came  back  into  the  room. 

The  Frenchman's  chatter,  which  had  before  amused  Piene, 
now  annoyed  him.  And  the  tune  that  he  was  whistling,  and 
his  gait,  and  his  habit  of  twirling  his  mustache,  —  all  nov 
seemed  offensive  to  Pierre. 

"  I  will  go  instantly,  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  say  to 
him,"  thought  Pierre.  He  thought  this,  but  still  he  kept  his 
seat  in  the  same  place.  A  strange  feeling  of  weakness  rooted 
him  to  his  place :  he  felt  the  desire,  but  he  was  unable  to  get 
up  and  go. 

The  captain,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  very  merry.  He 
paced  two  or  three  times  up  and  down  the  room.  His  eyes 
flashed,  and  his  mustaches  slightly  worked,  as  though  he 
were  smiling  all  by  himself  at  some  merry  conceit  of  his. 
"  Channant  I "  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  le  colonel  de  ees 
Wunembo^crgeois !  c^est  un  allemand :  mats  brave  gar^on^  iU 
enfut     Mais  allemand  I  "  , 

He  sat  down  opposite  Pierre.  ^^  Apropos^  vous  savez  d^M 
r  allemand,  vous  ?  " 

Pierre  looked  at  him  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Comment  dites-vous  asile  en  allemand  ?  " 

"  Asile^^^  repeated  Pierre,  "  asile  en  allemand  ?  —  UnUft- 
kunft !  " 

'^  Comment  dites-vous  ? "  again  asked  the  captain  quickly, 
with  a  shade  of  distrust  in  his  voice. 

"  Unterkunft !  "  repeated  Pierre. 

"  Onterkoff,^^  said  the  captain,  and  looked  at  Pierre  for  sev- 
eral seconds  with  mischievous  eyes.  "  Les  allemands  sont  de 
fibres  hcteSf  n^est  cej^as,  M.  Fierre  ?  "  he  added  by  way  of  con* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  897 

elusion.  "Eh  bien,  encore  une  b&uteille  de  ce  Bordeau  Mosc<h 
vUe,  n^est  ce  pas  ?  Morel !  va  nous  chauffer'  encore  une  petite 
bouteiUej  Morel  I  "  gayly  cried,  the  captain. 

Morel  brought  candles  and  another  bottle  of  wine.  The 
captain  looked  at  Pierre  by  the  light  of  the  candles,  and  v/as 
eTidently  struck  by  his  new  friend's  distracted  face.  With 
genuine  concern  and  sympathy  expressed  in  his  eyes,  he 
went  over  to  Pierre  and  bent  down  over  him. 

^^  Eh  Men,  nous  smiiines  trlstesy"  said  he,  touching  Pierre's 
arm.  "  Have  I  hurt  your  feelings  ?  No,  truly,  haven't  you 
something  against  me  ?  "  he  insisted.  "  Perhaps  your  melan- 
choly is  due  to  the  state  of  things." 

Pierre  made  no  answer,  but  looked  affectionately  into  the 
Frenchman's  eyes.  This  expression  of  sympathy  was  grate- 
ful to  him. 

"  On  my  word  of  honor,  without  reference  to  my  gratitude 
to  you,  I  feel  a  genuine  friendship  for  you.  Can  I  do  any- 
thing  for  you  ?  I  am  entirely  at  your  service.  It  is  for  life 
or  for  death !  I  tell  you  this  with  my  hand  on  my  heart ! " 
said  he,  slapping  himself  on  the  chest. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Pierre. 

The  captain  kept  his  eyes  on  him,  just  as  he  looked  at  him 
when  he  was  learning  what  the  German  for  "  refuge  "  was,  and 
his  face  suddenly  beamed. 

"Ah!  in  that  case,  I  drink  to  our  friendship,"  he  gayly 
cried,  pouring  out  two  glasses  of  wine. 

Pierre  took  his,  and  drained  it.  Eamball  drank  his,  again 
pressed  Pierre's  hand,  and  then  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table 
in  thoughtful,  melancholy  pose :  "  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  see 
the  caprices  of  fortune  ! "  he  began.  "  Who  would  ever  have 
said  that  I  was  going  to  be  a  soldier  and  captain  of  dragoons 
in  the  service  of  Bonaparte,  as  we  called  him  a  little  while 
ago !  And  yet,  here  I  am  in  Moscow  with  him.  I  must  tell 
you,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  continued,  in  the  solemn  and  meas- 
ured voice  of  a  man  who  is  getting  ready  to  spin  a  long  yarn : 
"I  must  tell  you  our  name  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  in 
Prance  "  — 

And,  with  the  easy-going  and  simple  frankness  of  a  French- 
man, the  captain  told  Pierre  the  story  of  his  ancestors,  his 
childhood,  youth  and  manhood,  giving  all  the  particulars 
of  his  ancestry,  his  estates,  and  his  relationships.  "  Ma 
pauvre  mere"  of  course,  played  an  important  role  in  this 
9tory. 

*'^ut  all  that  is  only  the  stage  setting  of  life;  the  re^ 


898  ^V^R  AND  PEACE. 

thing  is  love.   Love !  isn't  that  so,  Mr.  Pierre  ?  "  said  he,  grow- 
ing more  animated.     "  Have  another  glass."  * 

Pierre  drank  it  up,  and  poured  out  for  himself  still  a  tihiid 
glass. 

"  Oh,  les  femmesy  les  femmes  !  ■'  and  the  captain,  with  oily 
eyes,  gazing  at  Pierre,  began  to  talk  about  love  and  about  bis 
gallant  adventures.  He  had  enjoyed  a  very  great  number  of 
them,  as  it  was  easy  to  believe  from  a  glance  in  the  officer's 
handsome,  self-satisfied  face,  and  the  enthusiastic  eagerness 
with  which  he  talked  about  women. 

Although  all  of  KambalPs  adventures  had  that  characteristic 
of  vileness  in  which  the  French  find  the  exclusive  charm  and 
poetry  of  love,  still  the  captain  told  his  stories  with  such  hon- 
est conviction  that  he  was  the  only  one  who  had  ever  experi- 
enced and  understood  all  the  delights  of  love,  and  he  gave  such 
alluring  descriptions  of  women,  that  Pierre  listened  to  him 
with  curiosity. 

It  was  evident  that  P amour  which  the  Frenchman  so  loved 
was  not  that  low  and  simple  sensual  passion  which  Pierre  had 
once  experienced  for  his  wife,  nor  yet  that  romantic  flame 
which  was  kindled  in  his  heart  by  Katasha  —  both  of  which 
kinds  of  love  Ramball  held  in  equal  contempt  —  oae  being, 
according  to  him,  —  Vamour  des  ckarretiersy  carters'  loYe,  t& 
other,  P amour  des  nigauds  —  booby's  love  ;  VaTtwur  which  ihd 
Frenchman  worshipped  consisted  pre-eminently  in  unnatural 
relations  toward  women,  and  in  combinations  of  incongruities 
which  gave  the  chief  charm  to  the  passion. 

Thus  the  captain  related  a  touching  story  of  his  love  for  a 
bewitching  marquise  of  thirty-five,  and,  at  the  same  time,  for 
a  charming  innocent  maiden  of  seventeen,  the  daughter  of  the 
bewitching  marquise.  The  struggle  of  magnanimity  between 
mother  and  daughter,  ending  with  the  mother  sacrificing  her- 
self and  proposing  that  the  daughter  should  become  her 
lover's  wife,  even  now,  though  it  was  a  recollection  brought 
up  from  a  long  buried  past,  moved  the  captain. 

•  "  FoM*  ai-jefait  de  la  peine  f  Noriy  vrai,  avez-vous  quelque  cho9e  eofiHv 
moi  f  Pe-ntStre  rapport  a  la  »Uvation  f  Parole  d'honnevr,  saru  parier  de  « 
queje  vous  dois^  j*ai  de  VamiiUpovr  vous.  Pnis-je  /aire  quelqtte  chose  pour 
vous  f  DUpoaez  de  moi !  C'est  a  la  vie  et  a  la  mori.  &estia  main  svr  U 
ca?t/r  que  je  vous  le  dw.*'  —  "  Merci  !  "  —  *^Ah  !  dafis  ces  cas  je  bois  i  notrit 
amiti^.  Ouit  mon  cher  ami,  voila  les  caprices  de  la  fortune  !  Qui  m^auraU 
dit  que  je  serai  soldat  et  capitai7ie  de  dragons  au  service  de  Bonaparte  eomme 
nous  Vappellions  jadis.  Et  cependant  me  voila  a  Moscou  avec  lui,  nfiKHt9VM 
diref  mon  cher,  que  notre  nom  est  Vun  des  plus  anciens  de  la  France.  —  Mai$ 
tout  9a  ce  n*est  que  la  mise-enrschne  de  la  vie;  le  fond  c'ert  Vceauntr^ 
Vamour  (    ^est  ce  pas,  M*  Pierr§  f  —  Eneore  un  verre  I  '^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  899 

Then  he  related  an  episode  in  which  the  husband  played  the 
lover's  part,  while  he — the  lover — played  the  part  of  husband, 
and  then  several  comical  episodes  from  his  souvenirs  (TAlle- 
magjie,  where  "  asUe  "  was  Unterkunft,  where  les  maris  man- 
gent  de  la  choux  croiite  —  where  husbands  eat  sauerkraut,  and 
where  les  jeunes  filles  sont  trap  blondes  f 

Finally,  his  latest  episode  in  Poland,  which  was  still  fresh 
in  the  captain's  recollections,  for  he  told  it  with  eager  ges- 
tures and  a  flushed  face,  consisted  in  his  having  saved  a 
Polyak's  life  (as  a  general  thing,  in  the  captain's  narrations, 
the  episode  of  life-saving  was  an  important  feature),  and  this 
Polyak  had  intrusted  to  him  his  most  fascinating,  bewitching 
wife  —  "  Parisienne  de  cceur  "  —  while  he  himself  entered  the 
French  service.  The  captain  was  fortunate,  the  bewitching 
Pole  wanted  to  run  away  with  him,  but,  moved  by  generosity, 
he  had  restored  the  wife  to  the  husband,  saying :  "  tJe  vans  ai 
sanve  la  vie  etje  sauve  voire  honneurP^  In  pronouncing  these 
words,  the  captain  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  gave  himself  a  little 
shake,  as  though  to  drive  away  his  weakness  at  such  a  touch- 
ing recollection. 

While  listening  to  the  captain's  yarns,  Pierre,  as  was  apt  to 
be  the  case,  late  in  the  evening,  and  under  the  influence  of  the 
wine,  took  in  all  that  the  captain  had  to  say,  comprehended 
it  all,  and,  at  the  same  time,  connected  it  with  a  whole  series 
of  personal  recollections,  which  somehow  suddenly  began  to 
rise  up  in  his  mind.  As  he  listened  to  these  stories  of  love, 
his  own  love  for  Natasha  occurred  to  him,  with  unexpected 
suddenness,    and   as    he   unrolled,   in  his    imagination,  the 

Cires  of  this  love,  he  mentally  compared  them  with 
ball's. 

Thus,  when  he  followed  that  story  of  the  struggle  between 
love  and  duty,  he  saw,  with  wonderful  vividness,  in  all  its 
details,  his  last  meeting  with  the  object  of  his  love,  near  the 
8ukharef  tower. 

At  that  time  the  meeting  had  not  made  any  special  impress 
sion  upon  him ;  he  had  not  once  since  thought  of  it.  But 
now  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  casual  meeting  had  something 
very  significant  and  poetic. 

"  Piotr  Kiriluitch !    Come  here  I    I  recognized  you  ! " 

He  now  heard  her  saying  those  words ;  he  had  before  him 
a  vision  of  her  eyes,  her  smile,  her  travelling-hood,  a  lock  of 
hair  escaping  from  it, — and  something  very  touching  and 
tender  connected  itself  with  the  whole  scene. 

Having  finished  bis  tale  about  the  bewitching  Polka,  the 


400  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

captain  asked  Pierre  if  he  had  ever  experienced  anything  like 
self-sacrifice  for  love,  or  jealousy  of  a  woman's  husband. 

Aroused  by  this  question,  Pierre  raised  his  head,  and  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  him  to  pour  out  the  thoughts  that  filled  his 
mind.  He  began  to  explain  in  what  a  different  manner  he 
understood  love  for  a  woman.  He  declared  that  in  all  his 
life  he  had  loved  and  should  love  only  one  woman^  and  that 
this  woman  could  never  be  his. 

"  Tiens  / ''  exclaimed  the  captain. 

Pierre  explained  that  he  loved  this  woman  when  he  was 
very  young ;  but  he  did  not  then  dare  to  aspire  to  her,  because 
she  was  too  young,  while  he  was  an  illegitimate  son  without 
name.  Afterward  when  he  had  received  a  name  and  fortune, 
he  could  not  think  of  her,  because  he  loved  her  too  much, 
regarded  her  too  far  above  all  the  world,  and  accordingly  too 
far  above  himself. 

When  he  reached  this  part  of  his  confession,  Pierre  turned 
to  the  captain,  and  asked  him  if  he  understood  him. 

The  captain  made  a  gesture,  as  much  as  to  say  t'nat  if  be 
did  not  understand  him,  still  he  would  beg  him  to  proceed :  — 
^^  L^ amour  platoniquSy  nuageSj^^  he  muttered. 

Either  from  the  wine  which  he  had  drunk,  or  from  the  need 
that  he  felt  of  pouring  out  all  his  heart,  or  from  the  thought 
that  this  man  would  never  know  any  of  the  personages  of 
his  story,  or  from  everything  combined,  Pierre's  tongue  be- 
came unloosened.  And  with  thick  utterance,  and  bleary  eyes 
looking  into  space,  he  related  his  whole  story:  about  his 
marriage  and  the  history  of  Natasha^s  love  for  his  best  friend, 
and  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  her,  and  all  his 
simple  relations  to  her.  And,  under  a  little  pressure  from 
Bamball,  he  disclosed  what  at  first  he  had  concealed :  his 
position  in  society,  and  even  told  him  his  name. 

What  amazed  the  captain  more  than  anything  else  was  the 
fact  that  Pierre  was  very  rich,  that  he  had  two  palaces  in 
Moscow,  and  that  he  had  given  up  everything,  and,  instead  of 
fleeing  from  Moscow,  had  remained  in  the  city,  concealing  his 
name  and  rank. 

It  was  already  very  late  that  night  when  they  went  out 
into  the  street.  It  was  mild  and  bright.  At  the  left  of 
the  house  already  gleamed  the  ruddy  glare  of  the  first  fire, 
that  on  the  Petrovka,  which  was  the  beginning  of  the  con- 
flagration of  Moscow. 

At  the  right,  high  up  in  the  sky,  stood  the  young,  slender 
sickle  of  the  mooUi  and  over  against  the  moon  could  be  seen 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  401 

that  brilliant  comet  which  was  connected  in  Pierre's  mind  with 
his  love. 

At  the  gates  stood  Gerasim,  the  cook,  and  two  Frenchmen, 
laughing  and  talking,  in  two  mutually  incomprehensible  lan< 
guages. 

They  gazed  at  the  ruddy  glow  which  could  be  seen  across 
the  city. 

There  was  nothing  terrible  in  a  small  fire  at  a  distance  in 
the  enormous  city. 

As  he  gazed  at  the  high)  starry  heavens,  at  the  moon,  at  the 
comet,  and  at  the  glare  of  the  conflagration,  Pierre  expe- 
rienced an  agreeable  emotion. 

"  Xow,  this  is  beautiful !  What  more  could  one  need  ?  " 
he  asked  himself.  And  suddenly  when  he  remembered  his 
resolve,  his  head  grew  giddv,  he  felt  so  badly  that  he  had  to 
cling  to  the  fence  not  to  fall.  Without  saying  good-night  to 
his  new  friend,  Pierre,  with  tottering  steps,  left  the  gates,  and, 
returning  to  his  room,  threw  himself  down  on  his  sofa,  and 
instantly  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  glare  of  the  first  fire  that  broke  out,  on  the  fourteenth 
of  September,  was  witnessed  from  various  roads  and  with 
various  feelings  by  the  escaping  and  departing  citizens  and 
the  retreating  tit)ops. 

The  Rostofs  were  spending  that  night  at  Muitishchi,  about 
twenty  versts  from  Moscow.  They  had  started  so  late  on  tho 
thirteenth,  the  road  was  so  encumbered  with  trains  and  troo])s, 
so  many  things  had  been  forgotten,  for  which  men  had  to  be 
sent  back,  that  they  had  determined  to  spend  the  night  at  a 
place  five  versts  from  Moscow. 

On  the  next  morning  they  awoke  late,  and  again  there 
were  so  many  delays  that  they  got  no  farther  than  Bolshiya 
Muitishchi  At  ten  o'clock  the  Bostof  family  and  the  wounded 
men  whom  they  had  brought  with  them  were  all  quartered 
among  the  dvors  and  cottages  of  the  great  village.  Tho 
servants,  the  Bostofs'  drivers,  and  the  denshchiks  of  the 
wounded  men,  having  arranged  for  their  comfort,  had  eaten 
their  suppers,  fed  their  horses,  and  were  come  out  on  tlio 
steps.  In  a  neighboring  cottage  lay  a  wounded  adjutant  to 
Rayevsky,  with  a  smashed  wrist;  and  the  terrible  anguish 
which  he  felt  made  him  groan  piteously  all  the  time^  and 
VOL.  8.-26. 


402  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

these  groans  sounded  terribly  in  the  darkn^ftS  of  the  aatamd 
night.  The  first  night  this  adjutant  had  been  quartered  at 
the  same  dvor  with  the  Bostofs.  The  countess  declared  tliat 
she  could  not  close  her  eyes  on  account  of  his  groaning,  and 
at  Muitishchi  she  had  taken  a  worse  room  so  as  to  be  farther 
away  from  this  wounded  man. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  one  of  the  servants  had  noticed,  just 
behind  the  high  body  of  a  carriage  standing  near  the  gatey  i 
small  glare  of  a  second  conflagation.  One  had  already  beetf 
noticed  some  time  before,  and  ^1  knew  that  that  had  been  \Au6 
village  of  Maluiy  a  Muitishchi,  set  on  fire  by  Mamonofs  Cossacks 

''  Look  at  that,  boys !  another  fire ! "  said  the  denshchiL 
The  attention  of  all  was  attracted  to  the  glare. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  say  Maluiya  Muitishchi  has  been  set  on  fiie 
by  Mamonofs  Cossacks." 

«  They  ?  No !  that's  not  Muitishchi ;  it's  farther  off.  See 
there !    That  must  be  Moscow ! " 

Two  of  the  men  came  down  from  the  porch,  went  behind 
the  carriage,  and  climbed  on  the  rack. 

^'  It's  too  far  to  the  left  for  Muitishchi  —  'way  round  on  the 
other  side." 

Several  men  came  and  joined  the  others. 

"  See  how  it  flares  up ! "  said  one.  "  Yes,  gentlemen,  that 
fire's  in  Moscow  —  either  in  the  Sushchevskaya  or  in  the 
Rogozhskaya." 

No  reply  was  made  to  this  conjecture.  And  for  some  time 
all  these  men  looked  in  silence  at  the  distant  flames  of  this 
new  conflagration,  which  seemed  to  be  spreading. 

An  old  man,  the  count's  valet  (Kammerdietiery  as  they 
called  him),  Danilo  Terentyitch,  came  out  to  the  crowd  and 
shouted  to  Mishka,  — 

"  What  are  you  staring  at,  you  blockhead  ?  —  The  count  is 
calling  and  no  one  there  ;  go  put  his  clothes  away." 

"  I  only  came  out  after  some  water,"  said  Mishka. 

"Now,  what  do  you  think,  Danilo  Terentyitch  —  is  your 
idea  that  fire's  in  Moscow  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  lackeys. 

Danilo  Terentyitch  made  no  reply,  and  again  they  all  stood 
for  a  long  time  silent. 

The  glare  spread  and  wavered  over  a  wider  and  wider 
stretch  of  the  horizon. 

"  Grod  have  mercy !  The  wind  and  the  drought ! "  said  a 
voice  at  last. 

*^  Just  look  !  how  far  it  has  gone  !  Oh,  Lord !  I  think  I 
can  see  the  jackdaws  I    Lord,  have  mercy  on  us  sinners  I " 


WAR  AND  PJSACe.  408 

**  They'll  put  it  out,  never  fear  ! " 

"  Who^s  to  put  it  out  ?  "  Danilo  Terentyitch's  voice  was 
heard  asking.  He  had  not  spoken  till  then.  His  tone  was 
calm  and  deliberate.  '<  Yes,  that  is  Moscow,  boys,''  said  he. 
**Our  white-walled  m^tush"  — His  voice  broke,  and  he  sobbed 
like  an  old  man. 

And  it  was  as  though  all  were  waiting  for  this,  before  they 
could  realize  the  meaning  which  this  glare  that  they  saw  had 
for  them.  Sighs  were  heard,  ejaculations  from  prayers,  and 
the  old  kammerdiener's  sobs. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

The  kammerdiener  returned  to  the  house,  and  informed  the 
count  that  Moscow  was  burning. 

The  count  put  on  his  dressing-gown  and  went  out  to  look. 
With  him  went  Sonya  and  Madame  Schoss,  who  had  not  yet 
undressed.  Natasha  and  the  countess  were  alone  in  their 
room.  Petya  was  now  parted  from  his  family ;  he  had  gone 
on  ahead  with  his  regiment,  which  was  rendezvousing  at 
Troitsa. 

The  countess  wept  when  she  heard  that  Moscow  was  on 
fire.  Natasha,  pale,  with  fixed  eyes,  was  sitting  on  a  bench 
under  the  holy  pictures  —  in  the  same  place  where  she  had 
taken  hex  seat  when  they  first  came  in  —  and  paid  not  the 
slightest  attention  to  her  father's  report.  She  listened  to  the 
adjutant's  incessant  groaning,  which  could  be  heard  three 
houses  off. 

"  Akh !  how  hon-ible  ! "  exclaimed  Sonya,  coming  in  from 
out  of  doors,  chilled  and  scared.  ^'  I  think  all  Moscow  is  on 
fire ;  it's  a  terrible  blaze  !  Natasha,  come  here  and  look.  You 
can  see  it  now  from  this  window  !  "  she  exclaimed,  evidently 
wishing  to  rouse  her  cousin  from  her  thoughts. 

But  Natasha  looked  at  her  as  though  not  comprehending 
what  she  wanted,  and  again  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  the 
stove. 

Natasha  had  been  in  that  state  of  petrifaction  since  early 
that  morning,  from  the  moment  when  Sonya,  to  the  amazement 
and  annoyance  of  the  countess,  without  any  reason  for  doing 
so,  had  taken  it  upon  her  to  tell  Natasha  about  Prince  Andrei 
being  wounded,  and  that  he  was  with  them  in  their  train. 
The  countess  was  more  angry  with  Sonya  than  she  had  ever 
been  before.     Sonya  had  wept  and  begged  for  forgiveness,  and 


406  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Then  the  countess  spoke  to  Natasha.      Natasha  made  IM) 
reply. 

"  I  think  she's  asleep,  mamma,"  softly  replied  Sonya.  The 
countess,  after  a  little  interval  of  silence,  spoke  again,  bat 
this  time  no  one  answered  her. 

Soon  after,  Natasha  heard  her  mother^s  measured  breathing. 

Natasha  did  not  move,  though  her  little  bare  foot,  peeping 
out  from  under  the  bed-covering,  felt  the  chill  of  the  uncar- 
peted  floor. 

A  cricket,  as  though  proud  of  watching  over  all,  chirped  in 
a  crevice.  A  cock  crowed  at  a  distance  and  was  answered  by 
another  nearer.  The  shouts  had  ceased  in  the  tavern;  the 
only  other  sound  was  the  constant  groans  of  the  adjutant.  Na- 
tasha sat  up  in  bed. 

"  Scnya  ?  —  Asleep  ?  —  Mamma  ?  "  she  whispered. 

No  one  answered. 

Natasha  slowly  and  cautiously  arose,  crossed  herself,  caor 
tiously  set  her  light,  slender,  bare  foot  on  the  cold,  dirty  floor. 
The  boards  creaked.  She  ran  nimbly  as  a  kitten  for  a  few 
steps  and  took  hold  of  the  cold  latch  of  the  door. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  though  something  heavy  were  knocking 
with  regular  strokes  on  all  the  walls  of  the  izb^  It  was  her 
heart  beating  and  almost  bursting  with  terror  and  love. 

She  opened  the  door,  crossed  the  threshold,  and  set  foot  on 
the  damp,  cold  earth  of  the  passageway.  The  coolness  re- 
freshed her.  She  touched  a  sleeping  man  with  her  bare  foot, 
stepped  over  him,  and  opened  the  door  into  the  izbd  wliere 
Prince  Andrei  was  lying.  It  was  dark  in  this  room.  On  a 
bench  in  the  corner,  ]ust  back  of  the  bed,  whereon  something 
lay,  stood  a  tallow  candle  which  in  burning  had  taken  the 
form  of  a  great  mushroom. 

Natasha,  ever  since  that  morning  when  she  learned  aboat 
I^rince  Andrei's  wound  and  that  he  was  with  them,  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  must  see  him.  She  knew  not  why  this 
was  necessary,  but  she  knew  that  the  interview  would  be 
painful,  and  therefore  she  was  all  the  more  certain  that  it  was 
inevitable. 

All  that  day  she  had  lived  in  the  sole  hope  of  being  able  to 
see  him  that  night.  But  now  when  the  moment  had  actually 
come  she  was  filled  with  horror  at  the  thought  of  what  she 
was  going  to  see.  How  was  he  mutilated?  How  much  of 
him  was  left?  Was  he  like  the  adjutant's  incessant  groans? 
Yes,  he  must  be.  In  her  imagination  he  was  the  very  embodi- 
ment of  these  horrible  groans. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  407 

When  she  caught  sight  of  an  ill-defined  mass  in  the  corner, 
tod  took  his  knees  thrust  up  under  the  bedclothes  for  his 
shoulders,  she  imagined  some  horrible  body,  and  her  terror 
compelled  her  to  pause.  But  an  unexpected  force  compelled 
her  forward.  She  cautiously  took  one  step,  then  another,  and 
found  herself  in  the  middle  of  the  small  room  filled  with  lug- 
gage. On  the  bench  in  the  corner  under  the  holy  pictures  lay 
another  man  (this  was  Timokhin),  and  on  the  floor  lay  two 
other  men  (the  doctor  and  the  valet). 

The  valet  sat  up  and  whispered  something.  Timokhin,  suf- 
fering from  pain  in  his  wounded  leg,  was  not  asleep,  and  stared 
With  all  his  eyes  at  this  strange  apparition  of  a  young  girl  in 
her  white  night-gown,  dressing-sack,  and  night-cap. 

The  sleepy  and  startled  woi-ds  of  the  valet,  "  What  do  you 
want  ?  who  is  it  ?  "  merely  caused  Natasha  to  step  the  more 
quickly  to  what  was  lying  in  the  corner.  However  terribly 
unlike  the  form  of  man  that  body  was,  she  still  must  see  it. 
She  passed  by  the  valet ;  the  candle  flared  up,  and  she  clearly 
saw  Prince  Andrei  with  his  arms  stretched  out  over  the  spread, 
and  looking  just  as  she  had  always  known  him.  He  was  the 
same  as  ever.  But  the  flushed  face,  his  gleaming  eyes  gazing 
at  her  with  ecstasy,  and  especially  his  delicate  boyish  throat, 
relieved  by  the  opened  shirt^ollar,  gave  him  a  peculiarly  inno- 
cent, babyish  appearance  such  as  she  had  never  seen  in  him. 

She  went  to  him,  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees  with  the 
swift,  pliant  grace  of  youth. 

He  smiled^  and  extended  to  her  his  hand. 

'  CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  WEEK  had  passed  since  Prince  Andrei  had  come  to  himself 
in  the  field  lazaret  of  Borodino.  Almost  all  of  this  time  he 
had  been  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness.  His  feverish  condi- 
tion, and  the  inflammation  of  his  intestines,  which  had  suffered 
a  lesion,  must,  in  the  opinion  of  the  surgeon  who  attended  him, 
carry  him  off.  But  on  the  seventh  day  he  ate  a  morsel  of 
bread  and  drank  some  tea  with  appetite,  and  the  doctor  re- 
marked that  his  fever  had  diminished. 

Prince  Andrei  had  come  to  himself  in  the  morning.  The 
first  night  after  they  left  REoscow  had  been  pretty  warm,  and 
Prince  Andrei  had  not  been  moved  from  his  calash ;  but  at 
Muitishchi  he  himself  had  asked  to  be  taken  into  a  house  and 
given  some  tea*    The  anguish  caused  by  moving  him  into  the 


408  H^^^  ^^^  PEACE. 

izb&  caused  Prince  Andrei  to  groan  aloud,  and  to  lose  conscioofi- 
ness  again.  When  they  had  placed  him  on  the  camp  bed,  he 
lay  for  a  long  time  motionless,  with  closed  eyes.  Then  he  had 
opened  them,  and  asked  in  a  whisper:  "Can  I  have  tea  ?" 

This  memory  for  even  the  least  details  of  life  amazed  the 
surgeon.  He  felt  of  his  pulse,  and,  to  his  surprise  and  regret, 
discovered  that  his  pulse  was  better.  The  doctor  remarked  it 
with  regret,  because  from  his  experience  he  was  certain  thai 
Prince  Andrei  could  not  live,  and  that  if  he  wei*e  to  live  on  he 
would  only  have  to  die  a  little  later  in  terrible  agony. 

The  red-nosed  major  of  his  regiment,  Timokhin,  had  been 
also  brought  to  Moscow  with  him,  wounded  in  the  leg  in  the 
same  battle  of  Borodino.  They  were  accompanied  by  the  su^ 
geon,  the  prince's  valet,  his  coachman,  and  two  denshchiks. 

They  handed  Prince  Andrei  his  tea.  He  drank  it  es^rlj, 
looking  with  feverish  eyes  straight  ahead  at  the  door  as  though 
trying  to  understand  and  remember  something. 

"  I  don't  want  any  more.  Is  Timokhin  there  ?  "  he  asked. 
Timokhin  crept  along  on  the  bench  toward  him. 

"  I  am  here,  your  illustriousness." 

"  How  is  the  wound  ?  " 

«  Mine  ?    It's  all  right.     But  you  ?  " 

Prince  Andrei  again  lay  thinking,  as  though  trying  to  re- 
member something. 

"  Can't  you  get  me  the  book  ?  '*  he  asked. 

"  What  book  ?  " 

"  The  New  Testament." 

"I  haven't  one." 

The  doctor  promised  to  get  one  for  him,  and  began  to  in- 
quire of  the  prince  how  he  felt.  Prince  Andrei  answered 
reluctantly  but  intelligibly  to  all  the  doctor's  qiiestions,  and 
then  said  that  he  would  like  a  bolster,  for  he  felt  uncomfort- 
able, and  his  wound  was  very  painful.  The  doctor  and  valet 
took  off  the  cloak  which  covered  him,  and,  scowling  .at  the 
putrid  odor  of  the  gangrene  spreading  through  the  wound, 
began  to  examine  the  terrible  place.  The  surgeon  found  the 
state  of  things  very  unsatisfactory,  made  some  different  dispo- 
sition of  the  bandages,  and  turned  the  wounded  man  over,  so 
that  it  made  him  groan  again  ;  and  the  agony  caused  in  turn- 
ing him  back  again  made  him  lose  consciousness,  and  be 
began  to  be  delirious.  He  kept  insisting  that  they  should 
fetch  for  him  as  quickly  as  possible  the  book  that  he  had 
wanted,  and  place  it  in  such  and  such  a  place. 

"  Wliat  would  it  cost  you  ?  "  he  asked.     "  I  haven't  one— 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  409 

please  get  me  one  I  —  let  me  have  it  for  a  little  minute  ! " 
lie  pleaded,  in  a  pitiful  voice. 

The  doctor  went  into  the  entry  to  wash  his  hands. 

<<Akh!  It's  terrible,  truly!"  said  he  to  the  valet,  who  was 
pouring  water  for  him  over  his  hands.  '^  Only  look  at  him 
for  a  moment.  Why,  it's  such  agony  that  I  am  amazed  that 
he  endures  it." 

"  Well,  we  have  to  take  what  is  sent  us  I  Oh  Lord,  Jesus 
Christ  1 "  ejaculated  the  valet. 

For  the  iirst  time,  Prince  Andrei  realized  where  he  was  and 
what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and  remembered  that  he  had 
been  wounded,  and  how,  when  the  carriage  stopped  at  Mui- 
tishchi,  he  had  asked  to  be  taken  into  the  izba.  His  mind 
grew  confused  again  from  the  pain,  but  he  came  to  himself, 
for  a  second  time,  in  the  izba,  as  he  was  drinking  the  tea ;  and 
then  once  more,  as  he  went  over  all  his  experience,  he  more 
vividly  than  anything  else  recalled  that  moment  at  the  field 
lazaret  when,  at  sight  of  the  sufferings  of  the  man  whom  he  so 
hated,  new  thoughts,  that  gave  promise  of  happiness,  came 
to  him. 

And  these  thoughts,  though  obscure  and  vague,  now  again 
took  possession  of  his  mind.  He  remembered  that  a  new 
happiness  had  come  to  him,  and  that  this  happiness  was  some- 
how connected  with  the  GospeL  Therefore  he  had  asked  for 
the  New  Testament. 

But  the  new  position  in  which  his  wound  had  been  placed, 
and  the  turning  him  over,  had  again  confused  his  thoughts ; 
and  when,  for  the  third  time,  he  awoke  to  a  consciousness  of 
life,  it  was  in  the  absolute  silence  of  night. 

All  were  asleep  around  him.  A  cricket  was  chirping  in 
another  room;  some  one  was  shouting  and  singing  in  the 
street ;  cockroaches  were  rustling  over  the  table,  the  holy  pic- 
tures, and  the  walls ;  a  fat  fly  came  blundering  against  his 
pillow,  and  buzzed  around  the  tallow  candle  with  the  mush- 
room arrangement  that  stood  near  him. 

His  mind  was  not  in  its  normal  condition.  The  healthy 
inan  ordinarily  thinks,  feels,  and  remembers  a  countless  collec- 
tion of  objects  at  one  and  the  same  time ;  but  he  has  the  power 
and  strength  to  choose  one  series  of  thoughts  or  phenomena, 
and  to  give  to  this  series  all  his  attention. 

The  man  in  health,  no  matter  how  deep  may  be  his  thoughts, 
can  put  them  aside  at  a  moment's  notice  in  order  to  speak  a 
courteous  word  to  any  one  coming  in,  and  then  immeaiately 
to  resume  them  again, 


410  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Prince  Andrei's  mind  was  not  in  a  normal  condition  in  tliis 
respect.  All  its  forces  were  more  keen  and  active  than  ever^ 
but  their  activity  was  entirely  outside  of  his  will.  They 
were  governed  by  the  most  heterogeneous  thoughts  and 
visions. 

Sometimes  his  mind  began  suddenly  to  work,  and  with  an 
energy,  clearness,  and  subtlety  such  as  it  had  never  shown 
when  he  was  in  health.  And  then  just  as  suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  this  fabrication  of  his  brain,  some  unexpected  vision 
would  interpose  and  interrupt,  and  he  would  not  have  the 
strength  to  return  to  it. 

<^  Yes,  a  new  happiness  was  revealed  to  me,  —  a  happiness^ 
man's  indefeasible  right,"  he  said  to  liimself,  as  he  lay  in  the 
dusky  quiet  izba,  and  looked  up  with  feverishly  wide-open 
and  hxed  eyes.  "  A  happiness  to  be  found  outside  of  material 
forces,  outside  of  exterior,  material  influences,  the  happiness  of 
the  spirit  alone,  of  love.  Every  man  can  understand  it,  but 
God  alone  can  adjudge  it  and  prescribe  it.  But  how  does  God 
prescribe  this  law  ?    Why  did  the  Son  ?  "  — 

And  suddenly  the  course  of  his  thoughts  was  broken  off,, 
and  Prince  Andrei  heard,  but  he  could  not  tell  whether  he 
really  heard  it  or  whether  it  was  his  delirium,  —  he  heard  a. 
low  lisping  voice  constantly  rehearsing  in  measured  rh3rthm : 
^H  piti — piti — pitV^  —  and  then  again  "i  ti-tV^  and  then 
^Hpiti — plti — j5iYi,''  and  then  once  more  "  *  ti-tU^ 

At  the  same  time  that  this  whispered  music  was  ringfing,. 
Prince  Andrei  felt  that  over  his  face,  over  the  very  centre  of 
it,  was  rising  a  strange  sort  of  airy  edifice  of  delicate  little 
needles  or  shavings.  He  felt  —  but  this  was  trj^ing  to  him  — 
that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  keep  in  perfect  equilibrium, 
so  that  the  growing  edifice  might  not  crumble ;  but  neverthe-^ 
less  it  fell  down,  and  then  slowly  arose  again  to  the  sounds 
of  this  whispered,  rhythmic  music. 

"  It  is  growing,  it  is  growing !  it  is  stretching  up  and  ^row« 
ing  ! "  said  Prince  Andrei  to  himself. 

At  the  same  time  that  he  heard  the  whispered  music,  and 
with  the  perception  of  that  upstretching  and  rising  edi6ce  of 
needles,  Prince  Andrei  could  see  by  fits  and  starts  the  ruddy 
circle  of  the  candle  light,  and  could  hear  the  laistling  of  the 
cockroaches  and  the  buzzing  of  the  fly  which  blundered 
against  his  pillow  and  his  face.  And  whenever  the  fly  struck 
his  face  it  produced  a  burning  sensation ;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  was  amazed  because  when  it  touched  the  domain 
occupied  by  that  structure  pf  needles  it  did  not  affect  it. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  411 

Then,  moreover,  there  was  something  else  singular.  This 
was  something  white  by  the  door,  it  was  a  statue  of  the 
sphinx,  which  also  crushed  him. 

"But  maybe  that  is  my  shirt  on  the  table,"  thought  Prince 
Andrei,  "  but  these  are  my  legs,  and  that  is  the  door,  but  why 
does  that  structure  rise  up  and  stretch  out  so,  and  that 
piti — piti — piti  i  ti-ti  i  piti — piti — piti  ?  —  That  is  enough — 
please  stop,"  begged  Prince  Andrei  as  though  of  some  one. 
And  suddenly  again  his  thoughts  and  feeling  became  extraor- 
dinarily clear  and  distinct. 

"  Yes,  love,"  he  thought  with  perfect  distinctness,  "  but  not 
that  love  which  loves  for  a  purpose,  for  a  personal  end,  but 
that  love  which  I  for  the  first  time  experienced  when,  dying, 
I  saw  my  enemy,  and  could  still  love  him.  I  experienced  the 
feeling  of  love  which  is  the  very  substance  of  the  soul,  and 
which  needs  no  object.  And  even  now  I  experience  that 
blessed  feeling.  To  love  one's  neighbors,  to  love  one's  ene- 
mies. Always  to  love — to  love  God  in  all  his  manifestations. 
To  love  one's  friends  is  human  love ;  but  to  love  one's  enemies 
is  divine.  And  this  is  what  made  me  experience  such  bliss 
when  I  felt  that  I  loved  that  man !  What  has  become  of  him  ? 
Is  he  living,  or  — 

'^Love  in  its  human  form  may  pass  over  into  hate ;  but  God's 
love  cannot  change.  Nothing,  not  even  death,  can  destroy  it. 
It  is  the  very  substance  of  the  soul.  But  how  many  people 
have  I  hated  in  my  life !  And  none  have  I  ever  loved  more 
warmly  or  hated  more  bitterly  than  her ! " 

And  he  vividly  pictured  Natasha,  not  as  she  had  formerly 
seemed  to  his  imagination,  through  her  charming  personality 
alone ;  but,  for  the  first  time,  in  her  spiritual  nature.  And  he 
understood  her  feelings,  her  suffering,  her  shame,  and  her 
repentance. 

He  now  for  the  first  time  realized  all  the  cruelty  of  his 
renunciation,  saw  the  cruelty  of  his  break  with  her. 

"  If  I  might  only  see  her  once  again  —  once  again  look  into 
her  eyes,  and  tell  her." 

"  I  piti  — piti  — piti  —  i  ti-ti  i  piti  — piti  —  humm  I "  went 
the  fly.  And  his  attention  was  suddenly  diverted  to  that 
other  world  of  delirious  activity  in  which  such  strange  things 
took  place.  In  this  world,  just  the  same  as  before,  that  edifice 
arose  and  crumbled  not,  the  candle  burned  with  its  red  halo, 
the  same  shirt-sphinx  *  lay  by  the  door ;  but,  in  addition  to 
(dl  this,  there  was  a  squeaking  sound,  there  was  the  odpr  of  ^ 


412  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

cooling  breeze,  and  a  new  white  sphinx  appeared,  standing  in 
front  of  the  door.  And  this  sphinx  had  a  pallid  face,  and 
the  sparkling  eyes  of  that  same  Natasha  of  wnom  he  had  but 
just  been  thinking. 

<'  Oh !  how  trying  this  incessant  hallucination  is ! "  said 
Prince  Andrei  to  himself,  striving  to  banish  this  vision  from 
his  imagination.  But  the  face  still  stood  in  front  of  him  in 
all  the  vividness  of  reality :  nay,  this  face  approached  him. 

Prince  Andrei  was  anxious  to  return  to  the  former  world  of 

i)ure  thought,  but  he  could  not,  and  the  delirium  compelled 
lim  into  its  thraldom.  The  low  whispering  voice  continued 
its  rhythmic  lisping,  something  oppressed  him  like  a  weight, 
and  the  strange  vision  stood  in  front  of  him. 

Phnce  Andrei  summoned  all  his  energies  so  as  to  becotne 
master  of  himself ;  he  moved,  and  suddenly  in  his  ears  there 
was  a  humming,  his  eyes  grew  clouded,  and,  like  a  man  plunged 
in  water,  he  lost  consciousness. 

When  he  came  to  his  senses,  Natasha,  the  veritable  living 
Natasha,  whom  of  all  people  in  the  world  he  had  been  most 
anxious  to  love  with  that  new,  pui-e,  divine  love  just  revealed 
to  him,  was  before  him,  on  her  knees  I 

He  realized  that  this  was  the  living,  actual  Natasha;  and 
he  felt  no  surprise,  but  only  a  gentle  sense  of  gladnesa. 

Natasha,  on  her  knees  before  him,  held  back  her  sobs  and 
gazed  at  him  timidly  but  intently ;  she  could  not  stir.  Her 
face  was  pale  and  motionless ;  only  the  lips  quivered  slightly. 

Prince  Andrei  drew  a  sigh  of  relief,  smiled  and  stretched 
out  his  hand. 

**  You  ?  "  he  asked.     "  What  happiness ! " 

Natasha,  still  on  her  knees,  with  swift  but  cautious  move- 
ment bent  over  to  him,  and,  cautiously  taking  his  hand,  bent 
her  face  down  to  it  and  began  to  kiss  it,  scarcely  touching  it 
with  her  lips. 

*'  Forgive  me ! "  she  murmured,  lifting  her  head  and  gaiing 
at  him.     "  Forgive  me  ! " 

"  I  love  you ! "  said  Prince  Andrei. 

"Forgive"  — 

"  What  have  I  to  forgive  ?  "  asked  Prince  Andrei. 

"  For  —  give  me  for  —  what  I  —  did  I "  stammered  Natasha 
almost  inaudibly,  and  she  began  to  kiss  his  hand  faster  than 
before,  scarcely  touching  it  with  her  lips. 

"  I  love  thee  better,  more  dearly  than  before,"  said  Prince 
Andrei,  lifting  her  face  with  his  hand  so  that  he  mi^ht  look 
into  her  eyes. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  418 

Those  ejes,  overfiowing  with  blissful  tears,  looked  at  him 
timidly,  compassionately,  and  with  the  ecstasy  of  love.  Na- 
tasha's face  was  thin  and  pale,  the  lips  swollen ;  it  had  no 
trace  of  beauty ;  it  was  f rigntful.  But  Prince  Andrei  did  not 
notice  that;  he  saw  her  sparkling  eyes,  and  they  were 
beautiful. 

Voices  were  heard  behind  them.  Piotr,  the  princess  valet, 
now  thoroughly  awake,  aroused  the  doctor.  Timokhin,  who 
had  not  been  asleep  at  all  on  account  of  the  pain  in  his  leg, 
had  not  noticed  what  had  been  going  on,  and,  solicitously  cov- 
ering himself,  curled  himself  up  on  the  bench. 

''What  does  this  mean?''  asked  the  doctor,  sitting  up. 
"Please,  sudaminya!" 

At  the  same  time  the  maid  sent  by  the  countess  to  fetch 
her  daughter  knocked  at  the  door. 

Like  a  somnambulist  awakened  in  the  midst  of  her  dream, 
Natasha  left  the  room,  and,  returning  to  her  own  izb4,  fell  sob- 
bing on  her  bed. 

From  that  day  forth,  during  all  the  rest  of  the  Rostofs' 

i'ourney,  at  all  their  halts  and  resting-places,  Natasha  staid 
>y  the  wounded  Bolkonsky's  side,  and  the  doctor  was  forced 
to  confess  that  he  had  never  expected  to  see  in  a  young  girl 
such  constancy  or  such  skilfulness  in  nursing  a  wounded  man. 

Terrible  as  it  seemed  to  the  countess  to  think  that  the 
prince  might  (or,  as  the  doctor  said,  probably  would)  die  dur- 
mg  the  journey,  in  her  daughter's  arms,  she  had  not  the  heart 
to  refuse  Natasha. 

Though,  in  consequence  of  the  now  re-established  relation- 
ship between  the  wounded  prince  and  Natasha,  it  occurred  to 
them  that  in  case  he  recovered  the  engagement  might  be  re- 
newed, no  one  —  Natasha  and  Prince  Andrei  least  of  all  — 
spoke  about  it.  The  undecided  question  of  life  and  death 
banging  over,  not  Bolkonsky  alone,  but  over  Eussia  as  well, 

kept  all  other  considerations  in  the  background. 

* 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Pierre  awoke  late  on  the  fifteenth  of  September.  His  head 
ached ;  his  clothes,  in  which  he  had  slept  without  undressing, 
hung  heavy  on  him,  and  his  mind  was  burdened  by  a  dull  con- 
sciousness of  something  shameful  which  he  had  done  the 
night  before. 


414  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

This  shameful  act  was  his  talk  with  Captain  BambalL 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  by  his  watch,  but  it  seemed  peculiarly 
dark  out  of  doors.  Pierre  got  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  seeing 
the  pistol  with  its  carved  handle,  which  Oerasim  had  replaced 
on  the  writing-table,  Pierre  remembered  where  he  was  and 
what  was  before  him  on  that  day. 

"But  am  I  not  too  late  ?  "  he  queried.  "No,  probably  he 
would  not  make  his  entree  into  Moscow  later  taan  twelve 
o'clock." 

Pierre  did  not  allow  himself  to  think  what  was  before  him, 
but  he  made  all  the  greater  haste  to  act 

Having  adjusted  bis  attire,  Pierre  took  up  the  pistol  and 
made  ready  to  go.  But  then  the  thought  for  the  first  time 
occurred  to  him  how  he  should  carry  his  weapon  through  the 
street  otherwise  than  in  his  hand.  It  was  certainly  hard  to 
hide  the  great  pistol  under  the  flowing  kaftan.  Nor  was  it 
possible  to  keep  it  out  of  sight  in  his  belt  or  under  his  arm. 
Moreover  the  pistol  had  been  discharged,  and  Piene  had  not 
had  time  to  reload  it. 

"  Well,  the  dagger  is  just  as  good,"  said  he  to  himself, 
though  more  th^  once,  while  deliberating  over  the  accom* 
plishment  of  his  undertaking,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  chief  mistake  made  by  the  student  in  1809  consisted 
in  his  trying  to  kill  Napoleon  with  a  dagger. 

But  as  Pierre's  chief  end  consisted  not  so  much  in  fulfilling 
the  scheme  which  he  planned  as  it  did  in  proving  to  him- 
self that  he  had  not  renounced  his  purpose,  and  was  doing 
everything  to  fulfil  it,  Pierre  hastily  seized  the  blunt  and 
notched  dagger  in  its  green  sheath,  which  he  had  bought 
together  with  the  pistol  at  the  Sukharef  tower,  and  concealed 
it  under  his  waistcoat. 

Having  belted  up  his  kaftan  and  pulled  his  hat  down  over 
his  eyes,  Pierre,  trying  to  make  no  noise  and  to  avoid  the  c^ 
tain,  crept  along  the  conidor  and  went  into  the  street. 

The  fire  which  he  had  looked  at  so  indifferently  the  even- 
ing before  had  noticeably  increased  during  the  night.  Mos- 
cow was  burning  in  various  directions.  At  one  and  the  same 
time  the  carriage-market,  the  district  across  the  river,*  the 
Gostinnui  Dvor,  the  Povarskaya,  the  boats  on  the  Moskva,  and 
the  timber-yaixls  by  the  Dorogomilovsky  bridge,  were  on  fire. 

Pierre's  route  took  him  by  cix)8s-streets  to  the  Povar- 
skaya, and  thence  along  the  Arbat  to  St.  Nikola  Yavlennra, 
where,  in  his  imagination,  he  had  determined  should  be  thd 

*  The  ZamoBkvcretchye* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  415 

place  for  tlie  execution  of  his  project.  Most  of  the  houses 
had  their  doors  and  window  shutters  nailed  up.  The  streets 
and  alleys  were  deserted.  The  air  was  full  of  smoke  and  the 
smell  of  burning.  Occasionally  he  met  Russians  with  anx- 
iously timid  faces,  and  Frenchmen  of  uncititied,  military 
aspect,  who  walked  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  AH  looked 
with  amazement  at  Pierre.  The  Russians  were  impressed 
not  only  by  his  great  height  and  stoutness,  his  strange, 
gloomily  concentrated  and  martyr-like  expression  of  face  and 
figure,  and  they  stared  at  him  because  they  could  not  make 
out  to  what  rank  of  life  he  belonged.  The  French  followed 
him  in  amazement,  because  Pierre,  unlike  the  other  Russians, 
paid  absolutely  no  attention  to  them^  instead  of  looking  at 
them  in  trepidation  or  curiosity. 

At  the  gates  of  one  house  three  Frenchmen,  trying  to  talk 
to  some  Russian  servants  who  could  understand  nothing  that 
they  said,  stopped  Pierre  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  French. 

Pierre  shook  his  head  and  went  on  his  way.  In  another 
cross-street  the  sentinel  mounted  by  a  green  caisson  chal- 
lenged him,  and  it  was  not  until  Pierre  heard  his  threatening 
call  repeated  and  the  click  of  his  musket,  which  the  sentinel 
took  up,  that  he  realized  that  he  must  go  round  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street. 

He  heard  nothing  and  saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on 
around  him.  With  a  sense  of  nervous  haste  and  horror,  he 
took  with  him,  like  something  terrible  and  alien  to  him,  that 
project  of  his,  and  feared  —  taught  by  his  experience  of  the 
night  before  —  that  something  would  distract  him.  But  it 
was  not  Pierre's  destiny  to  reach  his  destination  in  the  same 
frame  of  mind.  Moreover,  even  if  there  had  occurred  nothing 
to  detain  him,  his  project  could  not  now  have  been  carried  out, 
for  the  reason  that  Napoleon,  some  four  hours  previously,  had 
passed  through  the  Dorogomilovsky  suburb,  across  the  Arbat, 
into  the  Kreml,  and  now  was  seated  in  the  gloomiest  frame  of 
mind  in  the  imperial  cabinet  of  the  Kreml  palace,  issuing 
detailed  and  urgent  orders  in  regard  to  the  measures  to  be 
taken  at  once  for  quenching  the  fires,  preventing  pillage,  and 
re-assuring  the  inhabitants. 

But  Pierre  knew  nothing  about  this  :  wholly  absorbed  in 
the  actual,  he  was  tormenting  himself  as  men  do  who  recog- 
nize that  their  undertaking  is  impossible,  not  because  of  its 
difficulties,  but  because  it  is  so  entirely  unsuited  to  their 
nature.  He  was  tormented  by  his  fear  that  at  the  decisive 
moment  he  should  weaken,  and  in  consequence  of  it  lose  his 
Belf-respect. 


416  WAR  ^xVZ)  PEACE, 

Although  he  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing,  he  instinct- 
ively took  the  right  road  and  made  no  mistake  in  following 
the  cross-fitreets  that  led  him  into  the  Povai*skaya. 

But  in  proportion  as  Pierre  approached  the  Povarskaya  the 
smoke  grew  denser  and  denser,  and  he  even  began  to  feel  the 
heat  from  the  fire.  Occasionally,  he  could  see  tongues  of 
flame  behind  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  More  people  were  met 
on  the  streets,  and  these  people  were  more  excited  and  anx- 
ious. But  Pierre,  though  he  was  conscious  that  something 
extraordinary  was  going  on  around  him,  did  not  realize  that 
be  was  approaching  the  conflagration. 

As  he  followed  along  a  foot-path  that  skirted  a  large  open 
space,  bordered  on  one  side  by  the  Povarskaya,  on  the  otner 
by  the  park  attached  to  Prince  Gruzinsky's  mansion,  Pierre 
suddenly  heard  near  him  the  pitiful  shrieks  of  a  woman.  He 
stopped  as  though  wakened  out  of  a  dream,  and  raised  his  he^od. 

On  one  side  of  the  foot-path,  on  the  dry,  dusty  grass,  was 
piled  up  a  heap  of  household  furniture  :  feather  bed,  samovar, 
sacred  pictures,  and  trunks.  On  the  ground,  next  the  trunk, 
sat  a  lean  woman,  not  young,  and  with  long,  projecting  upper 
teeth.  She  was  dressed  in  a  black  cloak  and  a  cap.  This  woman 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  and  was  muttering  as  she  wept  and 
sobbed.  Two  little  girls,  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  dressed  in 
short,  dirty  skirts  and  little  cloaks,  gazed  at  their  mother 
with  an  expression  of  perplexity  on  their  pale,  frightened 
faces.  A  little  boy  of  seven,  .in  a  chiiika  and  cap  altogether 
too  big  for  him,  was  weeping  in  his  old  nurse's  arms.  A 
dirty,  bare-legged  soi-vant  girl  was  sitting  on  a  trunk,  and,  hav- 
ing let  down  her  pale  blond  plait,  was  pulling  out  the  scorched 
hairs,  smelling  of  them  as  she  did  so.  The  husband  of  the 
family,  a  short,  round-shouldered  little  man,  in  undress  uni- 
form, with  wheel-like  little  side-whiskers,  and  love-locks 
brushed  smoothly  from  under  his  cap,  with  impassive  face, 
was  sorting  the  trunks  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other,  and 
trying  to  get  some  clothes  out. 

The  woman  almost  threw  herself  at  Pierre's  feet  when  she 
saw  him. 

"  Oh,  good  father  !  Oh,  orthodox  Christian  !  Help,  save 
her  !  —  Oh,  dear  sir  !  *  —  Whoever  you  are,  help  ! "  she  cried, 
through  her  sobs.  "My  little  daughter!  —  my  daughter!  — 
My  youngest  daughter  has  been  loft  behind  !  —  She  is  burning 
up!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh,  why  did  I  nurse  thee?— Oh!  Oh! 
Oh!" 

"  There  !  that'll  do,  Marya  Kikolayevna,"  expostulated  her 

•  Qolubchik. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  417 

husband,  in  a  mild  voice,  but  evidently  merely  so  as  to  make 
a  good  impression  on  the  stranger.  "  Sister  must  have  got 
her.    If  not,  it's  all  over  with  her  by  this  time,"  he  added. 

"Monster!  Villain!"  viciously  screamed  the  woman,  sud- 
denly ceasing  to  weep.  "  There's  no  heart  in  you !  You  have 
no  pity  for  your  own  child  !  Any  other  man  would  have 
snatched  her  from  the  fire.  But  you  are  a  monster  —  and  not 
a  man,  and  not  a  father.  —  But  you,  sir,  you  are  noble ! "  cried 
the  woman,  addressing  Pierre  rapidly,  and  sobbing.  "The 
row  was  on  lire ;  ours  caught.  The  girl  cried :  *  We  are  on 
fire.'  We  tried  to  save  what  we  could.  Whatever  we  could 
lay  our  hands  on,  we  carried  out.  —  This  here  is  what  we 
saved.  —  The  holy  picture  *  and  our  wedding  bed  —  all  the 
rest  was  lost.  We  got  the  children,  all  but  Katitchka !  Oh  I 
Oh !  Oh !  Oh,  Lord  ! "  and  again  she  burst  into  tears.  "  My 
darling  little  one !  she's  burnt  up !  she's  burnt  up  ! " 

"  But  where  was  it,  where  was  she  left  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

By  the  expression  of  his  excited  face,  the  woman  realized 
that  this  man  might  help  her. 

"Batyushka !  Father ! "  she  cried,  clasping  him  around  the 
legs.  "  Benefactor !  set  my  heart  at  ease !  —  Aniska,  go,  you 
nasty  hussy !  show  him  the  way,"  she  cried  to  the  girl,  and 
angrily  opened  her  mouth,  by  this  action  still  more  exposing 
her  long  teeth. 

"  Lead  the  way,  lead  the  way  —  I  —  I,  I  will  do  what  I 
can,"  stammered  Pierre,  in  a  panting  voice. 

The  dirty-looking  girl  came  out  from  behind  the  trunk,  put 
up  her  braid,  and,  with  a  sigh,  started  off  down  the  foot-path, 
with  her  stubbed,  bare  feet. 

Pierre  had,  as  it  were,  wakened  suddenly  to  life  after  a 
heavy  swoon.  He  raised  his  head  higher,  his  eyes  were  filled 
with  the  spark  of  life,  and,  with  rapid  strides,  he  followed  the 
girl,  passed  her,  and  hurried  along  the  Povarskaya.  The 
whole  street  was  shrouded  in  clouds  of  black  smoke.  Tongues 
of  flame  here  and  there  darted  out  from  it.  A  great  throng  of 
people  were  packed  together  in  front  of  the  fire.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  street  stood  a  French  general,  and  he  was  saying 
something  to  those  around  him.  Pierre,  accompanied  by  the 
girl,  was  going  toward  the  place  where  the  general  stood,  but 
French  soldiers  halted  him :  —  "  O71  ne  passe  pas  —  You  cannot 
pass ! " 

"This  way,  uncle,"  f  cried  the  girl ;  "  we'll  go  round  by  this 

*  Bozhye  hlago8lov€nye  :  literally,  Qod*8  benediction. 
t  Dyddinka,  diminutiye  of  dyddya* 

VOL.  3.-27. 


418  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

side  street,  through  Nikiilini's."  Pierre  turned  b^k,  and  al- 
most ran  as  he  hastened  in  her  footsteps,  so  as  to  overtake 
her.  The  girl  scurried  along,  turned  down  a  cross-street  at 
the  left,  and,  passing  by  three  houses,  turned  into  the  gates  of 
a  house  at  the  right. 

"  There  it  is  —  right  there  ! "  cried  the  girl,  and,  running 
across  the  yard,  she  opened  a  wicket  door  in  the  deal  fence, 
and,  stepping  back  a  step,  pointed  out  to  Pierre  a  small 
wooden  "  wing  "  where  the  flames  were  burning  bright  and 
hot.  One  side  was  already  fallen  in ;  the  other  was  burning, 
and  the  flames  were  bursting  out  from  the  broken  windows 
and  from  under  the  roof. 

When  Pierre  reached  the  wicket  he  was  suffocated  by  the 
heat,  and  involuntarily  drew  back. 

"  Which,  —  which  is  your  house  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh !  Oh !  Okh ! "  howled  the  girl,  as  she  pointed  to  the 
wing.     "  That  one  there ;  that  was  our  own  home.* 

"Are  you  burnt  up,  0  Katitchka!  our  treasure !  my  darling 
baruishnya !  Oh  !  Okh  I "  howled  Aniska,  at  the  sight  of  the 
fire,  feeling  that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  express  also  her 
feelings. 

Pierre  edged  toward  the  burning  wing,  but  the  heat  was 
so  powerful  that  he  was  obliged  to  make  a  wide  circle  around 
the  building,  and  he  came  out  next  a  large  house  which  was  as 
yet  burning  only  on  one  side  of  the  roof.  A  great  crowd  of 
Frenchmen  swarmed  ai'ound  it. 

Pierre  could  not  at  first  understand  what  these  Frenchmen 
were  doing,  who  appeared  to  be  dragging  something,  but, 
when  he  saw  one  of  them  strike  a  peasant  with  the  flat  of  his 
sabre,  and  take  away  from  him  a  foxskin  shuba,  Pierre  had  a 
dim  idea  that  pillaging  was  going  on  there ;  still  the  idea 
merely  flashed  through  his  mind. 

The  noise  of  the  crackling  and  the  crash  of  falling  walls 
and  ceilings,  the  hissing  and  snapping  of  the  flames,  and  the 
excited  cries  of  the  people,  the  spectacle  of  billowing,  whirl- 
ing clouds  of  smoke  now  thick  and  black,  now  dotted  with 
gleaming  sparks,  now  lighted  up  with  solid,  sheaf-shaped 
red  and  golden-scaled  flames  lapping  the  walls,  the  sense  of 
the  heat  and  the  smoke,  and  the  swiftness  of  motion,  all 
served  to  produce  upon  Pierre  the  usual  exciting  effect  of 
fires.  This  effect  was  peculiarly  powerful  upon  him,  because 
suddenly,  at  the  sight  of  this  fire,  he  felt  himself  liberated 
from  the  oppression  of  his  thoughts.     He  felt  young,  gay, 

*  She  calls  kvarUra  (quarters) /af^ra. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  41d 

agile,  and  resolute.  He  ran  round  the  wing  from  the  burning 
house,  and  tried  to  force  his  way  into  that  part  of  it  that  was 
still  standing,  when  suddenly  he  heard,  over  his  very  head, 
several  voices  shouting,  immediately  followed  by  the  rush  and 
metallic  ring  of  some  heavy  body  falling  near  him. 

Pierre  looked  round  and  saw,  in  the  windows  of  the  house, 
some  Frenchmen  who  had  just  flung  out  a  chest  of  drawers, 
full  of  some  metallic  articles.  Other  French  soldiers,  standing 
below,  were  running  to  the  chest  of  draweis. 

"  Well,  what  does  this  fellow  want  here  ?  "  *  cried  one  of 
the  Frenchmen,  seeing  Pierre. 

"  A  child  in  this  house  ?  Haven't  you  seen  a  child  ?  "  asked 
Pierre,  in  French. 

"Hold !  What's  he  prating  about !  Go  to  the  devil ! "  re- 
plied a  voice ;  and  one  of  the  soldiers,  evidently  fearing  that 
it  was  Pierre's  intention  to  rob  them  of  the  silver  and  bronzes 
that  were  in  the  drawers,  came  up  to  him  in  a  threatening 
manner. 

"A  child?"  cried  the  Frenchman  from  above.  "I  heard 
something  squealing  in  the  garden.  Perhaps  'twas  the  poor 
man's  little  brat.     Must  be  humane,  you  know." 

"Where  is  he  ?     Where  is  he  ?  "  demanded  Pierre. 

"There !  There  !  "  cried  the  Frenchman  from  the  window, 
pointing  to  the  garden  behind  the  house.  "  Wait,  I'm  coming 
right  down."  And,  in  fact,  in  a  moment  the  Frenchman,  a 
black-eyed  fellow  with  a  spot  on  his  cheek,  and  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, sprang  out  from  the  window  of  the  first  story,  and, 
giving  Pierre  a  slap  on  the  shoulder,  ran  with  him  down  into 
the  garden.  "Hurry  up,  boys,"  he  cried  to  his  comrades. 
"  Beginning  to  grow  warm." 

Running  behind  the  house,  on  the  sand-strewn  path,  the 
Frenchman  gave  Pierre's  arm  a  pull  and  pointed  to  the  circle. 
On  a  bench  lay  a  little  maiden  of  three  years,  in  a  pink  dress. 

"  There's  your  brat.  Ah !  a  little  girl !  So  much  the  bet- 
ter,**  said  the  Frenchman.  "Good-by,  old  fellow.  Must  be 
humane.  We  are  all  mortal,  you  see."  t  And  the  Frenchman 
with  the  spot  on  his  cheek  hurried  back  to  his  comrades. 

•  "Eh  bien  !  qu'est  ce  qvhl  venU  celui-la  f  " 

t  ** Un  enfant  dans  cetie  maison  f  IPavez-roxis pas  vn  un  enfant  ?  " — "  Tiens  ! 
iftCesl  ee  qnil  chante,  celvi-la  f  Va  te  promener." — *'Un  enfant  f  J^ai  entendu 
jnama*  quelqne  chose  auja^'din.  Feut-etre  c^est  son  moutard  au  bonhomme* 
Fautetrehumain.voyezvovs."  —  "  0iiest4l?  Ou  est-il  ? '' —  "  Par  id  !  Par 
id  /  Attendez  !  jeyais  descendre.  Depechez-vovSt  voiis  aittres.  Commence  a 
faire  chaiid.  — Voilh  voire  moutard.  Ah,  vne  petite  !  —  taat  mieiix.  Au  revoir, 
mon  gros.    Faut  itre  hvmain.    Nous  sommes  tous  mortels,  voyez-vous  I  * 


420  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Pierre,  choking  with  delight,  started  back  to  the  g^rl,  and 
was  going  to  piit  the  little  one  in  his  arms.  But  the  little 
one,  pale  like  her  mother,  and  sick  with  the  scmf  ula,  —  a  dis- 
agreeable-looking child,  —  seeing  the  strange  man,  set  up  a 
screech  and  tried  to  i-uu  away.  Pierre,  however,  seized  her, 
and  took  her  in  his  aims.  She  screamed  in  a  desperately 
angry  voice,  and  with  her  slender  little  arms  struggled  to  tear 
herself  away  from  Pierre,  and  to  bite  him  with  her  slobbery 
mouth.  Pierre  was  seized  by  a  feeling  of  horror  and  repul- 
sion, such  as  he  would  have  felt  at  contact  with  any  nasty 
little  animal.  But  he  forced  himself  not  to  throw  the  child 
down,  and  hastened  with  her  back  to  the  great  house.  He 
found  it  impossible  to  return  the  same  way :  the  girl,  Aniska, 
had  disappeared,  and  Pierre,  with  a  feeling  of  pity  and  dis- 
gust, holding  to  his  heart  as  tenderly  as  he  could  the  passion- 
ately screaming  and  wet  little  girl,  ran  through  the  garden  to 
find  another  exit. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

When  Pierre,  making  his  way  round  by  yards  and  alleys, 
brought  his  burden  back  to  Prince  Gruzinsky's  garden,  on  the 
comer  of  the  Povarskaya,  he  did  not  at  first  recognize  the 
place  which  he  had  left  when  he  went  after  the  child — it  was 
so  swarming  with  people  and  with  household  furniture.  Be- 
sides the  Russian  families  taking  refuge  here  with  their  treas- 
ures, there  were  also  many  French  soldiers,  in  vai'ious  garb. 

Pierre  paid  no  attention  to  them.  He  was  in  haste  to  find 
the  chinovnik's  family,  so  as  to  restore  the  little  girl  to  her 
mother  and  then  go  and  rescue  some  one  else.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  still  very  much  to  do,  and  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible. Heated  with  the  fire  and  his  exertion  in  riuming,  Pierre 
at  that  moment  experienced  more  keenly  than  ever  that  feel- 
ing of  youth,  energy,  and  resolution  which  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  him  when  he  started  to  rescue  the  little  child. 

The  little  girl  was  calmer  now,  and,  clinging  to  Pierre's  kaf- 
tan, she  sat  on  his  arm,  and  like  a  little  wild  animal  looked 
around  her. 

Pierre  occasionally  looked  down  at  her  and  smiled.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  something  touchingly  innocent 
in  that  scai-ed  and  sickly  little  face. 

Neither  the  chinovnik  nor  his  wife  was  to  be  seen  in  the  place 
where  they  had  been  before.  Pierre,  with  rapid  strides,  wan- 
dered round  among  the  people,  scrutinizing  the  various  faces 
that  he  met. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  421 

His  attention  was  accidentally  attracted  to  a  Georgian  or  Ar- 
menian family,  consisting  of  a  handsome  man  of  very  advanced 
age,  with  a  face  of  Oriental  type,  and  dressed  in  a  new  tulup 
and  new  boots ;  an  old  woman  of  the  same  type,  and  a  young 
woman.  This  very  young  woman  seemed  to  Pierre  the  perfec- 
tion of  Oriental  beauty,  with  her  dark  brows  delicately  arched, 
and  her  long  face  of  remarkable  freshness  of  complexion  and 
genuine  but  expressionless  beauty.  Amid  the  indiscriminate 
heap  of  household  articles  on  the  green,  she,  in  her  rich  satin 
mantle  and  bright  lilac  kerchief  covering  her  head,  reminded 
one  of  a  delicate  hot-house  flower  flung  out  into  the  snow.  She 
sat  on  a  parcel  behind  the  old  woman,  and  with  her  motionless, 
big,  dark,  oblong  eyes,  shaded  by  long  lashes,  looked  at  the 
ground. 

Evidently  she  was  conscious  of  her  beauty,  and  it  filled  her 
with  alarm.  This  face  struck  Pierre,  and,  in  spite  of  his  haste 
as  he  passed  along  the  fence,  several  times  he  glanced  round 
at  her. 

On  reaching  the  fence  and  still  not  finding  those  of  whom 
he  was  in  search,  Pierre  paused  and  looked  around. 

Pierre's  figure,  with  the  child  in  his  arms,  was  now  even 
more  remarkable  than  before,  and  a  number  of  Russians,  both 
men  and  women,  gathered  round  him. 

"  Have  you  lost  any  one,  dear  man  ?  "  —  "  You  are  a  noble, 
aren't  you?"  —  "Whose  child  is  that?"  were  among  the 
questions  put  to  him. 

Pierre  explained  that  the  child  belonged  to  a  woman  in  a 
black  mantle,  who  had  been  sitting  in  that  very  spot  with  her 
children ;  and  he  asked  if  no  one  knew  who  she  was,  and 
where  she  had  gone. 

"  It  must  be  the  Anferofs,"  said  an  old  deacon,  addressing  a 
pock-marked  woman.  "  Lord,  have  mercy !  Lord,  have  mercy !  '* 
be  added,  in  his  usual  bass. 

"Where  are  the  Anferofs?"  asked  the  woman.  "The 
Anferofs  started  early  this  morning.  This  may  be  Marya 
Nikolayevna  or  the  Ivanofs'." 

"He  said  a  woman,  but  Maiya  Nikolayevna  is  a  lady,"* 
said  a  household  serf. 

"Surely  you  must  know  her  —  long  teeth,  a  thin  woman," 
said  Pierre. 

"Certainly,  it's  Mary  a  Nikolayevna.  They  went  into  the 
garden  as  soon  as  these  wolves  came  down  on  us,"  said  the 
peasant  woman,  pointing  to  tlie  French  soldiers. 

•  Bdrainya* 


422  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  have  mercy ! "  again  ejaculated  the  deaooiL 

"Go  down  yonder,  then.  You'll  find  them.  She's  tbeie. 
She  was  all  beat  out;  she  was  crying,"  said  the  peasant 
woman.     "She  is  over  there.     You'll  find  her." 

But  Pierre  heard  not  what  the  woman  said.  For  several 
seconds  he  had  been  watching  anxiously  what  was  going  on  a 
few  steps  away.  He  was  looking  at  the  Armenian  family  and 
a  couple  of  French  soldiers  who  had  approached  them.  One 
of  these  soldiers,  a  little,  nimble  man,  wore  a  blue  overcoat 
belted  with  a  rope.  He  had  a  night-cap  on  his  head,  and  was 
barefooted. 

The  second,  who  especially  attracted  Pierre's  attention,  was 
a  long,  lank,  round-shouldered,  white-haired  man,  slow  in  his 
movements,  and  with  an  idiotic  expression  of  countenance. 
He  was  clad  in  a  frieze  capote,  with  blue  trousers,  and  Hes- 
sian boots  come  to  holes. 

The  little  bootless  Frenchman  in  the  blue  overcoat  had  gone 
up  to  the  Armenians,  and,  after  making  some  remark,  had  seized 
the  old  man  by  the  legs,  and  the  old  man  had  immediately 
begun  to  pull  off  his  boots  in  great  haste. 

The  other  one  had  taken  up  his  position  in  front  of  the 
pretty  Armenian  girl,  and,  with  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his 
pockets,  was  staring  at  her  in  perfect  silence,  without  moving. 

"  Take  it,  take  the  child ! "  exclaimed  Pierre,  addressing 
the  peasant  woman  in  imperative  tones,  holding  out  the  little 
girl.  —  "  Take  her,  and  give  her  back  to  them ! "  he  cried,  and 
set  the  screaming  child  on  the  ground,  and  then  turned  once 
more  to  look  at  the  Frenchmen  and  the  Armenian  family. 

The  old  man  was,  by  this  time,  barefooted.  The  little 
Frenchman  had  appropriated  his  last  boot,  and  was  knock- 
ing the  two  together.  The  old  man  with  a  sob  made  some 
remark,  but  Pierre  merely  glanced  at  him ;  his  wliole  atfeeo* 
tion  was  attracted  to  the  Frenchman  in  the  capote,  who,  slowly 
swaggering,  had  by  this  time  approached  the  young  woman, 
and,  drawing  his  hands  from  his  pockets,  was  just  taking  her 
by  the  neck. 

Tlie  beautiful  Armianka  continued  sitting  in  the  same 
impassive  posture,  with  her  long  lashes  drooping,  and  appar- 
ently neither  saw  nor  felt  what  the  soldier  was  doing  to  her. 

By  the  time  Pierre  had  taken  the  several  steps  that  sepa- 
rated him  from  the  Frenchmen,  the  lank  marauder  in  the 
capote  had  already  snatched  her  necklace  from  the  Armianka* 
neck,  and  the  young  woman,  clasping  her  hands  around  her 
throat,  uttered  a  piercing  shriek. 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  423 

^^Laissez  cette  femme  !  —  Let  this  woman  alone  ! "  roared 
Pierre  in  a  furious  voice,  clutching  the  lank,  stooping  soldier 
by  the  shoulder,  and  flinging  him  off.  The  soldier  fell  flat, 
picked  himself  up,  and  ran  away.  But  his  comrade,  throwing 
down  his  booty  of  boots,  drew  his  cutlass,  and  advanced 
threateningly  against  Pierre.  "  See  here !  None  of  your 
nonsense!"  he  cried. 

Pierre  was  in  that  rapt  state  of  fury  which,  when  it  came 
upon  him,  made  him  ol)livious  of  everything,  and  multiplied 
his  strength  tenfold.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  barefooted 
Frenchman,  and,  before  the  fellow  had  time  to  use  his  cutlass, 
he  had  knocked  him  over,  and  was  belaboring  him  with  his 
fists. 

The  people  gathered  around  with  an  approving  yell,  but 
just  at  that  instant  appeared  around  the  comer  a  mounted 
squad  of  French  uhlans.  The  uhlans  came  up  to  Pierre  and 
the  Frenchman  at  a  trot,  and  surrounded  them.  Pierre  remem- 
bered nothing  of  what  followed.  He  only  remembered  that 
he  was  pounding  some  one,  that  he  was  being  pounded,  and 
that,  finally,  he  became  conscious  that  his  arms  were  bound ; 
that  a  crowd  of  French  soldiers  were  standing  round  him,  and 
searching  his  clothes. 

/*He  has  a  dagger,  lieutenant,"  were  the  first  words  that 
Pierre  comprehended. 

"Aha,  armed ! "  said  the  officer,  and  he  turned  to  the  bare- 
footed soldier  who  had  been  taken  at  the  same  time  with 
Pierre. 

"Very  good;  you  shall  tell  all  this  at  the  court-martial," 
said  the  officer.  And  immediately  he  turned  to  Pierre. 
"Parlez^vaus  franca  is,  vous?"  Pierre  glared  around  him 
with  bloodshot  eyes,  and  made  no  reply.  Evidently,  his  face 
must  have  seemed  very  terrible,  because  the  officer  gave  a 
whispered  order,  and  four  other  uhlans  detached  themselves 
from  the  squad,  and  stationed  themselves  on  each  side  of 
Pierre. 

*^  FarleZ'Vaus  franfais?"  asked  the  ofiicer  a  second  time, 
keeping  at  a  respectful  distance  from  him.  <<  Bring  the  inter- 
preter." 

A  little  man  in  the  dress  of  a  Bussian  civilian  came  forth 
from  the  ranks.  Pierre  instantly  knew  by  his  attire  and  his 
accent  that  he  was  a  Fi-enchman  from  some  Moscow  shop. 

"He  does  not  look  like  a  man  of  the  common  people,"  said 
the  interpreter,  eying  Pierre. 

"Oh,  ho !  it  seems  to  me  he  has  the  appearance  of  being 


424  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

one  of  the  incendiaries,"  said  the  officer.     "  Ask  him  who  he 
is,"  he  added. 

"Who  are  you?"*  demanded  the  interpreter.  "Yoa 
should  reply  to  the  authorities,"  said  he. 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  who  I  am.  I  am  your  prisoner.  Take 
me  away." 

"  Ah,  ha ! "  exclaimed  the  officer,  scowling.     "  Come  on."  t 

A  crowd  had  gathered  around  the  uhlans.  Closest  of  all  to 
Pierre  stood  the  pock-marked  peasant  woman  with  the  little 
girl.     When  the  squad  started  she  sprang  forward.^ 

"  Where  are  they  taking  you,  my  good  friend  ?  "  t  she  de- 
manded. "  The  little  girl !  what  shall  I  do  with  the  little  giil 
if  she  isn't  theirs  ?  "  insisted  the  woman. 

"  What  does  this  woman  want  ?  "  asked  the  officer. 

Pierre  was  like  one  drunk.  His  rapt  state  of  mind  waB 
still  more  intensified  at  the  sight  of  the  little  girl  whom  he 
had  saved. 

"  What  does  she  want  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  She  has  brought 
my  daughter,  whom  I  just  saved  from  the  flames,"  he  ex- 
plained. "Adieu!"  and  he  himself,  not  knowing  why  he 
should  have  told  this  aimless  falsehood,  marched  off  with  reso- 
lute, enthusiastic  steps,  suiTOunded  by  the  Frenchmen. 

This  patrol  of  French  horsemen  was  one  of  those  sent  out 
by  DurosnePs  orders,  to  put  a  stop  to  pillaging  and  especiallj 
to  apprehend  the  incendiaries  who,  according  to  the  general 
impression  prevalent  that  day  among  the  French,  were  the 
cause  of  the  conflagrations.  After  riding  up  and  down  several 
streets,  the  squad  had  gathered  in  some  half-dozen  Russians 

—  a  shop-keeper,  two  seminarists,  a  muzhik,  and  a  man-ser- 
vant —  and  a  few  marauders. 

But  of  all  the  suspects  the  most  suspicious  of  all  seemed 
Pierre.     When  they  were  all  taken  to  the  place  of  detention, 

—  a  great  mansion  on  the  Zubovsky  Val,  —  where  the  guard- 
house was  established,  Pierre  was  given  a  special^  separate 
room,  under  a  strong  guard. 

*  The  interpfeter  says  Ti  kto  f  instead  of  Tui  kto  ? 

t  "  II  rVa  Vair  d'vn  homme  du  pextple"  —  "  OA  oh!  fa  m*o  Wen  Voir  cf  tm  ia 
ince7idiaires.  Deniandez-lui  ce  quHl  m."  —  **  Jene  vovs  dirai  jhu  qui  Je  nif* 
Je  stiis  votre  prisonnier.    Kmmenez'moi."  —  "  Ah!  ah!  marchonsJ* 

^  Qolubchik  tui  moi  (little  pigeon  thou  mine). 


WAE  AND  PEACE 


BT 


COUNT  LTOF  N.  TOLSTOI 


FROM  THE  RUSSIAN  BY 

NATHAN   HASKELL  DOLE 


AUTHORIZED  TRANSLATION 


IN  FOUR  VOLUMES 


VOL.   IV 


NEW  YORK 
THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL   &   CO. 

13  ASTOR  Plac« 


7 


COFTRIOHT,  1880,  BT 

T.   Y.  Crowbll  h  Co. 


C.  J.  PETERS  &  SON, 

TyKOAAFHERS  and  ELECTIIOTVPCIIt, 
145  HMH  arilMT,  BOtTONt 


WAR   AND    PEACE. 


VOL.  IV.— PART  FIRST. 

CHAPTER  I. 

In  Petersburg  at  this  time  in  the  highest  circles  was  raging 
with  greater  violence  than  ever  before  the  complicated  battle 
between  the  parties  of  Rumyantsef,  the  French,  Marya 
Feodorovna,  the  Tsesarevitch,  and  others,  absorbing,  as  always, 
the  energies  of  the  court  drones.  But  Petersburg  life  went  on 
in  its  old  channels  —  tranquil,  sumptuous,  engrossed  only  in 
phantoms  and  reflections  of  life,  and  any  one  in  the  current  of 
this  life  had  need  to  exercise  great  energy  to  recognize  the  peril 
and  the  difficult  position  in  which  the  Russian  nation  was  placed. 
There  were  the  same  levees  and  balls,  the  same  French  thea- 
tre, the  same  court  interests,  the  same  official  interests,  and 
the  same  intrigues. 

It  was  only  in  the  very  highest  circles  that  any  efforts  were 
made  to  realize  the  difficulties  of  the  actual  situation.  It  was 
told  in  a  whisper  how  differently  the  two  empresses  behaved 
in  such  trying  circumstances.  The  Empress  Maria  Feodo- 
rovna,  concerned  for  the  safety  of  the  charities  and  educational 
establishments  of  which  she  was  the  patroness,  made  her  ar- 
rangements to  have  all  these  institutions  transferred  to  Kazan, 
and  the  effects  of  these  institutions  had  already  been  removed. 

The  Empress  Elizabeth,*  on  the  other  hand,  when  the 
question  arose,  what  she  wished  done,  replied,  with  that  gen- 
uine Russian  patriotism  characteristic  of  her,  that  she  had  no 
orders  to  give  in  regard  to  the  governmental  institutions,  since 
that  was  the  province  of  the  sovereign  ;  while,  as  far  as  what 
depended  upon  her  personally,  she  declared  that  she  should 
he  the  last  to  leave  Petersburg. 

On  the  seventh  of  September,  the  same  day  as  the  battle 
of  Borodino,  Anna  Pavlovna  gave  a  reception,  the  flower 

,  *  YelizaTieta  Alekseyevna,  the  conaort  of  the  emperor,  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  the  empress  dowager. 

VOU  4.  —  X,  X 


2  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

of  wnich  was  to  be  the  reading  of  a  letter  from  his  eminenoe 
the  metropolitan,  sent  to  the  sovereign  together  with  a  sacred 
picture  of  his  holiness  Saint  Sergii.  This  letter  was  consid- 
ered a  model  of  patriotic,  spiritual  eloquence.  It  was  to  be 
read  by  Prince  Vasili  himself,  who  was  famous  for  his  skill 
as  a  reader.  (He  had  even  read  at  the  empresses ! )  His  art 
of  reading  consisted  in  decanting  the  words  now  in  a  loud 
tone  and  now  in  a  sweet  tone,  now  giving  a  desperate  roar, 
now  a  tender  murmur,  absolutely  independent  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  words,  so  that  it  was  wholly  a  matter  of  chance 
whether  the  roar  or  the  murmur  fell  on  one  word  or  another. 

This  reading,  like  everything  that  happened  at  Anna  Pav- 
lovna's  receptions,  had  a  political  significance.  This  particular 
evening  thei*e  were  to  be  present  a  number  of  important 
people  whom  it  was  necessary  to  put  to  shame  for  attending 
the  French  theatre,  and  to  stir  to  a  patriotic  state  of  mind. 

Already  a  considerable  number  of  guests  had  gathered,  but 
Anna  Pavlovna  did  not  yet  see  in  her  drawing-room  all  whose 
presence  was  deemed  necessary,  and  accordingly  she  postponed 
the  reading  and  permitted  general  conversation. 

The  chief  item  of  news  that  day  in  Petersburg  was  the 
Countess  Bezukhaya^s  illness.  The  countess  had  been  unex- 
l^ectedly  taken  ill  several  days  before  ;  she  had  missed  several 
assemblies  of  which  she  was  the  adornment,  and  rumor  had  it 
that  she  received  no  'one,  and  that,  instead  of  the  famous 
l*etersburg  doctors  who  had  usually  prescribed  for  her,  she 
had  intrusted  her  case  to  an  Italian  doctor,  who  was  treating 
her  by  some  new  and  extraordinary  method. 

All  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  charming  countess's  illness 
arose  fronl  the  difficulty  of  marrying  two  husbands  at  once, 
and  that  the  Italian's  treatment  consisted  in  the  removal  of 
these  difficulties;  but  in  Anna  Pavlovna's  presence  no  one 
even  dared  to  think  about  this ;  it  was  as  though  it  were  noi 
known  by  any  one, 

"They  say  the  poor  countess  is  very  ill.  The  doctor  says  il 
is  angina  pectoris." 

"  Angina  ?    Oh,  that  is  a  terrible  illness." 

"  They  say  the  rivals  are  reconciled,  thanks  to  this  angina. 
The  word  angine  was  pronounced  with  great  unction. 

"  The  old  count,  I  am  told,  is  very  pathetic.  He  wept  like 
a  child  when  the  doctor  told  him  that  it  was  a  dangerous 
case." 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  a  terrible  loss !  She's  a  bewitching 
creature  I " 


9 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  S 

"  You  were  speaking  of  the  poor  countess/'  said  Anna  Pav- 
lovna,  joining  the  group.  "  I  sent  to  hear  how  she  was.  They 
informed  me  that  she  was  a  little  better.  Oh,  unquestionably 
she  is  the  most  charming  woman  in  the  world/'  said  Anna 
Pavlovna,  with  a  smile  at  her  own  enthusiasm.  "  We  belong 
to  different  camps,  but  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  esteem- 
ing her  as  she  deserves.  She  is  very  unhappy/'  *  added  Anna 
Pavlovna. 

Supposing  that  Anna  Pavlovna  by  these  -^orda  slightly 
lifted  the  veil  of  mystery  that  shrouded  the  countess's  illness, 
one  indiscreet  young  man  allowed  himself  to  express  his 
amazement  that  physicians  of  repute  had  not  been  called,  but 
that  a  charlatan,  who  might  very  easily  administer  dangerous 
remedies,  was  treating  the  countess. 

**You  may  be  better  informed  than  I  am,"  suddenly  sai^l 
Anna  Pavlovna,  with  a  cutting  tone,  to  the  inexperienced 
young  man.  "But  I  have  been  told  on  very  good  authority 
that  this  doctor  is  a  very  learned  and  very  skilful  man.  He 
is  private  physician  to  the  Queen  of  Spain."  f 

And  having  thus  annihilated  the  young  man,  Anna  Pavlovna 
turned  to  Bilibin,  who,  in  another  circle,  having  wrinkled  up 
his  skin,  and  evidently  made  ready  to  smooth  it  out  again 
preliminary  to  getting  off  a  witticism,  was  speaking  about  the 
Austrians. 

"I  find  it  charming,"  said  he,  referring  to  a  diplomatic 
document,  which  had  been  sent  to  accompany  some  Austri{\n 
standards  captured  by  Wittgenstein  —  the  hero  of  Petropoli  5, 
le  heros  de  Petropol  —  as  he  was  called  in  Petersburg. 

"What,  what  is  that?"  said  Anna  Pavlovna,  turning  to 
him  with  a  view  to  causing  a  silence  so  that  the  mot  which 
she  had  already  heard  might  be  more  effective. 

And  Bilibin  repeated  the  following  authentic  words  of  the 
diplomatic  despatch  which  he  himself  had  drawn  up. 

"'The  emperor  returns  the  Austrian  flags,'"  said  Bilibin, 

friendly  flags  that  had  lost  their  way  when  he  found  them.' " 

*  "  On  dit  que  la  pdvvre  comtesse  est  tres^mal.  IjC  mddecin  dit  qtte  cV«{ 
Vaiifjine  pectorale.'^  —** L'angine/  Oh,  c^est  nne  maladie  terrible!**  —  "  On 
dit  que  le*  rivaux  se  sont  reconcUiis  grace  a  Vangine,^*  —  "Ze  tneux  comte  est 
toychant  a  ce  qu'on  dit*  II  a  pleur^  comme  un  enfant  quand  le  midecin  Ivi  a 
dii  que  le  cos  €tait  dangereux,  —  Oh  !  ce  serait  une  perte  terrible.  CTest  vne 
femmerartMante."  —  "  Vous  parlez  de  la  pauvre  comtesse.  J^ai  envoys  savoir 
de  ses  nouvelles.  On  m*a  dit  qiCelle  (dlait  unpen  mieux.  Oh!  sans  dovt  •, 
c*est  la  plus  charmante  femme  dii  monde.  —  ivot/«  a])partenons  a  des  camf^s 
diferents  mats  cela  ne  m'empeche  pas  de  Vestimer  comme  eUe  merite*  EUe 
est  hien  mcUhenreiise.*^ 

t  **  Vos  informations peuvent  etre  meilleures  one  les  miennes.  Maisiesais 
de  bonne  source  que  ce  midedn  est  un  homme  tressavant  et  tres^dbUe?^ 


4  WAR  AND  PMACE. 

"Delightful,  delightful!"  exclaimed  Prince  Vasill- 

"The  way  to  Warsaw,  perhaps,"*  said  Prince  Ippolit  unex- 
pectedly, in  a  loud  voice.  All  looked  at  him  without  under- 
standing what  he  meant.  Prince  Ippolit  also  looked  round 
with  a  complacent  smile.  He  had  just  as  little  idea  as  the 
rest  had  of  what  the  words  he  had  spoken  meant.  During  the 
time  of  his  diplomatic  career,  he  had  more  than  once  observed 
that  a  few  words  thus  unexpectedly  thrown  in  seem  very  smart, 
and  at  every  chance  he  made  such  remarks,  the  first  that  came 
to  his  tongue.  "It  may  be  capital,"  he  thought,  "but,  even  if 
it  isn't  a  success,  still  they  will  be  able  to  make  something 
out  of  it." 

In  fact,  the  awkward  silence  that  ensued  Was  broken  by  the 
appearance  of  the  insufficiently  patriotic  individual  whom 
Anna  PavloVna  was  expecting  and  hoped  to  convert,  and  she 
with  a  smile^  and  threatening  Prince  Ippolit  with  her  finger, 
beckoned  Prince  Vasili  to  the  table,  and,  placing  two  candles 
and  the  manuscript  before  him,  invited  him  to  begin. 

General  silence :  — 

" Most  gracious  Sovereign  and  Emperor*^  declaimed  Prince 
Vasili  sternly,  and  gave  his  audience  a  look  as  much  as  to  ask, 
"  Who  had  anything  to  say  against  that  ?  "  "  Our  chief  caj^ 
tal  city,  Moscow,  the  new  Jei*usalem,  receives  ITS  Christ/*  —  he 
gave  a  sudden  emphasis  on  the  pronoun  ITS,  "Like  as  a 
mother  embracing  her  fervently  devoted  sons,  and  catching  sight 
through  the  gathering  murk  of  the  splendid  glory  of  thy 
realm,  she  sings  in  her  rapture^  '  Hosanna !  Blessed  is  he  that 
Cometh  / ' " 

Prince  Vasili  uttered  these  final  words  in  a  voice  suggestive 
of  tears. 

Bilibin  attentively  gazed  at  his  finger-nails;  and  several 
evidently  felt  abashed,  and  seemed  to  be  asking,  "  What  have 
we  done  amiss  ?  "  Anna  Pavlovna,  in  a  whisper,  went  ahead 
with  the  next  sentence  like  an  old  woman  repeating  the 
prayer  at  communion :  —  "If  the  insolent  and  brazen  Chliaih^ 
she  began. 

Prince  Vasili  read  on :  — 

"If  the  insolent  and  brazen  Golia>th  from  the  confines  of 
France  bring  his  homicidal  horrors  upon  the  lands  of  Sussta^ 
humble  faith,  that  sling  of  the  Ricssian  David,  shall  smite 
unexpectedly  the  head  of  his  bloodthirsty  pride.     This  image 

•  "  L'emperevr  renvoie  les  drapeaux  autrichiens,  drapeaux  amis  et  igarh 

SuHlatrouv€  hors  de  la  route," ^^*  Cha'rmarU,  charmant  /  "  —  "  Cest  la  nmte 
e  VaraoviCf  petit-itre" 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  6 

of  Saint  Sergiiy  the  ancient  xeaZot  of  our  eountrjfs  good,  is  sent 
to  your  imperial  majesty.  I  regret  that  my  failing  powers 
prevent  me  from  refoidng  in  the  sight  of  your  beloved  face. 
Earnest  prayers  I  shall  raise  to  heaven :  may  the  Almighty 
increase  the  generation  of  the  righteous,  and  fulfil  yout 
iMLJest^s  pious  hopes.'' 

"Quel  force!  Quel  style!''  were  the  encomiums  passed 
npon  reader  and  author  alike. 

Animated  by  this  discourse,  Anna  Pavlovna's  guests  for 
a  long  time  still  discussed  the  condition  of  the  country,  and 
made  various  predictions  about  the  result  of  the  battle  which 
it  was  known  was  to  be  fought  about  that  time.  ^'  Vous 
verrez  — you  will  see,"  exclaimed  Anna  Pavlovna.  "  We  shall 
have  news  to-morrow :  ifs  the  sovereign's  birthday.  I  have  a 
happy  presentiment." 


CHAPTER  n. 

AvKA  Pavlovka's  presentiment  was  in  fact  justified. 

On  the  following  day,  during  the  Te  Deum  chanted  at  the 
palace  in  honor  of  the  emperor's  birthday,  Prince  Yolkonsky 
was  called  out  from  the  chapel  and  handed  an  envelope  from 
Prince  Kutuzof.  This  contained  Kutuzof s  report  written 
from  Tatarinovo  on  the  day  of  the  battle.  Kutuzof  wrote 
that  the  Russians  had  not  fallen  back  a  step,  that  the  French 
had  lost  far  more  than  ours,  that  he  made  his  report  in  all 
haste  from  the  field  of  battle,  without  having  had  time,  as  yet, 
to  receive  all  details. 

Of  course  it  was  a  victory.  And  instantly,  without  dismiss- 
ing the  audience,  a  thanksgiving  was  sung  to  the  Creator  for 
luB  aid  and  for  the  victory. 

Anna  Pavlovna's  presentiment  was  justified ;  and  through- 
out the  city  there  reigned,  all  the  morning,  joyfully  festive 
enthusiasm.  All  considered  the  victory  complete,  and  many 
went  so  far  as  to  talk  about  Napoleon  himself  being  a  pris- 
oner, and  of  his  overthrow  and  tne  choice  of  a  new  sovereign 
for  France. 

Remote  from  the  scene  of  action,  and  in  the  midst  of  court 
life,  it  was  thoroughly  difficult  to  realize  events  in  their  com- 
pleteness and  real  importance.  Involuntarily,  events  in  gen- 
eral grouped  themselves  around  some  special  incident.  Thus, 
in  the  present  instance,  the  chief  joy  of  the  courtiers  was 
indaded  not  so  much  in  the  fact  tnat  we  had  won  a  victory^ 


6  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

as  in  the  fact  that  the  news  of  this  victory  had  arrived  pie- 
cisely  on  the  sovereign's  birthday.  It  was  a  sort  of  success- 
ful surprise. 

In  Kutuzof's  report  mention  was  also  made  of  the  losses 
suffered  by  the  Russians,  and  especially  singled  out  for  men- 
tion were  Tutchkof,  Bagration,  Kutaisof.  Accordingly,  also, 
the  melancholy  side  of  the  occurrence,  as  it  presented  itself 
there,  in  the  Petersburg  world,  was  made  concrete  in  the  one 
fact  of  Kutaisof  s  death.  All  knew  him :  he  was  a  favorite 
with  the  sovereign ;  he  was  young  and  interesting.  On  this 
day  all  who  met  said  to  each  other :  "  How  wonderfully  it  all 
came  about !  Eight  in  the  midst  of  the  mass  !  And  what  a 
loss,  Kutaisof  I    Akh !  what  a  shame  ! " 

"What  did  I  tell  you  about  Kutuzof ?"  now  exclaimed 
Prince  Vasili,  with  all  the  pride  of  a  prophet.  "  I  always  said 
that  he  was  the  only  one  capable  of  beating  Napoleon." 

But  on  the  following  day  no  news  was  received  from  the 
army,  and  the  general  voice  began  to  be  anxious.  .  The  cour« 
tiers  suffered  from  the  painful  state  of  ignorance  in  which  the 
sovereign  was  left. 

"  What  a  position  for  the  sovereign ! "  said  the  courtiers ; 
and  before  the  third  day  had  passed  they  already  began  to 
pass  judgment  on  Kutuzof,  who  was  regarded  as  the  cause  of 
the  sovereign's  uneasiness. 

Prince  Vasili  on  that  day  ceased  to  boast  of  his  protigi 
Kutuzof,  but  maintained  a  discreet  silence  when  the  com- 
mander-in-chief was  mentioned. 

Moreover,  on  the  evening  of  this  same  day,  as  though  all 
conspired  together  to  alarm  and  disquiet  the  Petersburgers, 
another  terrible  piece  of  news  was  announced.  The  Countess 
Elena  Bezukhaya  suddenly  died  of  that  terrible  disease  which 
her  friends  found  it  so  pleasant  to  name. 

Officially,  in  all  the  great  coteries  it  was  declared  that  the 
Countess  Bezukhaya  had  died  of  a  terrible  attack  of  angine 
pectorale,  but  in  select  circles  details  were  forthcoming :  how 
le  medecin  intime  de  la  reine  d^Espagne  had  prescribed  for 
Ellen  small  doses  of  some  medicine  so  as  to  bring  about  cer- 
tain effects,  and  how  Ellen,  worried  because  the  old  count  had 
some  suspicion  of  her,  and  because  her  husband,  to  whom  she 
had  written  (that  miserable,  depraved  Pierre),  did  not  reply  to 
her,  suddenly  took  a  tremendous  dose  of  the  drug  prescribed, 
and  died  in  agony  because  help  could  not  be  got  to  her.  It  was 
said  that  Prince  Vasili  and  the  old  count  had  at  first  blamed 
the  Italian;  but  the  Italian  had  showed  them  such  letters 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  7 

from  the  late  unfortunate  countess  that  they  had  instantly  let 
him  go. 

Gossip  in  general  was  confined  to  these  three  unhappy 
events :  —  the  ignorance  in  which  the  sovereign  was  left,  the 
loss  of  Kutaisof,  and  Ellen's  death. 

On  the  third  day  after  Kutozof  s  despatch  had  been  re- 
ceived, a  landed  proprietor  arrived  at  Petersburg  from  Mos< 
cow,  and  soon  the  whole  city  was  ringing  with  the  news  that 
Moscow  was  abandoned  to  the  French. 

This  was  terrible  1  What  a  position  it  placed  the  sovereign 
in  I  Kutuzof  was  a  traitor,  and  Prince  Vasili,  while  receiving 
vitites  de  eondoleanee  for  the  death  of  his  daughter,  speaking 
of  that  same  Kutuzof  whom  he  had  but  shortly  before  been 
praising  (it  was  pardonable  that  in  his  grief  he  should  forget 
what  he  said  before),  declared  that  it  was  idle  to  expect  any- 
thing else  from  a  blind  and  lewd  old  man.  ''  I  am  only 
amazed  that  the  fate  of  Eussia  should  have  been  intrusted 
to  such  a  man  I" 

This  news  being  as  yet  unofficial,  there  was  still  room  for 
doubt,  but  on  the  following  day  the  following  despatch  came 
from  Count  Rostopchin :  — ^ 

"Prince  Kattixof's  adjutant  brought  me  a  letter  wherein  he  demands 
of  me  police  officers  to  conduct  the  army  to  the  Riazan  road.  He  pro- 
testa  his  regret  at  abandoning  Moscow.  Your  majesty,  Kutuzofs  act 
decides  the  fate  of  the  capital  and  of  your  empire.  Eussia  will  thrill 
when  she  learns  of  the  abandonment  of  that  city,  which  is  the  focus  of 
the  greatness  of  Russia,  where  lie  the  ashes  of  your  ancestors.  I  follow 
the  army.  I  have  sent  everything  away.  It  remains  for  me  only  to  weep 
for  the  misfortune  of  my  fatherland." 

On  receiving  this  letter,  the  sovereign  sent  Prince  Volkon- 
sky  with  the  following  rescript  to  Kutuzof :  — • 

**  Prince  Mikhail  lUaronovitch !  Since  September  0  I  have  had  no 
report  from  you.  Meantime  I  have  received,  by  the  way  of  Yaroslavl, 
under  date  of  September  13,  from  the  Governor-General  of  Moscow, 
the  melancholy  tidings  that  yon  and  the  army  have  decided  to  abandon 
Moscow.  You  may  imagine  the  effect  which  these  tidings  produced  upon 
me,  and  your  silence  deepens  my  amazement.  I  send  General-Adjutant 
Prince  Volkousky  with  this  to  learn  from  you  the  condition  of  the  army 
and  what  reasons  compelled  you  to  such  a  melancholy  decision.'' 


8  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Nine  days  after  the  abandonment  of  Moscow,  a  measetigef 
from  Kutuzof  arrived  in  Petersburg  with  the  official  confirma- 
tion of  the  abandonment  of  Moscow.  This  courier  was  the 
Frenchman  Michaud,  but,  though  a  foreigner,  yet  a  Russian  in 
heart  and  soul  *  —  as  he  himself  declared. 

The  sovereign  immediately  gave  the  courier  audienoe  in 
his  cabinet  in  his  palace  on  the  Kamennui  Ostrof.  Michaud, 
who  had  never  seen  Moscow  before  this  campaign  and  could 
not  speak  Russian,  nevertheless  felt  greatly  agitated  when  he 
appeared  before  "notre  tres-gra/iieux  souverain"  (as  he  ex* 
pressed  it  in  a  letter)  with  the  tidings  of  the  burning  of 
Moscow  —  the  flames  of  which  lighted  up  his  way.  Though 
the  source  of  Mr.  Michaud's  chagrin  must  have  been  very 
different  from  that  from  which  the  grief  of  the  Russian  peo- 
ple proceeded,  Michaud  drew  such  a  melancholy  face,  as  he  was 
ushered  into  the  sovereign's  cabinet,  that  the  sovereign  instantly 
asked  him :  ^' Are  you  bringing  me  sad  news,  colonel  ?  " 

'^Very  sad,  sire,"  replied  Michaud  with  a  sigh,  and  drop- 
ping his  eyes,  '^  V abandon  de  Moscou  /  " 

^'Gan  they  hare  surrendered  my  ancient  capital  without  a 
battle?"  exclaimed  the  emperor,  an  angry  flush  suddenly 
rising  in  his  face. 

Michaud  respectfully  delivered  the  message  with  which  he 
had  been  intrusted  by  Kutuzof;  to  wit,  that  it  was  a  sheer 
impossibility  to  accept  an  engagement  at  Moscow,  and  that  as 
but  one  choice  was  left,  to  lose  both  the  army  and  Moscow,  or 
^loscow  alone,  the  field  marshal  had  felt  it  lus  duty  to  choidse 
the  latter  alternative. 

The  sovereign  listened  in  silence,  not  looking  at  Michaud. 

"  Has  the  enemy  entered  the  city  ?  "  he  demanded. 

^<  Yes,  your  majesty,  and  it  is  a  heap  of  ashes  by  this  time. 
When  I  left  it,  'twas  all  on  fire,"  f  said  Michaud  resolutely ; 
but  when  he  glanced  at  the  emperor,  Michaud  was  horror- 
struck  at  what  he  had  said.  The  sovereign  was  breathing 
with  quick,  labored  respirations ;  his  lower  lip  trembled,  and 
his  handsome  blue  eyes  for  an  instant  overflowed  with  tears. 

But  this  lasted  only  a  moment.    The  sovereign  suddenly 

*  Quoique  stranger ,  russe  de  caur  et  <r&me. 

t  '^ L'ennemi  eslM  etr€  en  vUle  f"^**  Ouif  Hre,  et  eUe  ut  en  cemdrei  k 
Vheure  qu'U  est.    Je  Vai  laisa4e  toute  en  fiammeeJ* 


WAn  AND  PJ^ACE.  9 

scowled  as  thongh  annoyed  at  himself  for  his  weakness.  And, 
raising  his  head,  he  turned  to  Michaud  with  a  steady  voice :  — 

"I  see,  colonel,  from  all  that  is  happening  to  us,"  said  he, 
"  that  Providence  demands  great  sacrifices  of  us  —  I  am  ready 
to  submit  to  his  will ;  but  tell  me,  Michaud,  how  did  you 
leave  the  army  which  saw  my  ancient  capital  thus  abandoned 
without  striking  a  blow  ?  Did  you  not  see  any  signs  of  dis- 
couragement ?  " 

Michaud,  seeing  this  calmness  of  his  "  very  gracious  sover- 
eign,"  inst^tly  recovered  Ma  own  presence  of  mind,  but  he  was 
not  yet  ready  to  reply  to  the  emperor's  straightforward  and  un- 
equivocal question,  which  demanded  a  straightforward  answer. 

**  Your  majesty,  will  you  allow  me  to  speak  freely,  like  a 
loyal  soldier  ?  "  he  aflked  for  the  sake  of  gaining  time. 

"  Colonel,  that  is  what  I  always  demand,"  said  the  emperor. 
"  Conceal  nothing  from  me :  I  wish  to  know  absolutely  how 
matters  stand." 

•'Your  majesty,"  said  Michaud,  with  a  shrewd  but  scarcely 
perceptible  smile  on  his  lips,  having  tlow  collected  himself 
sufficiently  to  formulate  his  answer  in  a  graceful  and  respect- 
ful jeu  de  mots :  "  Your  majesty,  I  left  the  whole  army,  from 
the  chiefs  down  to  the  last  soldier,  without  exception,  in  a 
state  of  terrible,  desperate  alarm  "  — 

**  How  is  that  ?  "  interrupted  the  sovereign,  darkly  frowning. 
**My  Russians  allow  themselves  to  be  cast  down  by  misfor- 
tune ?     Never ! " 

This  was  all  that  Michaud  wished  so  as  to  complete  his 
Jeu  de  mots. 

*'  Your  majesty,"  said  he,  with  a  respectful  but  mischievous 
expression,  "their  only  fear  is  that  your  majesty,  through 
kindness  of  heart,  will  be  persuaded  to  make  peace.  They 
are  burning  to  light,"  said  the  accredited  representative  of  the 
Russian  people,  "and  to  prove  to  your  majesty  by  the  sacri- 
fice of  their  lives  how  devoted  they  are."  * 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  sovereign,  re^assured,  and  with  an  affectionate 

♦  "  Je  vois,  colonel,  par  tovt  ce  ywt  novs  arrive,  que  la  Providence  exige  de 
grands  sacrifices  de  nous.  —  Je  suis  pret  a  me  soumettre  a  toutes  ses  volonUs ; 
mais  dites  moi,  Michaud,  comment  avez-vous  laiss6  Varm4e  en  voyant  ainsi, 
sans  covpf^rir,  abandonner  wio/i  ancienne  capitale  f  N^ avez-vous  pas  aper<pt 
du  decoxiragementf  ^^  —  **  Sire,  me  permettrez-vous  de  vousparler  franchement 
en  loyal  militaire  ?  "  —  "  Colonel,  je  V exige  toujours.  Ne  me  cachez  rien;  je 
veuz savoir  absolument  ce  quHl  en  est,'*  — ** Sire!  j*ai  laiss^  toute  Varm4e, 
depuis  les  che/s  jusqu^au  dernier  soldat,  sa}X8  exception  dans  une  crainte  ^pou- 
vantable,  effrayante  /  "  —  *'  Comment  fa  f  Mes  Busses  se  laisseront-Hs  abatire 
par  U  maiheur  f  Jamais  !  "  —  **Sire,  ils  craignent  senlement  que  votre  majesti 
par  honU  de  cosur  ne  se  laisse  persuader  defaire  la  paix,  Ils  brulent  de  com^ 
oattrt  et  de  prouver  a  voire  majesty  par  le  sacrifice  de  leur  vie,  combien  ils  lui 
§ojU  devours" 


^ 


10  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

gleam  flashing  from  his  eyes,  as  he  tapped  Michaad  on  the 
shoulder,  "  you  relieve  me,  colonel." 

The  sovereign  then  dropped  his  head  and  remained  for  some 
time  lost  in  thought.  "  Very  well !  Return  to  the  army,"  said  he, 
drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  turning  to  Michaud 
with  a  gentle  but  majestic  gesture.  ^'  And  tell  our  brave  men, 
tell  all  my  good  subjects  everywhere  you  go,  that  when  I  have 
no  soldiers  left,  I  will  place  myself  at  the  head  of  my  beloved 
nobles  and  of  my  worthy  peasants,  and  thus  I  will  exhaust  the 
last  resources  of  my  empire.  It  will  furnish  me  yet  with  more 
than  my  enemies  think,"  said  the  sovereign,  growing  more  and 
more  moved.  "  But  if  ever  it  were  written  in  the  decrees  of 
Divine  Providence,"  he  went  on  to  say,  raising  to  heaven  his 
beautiful,  kindly  eyes  gleaming  with  emotion,  "  that  my  family 
should  cease  to  reign  on  the  throne  of  my  ancestors,  then, 
after  having  exhausted  all  the  means  that  are  in  my  power,  I 
w^ill  allow  my  beard  to  grow  to  here  "  (the  sovereign  placed  his 
hand  half-way  down  his  chest)  "  and  I  will  go  and  eat  potatoes 
with  the  humblest  of  my  peasants  sooner  than  sign  the  shame 
of  my  country  and  of  my  beloved  nation,  whose  sacrifices  I  can 
appreciate."  * 

Having  said  these  words  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion,  the  sov- 
ereign suddenly  turned  round,  as  though  he  wished  to  hide 
from  Michaud  the  tears  that  filled  his  eyes,  and  walked  to  the 
end  of  his  cabinet.  After  standing  there  a  few  moments,  he 
came  back  to  Michaud  with  long  strides  and  gave  his  arm  a 
powerful  squeeze  below  the  elbow.  His  handsome,  kindly  face 
was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  decision  and  fury :  — 

"Colonel  Michaud,  forget  not  what  I  have  said  to  you  here: 
perhaps  some  day  we  shall  recall  it  with  pleasure  —  either 
Napoleon  or  I,"  said  the  sovereign,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
chest.  "  We  can  no  longer  reign  together.  I  have  learned  to 
know  him;  he  shall  never  deceive  me  again!" t  And  the 
sovereign,  with  a  frown,  relapsed  into  silence. 

♦  "  Eh  biefit  retournez  a  Varmie  et  dites  a  noA  braves,  dites  a  tous  mes  hons 
siijet/t  partout  ou  vonn  pcutsereZt  que  quandje  n'avrais  plus  aucun  soldat.Je  me 
mettrait  moi-mime,  a  la  tite  de  ma  chere  noblesse,  de  mes  botispapsatu,  d 
fuserai  ainsi  jvsqu'a  la  dejmiere  ressouroe  de  mon  empire.  It  m*en  i^rt 
encore  plus  qxie  mes  ennemis  ne  pendent,  Mais  si  jamais  il  fut  €crU  dans 
les  d4crets  de  la  Divine  Providence  que  ma  dinastie  dut  cesser  de  r^gner 
«t<r  le  trdne  de  mes  ancetres,  alors,  apres  avoir  ipuisi  ious  Us  movens  qui  soiU 
en  mon  pouvoir^je  me  laisserai  croitre  la  barbe  JusquHci  —  etfirai  manger 
des  pommes  de  terre  avec  le  dernier  de  m,es  pay  sans  plutdt  de  signer  la  honiede 
mapatrie  et  de  ma  chhre  nation,  dontje  sats  appr^der  les  sacr^ees.'^ 

1  **  Colonel  Michaud,  n^ovbliez  pas  ce  quejevous  dis  id :  peut-^tre  qu*nn 
jour  nous  nous  le  rapellerons  ai^ec  plcUsir.  Napoleon  ou  moi  !  2f<fus  ne 
pouvonsplus  r€gner  ensemble.  nPai  appris  a  le  cotinaitre,  U  ne  me  trompera 
plus:* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  11 

Michaudy  though  a  foreigner,  yet  a  Bussian  in  heart  and 
soul,  felt  at  that  solemn  moment  ^* enthotisiasnie"  by  all  that 
he  had  just  heard  (as  he  said  afterwards),  and  in  the  expres- 
sions that  followed,  he  uttered  not  only  his  own  feelings  but 
also  the  feelings  of  the  Kussian  people,  whose  representative 
he  considered  himself :  — 

"  Sire ! ''  said  he,  ^'  your  majesty  at  this  moment  seals  the 
glory  of  the  nation  and  the  safety  of  Europe."  • 

The  sovereign  with  an  inclination  of  the  head  dismissed 
Michaud. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

At  the  time  when  Eussia  was  half  conquered,  and  the  in- 
habitants of  Moscow  were  fleeing  to  distant  provinces,  and 
levy  after  levy  of  the  landwehr  was  being  raised  for  the  de- 
fence of  the  fatherland,  we,  who  were  not  alive  at  the  time, 
involuntarily  presuppose  that  all  the  men  of  Russia,  from 
small  to  great,  were  solely  occupied  in  sacrificing  themselves 
in  saving  the  country  or  in  bewailing  its  ruin. 

Stories  and  descriptions  of  that  period,  all  without  excep- 
tion, speak  of  self-sacrifice,  love  for  the  fatherland,  the  des- 
peration, sorrow,  and  heroism  of  the  Russians. 

In  reality,  this  was  not  so  at  all.  It  merely  seems  so  to  us 
from  the  fact  that  we  are  occupied  with  the  general  historical 
interest  of  the  time  and  fail  to  see  all  those  personal  individ- 
ual interests  which  occupied  private  individuals.  But,  in  real- 
ity, those  personal  interests  seemed  to  the  iiaen  of  that  day  so 
much  more  significant  than  the  general  interests,  that  the  gen- 
eral interests  were  never  felt  at  all,  and  were  scarcely  regarded. 
The  majority  of  the  men  of  that  time  paid  no  attention  at  all 
to  the  general  course  of  events,  and  were  merely  guided  by 
the  personal  interests  of  that  present.  And  those  very  men 
were  the  most  important  factors  of  that  time. 

Those  who  strove  to  comprehend  the  general  course  of 
events,  and  were  anxious  by  their  self-sacrifice  and  heroism  to 
take  part  in  it,  irere  the  most  useless  members  of  society. 
They  saw  everything  in  a  wrong  sense ;  and  all  that  they  did, 
in  spite  of  their  good  intentions,  proved  to  be  profitless  waste, 
like  the  regiments  organized  by  Pierre  and  Mamonof,  which 
pillaged  the  Russian  villages ;  or  like  the  lint  picked  by  high- 

*  "  Sire,  votre  majesU  signe  dans  ce  moment  la  gloire  de  la  ruUion  et  le  sa^ui 
dt  V  Europe,'' 


12  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

bom  young  ladies^  which  never  reached  the  wounded,  and 
soon. 

Even  those  who,  in  their  fondness  for  subtilities  and  the  ex- 
pression of  their  feelings,  talked  about  the  actual  state  of 
Russia,  involuntarily  gave  to  their  speeches  the  stamp  of  their 
impressions,  or  pretences,  or  falsehoods,  or  profitless  criticisms 
and  animosities  against  men  who  were  blamed  for  that  for 
which  no  one  could  really  be  held  responsible. 

In  historical  events  more  strictly  than  elsewhere  holds 
the  prohibition  against  tasting  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge. Only  unconscious  activity  brings  forth  fruit,  aod  a 
man  who  plays  a  part  in  any  historical  event  never  realizes 
its  significance.  If  he  tries  to  realize  it,  he  is  astounded  bj 
his  barrenness. 

The  significance  of  the  event  that  took  place  at  that  time 
in  Russia  was  proportionately  incomprehensible  according  to 
the  part  which  any  man  took  in  it.  In  Petersburg  and  the 
provinces  remote  from  Moscow,  ladies  and  men  in  militia 
uniforms  mourned  over  Russia  and  the  capital,  and  talked 
about  self-sacrifice  and  other  such  things ;  but  in  the  army 
which  was  retreating  from  Moscow,  almost  nothing  was  said 
or  thought  about  Moscow ;  and  as  they  looked  at  the  con- 
flagration no  one  dreamed  of  wreaking  vengeance  on  the 
French)  but  they  thought  of  the  next  quarter's  pay,  about  the 
next  halting-place,  about  Matrioshka  the  sutling-wench,*  and 
the  like. 

Nikolai  Rostof,  without  any  pretence  of  self-sacrifioe,  but 
fortuitously,  the  war  having  surprised  him  while  he  was  still 
in  the  service,  took  a  genuine  and  continuous  part  in  the  de- 
fence of  his  country,  and  accordingly  looked  without  despair 
and  without  sombre  forebodings  on  what  was  then  happ^iing 
in  Russia. 

If  any  one  had  asked  him  what  he  thought  about  the  con- 
dition of  Russia  at  the  time,  he  would  have  replied  that  it 
wasn't  for  him  to  think  about  it,  that  Kutuzof  and  the  others 
were  for  that,  but  he  had  heard  that  more  regiments  were 
mobilizing,  and  that  there  would  be  still  more  fighting,  and 
that  if  nothing  happened  it  would  not  be  astonishing  if  in  a 
couple  of  years  he  were  given  a  regiment. 

It  was  because  he  took  this  view  of  affairs  that  he  not 
only  felt  no  compunction  at  being  deprived  of  participation  in 
the  last  engagement,  having  received  word  that  he  was  ap- 
pointed commander  of  a  remount  expedition  to  Voniuezb 

*  Marketantk^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  18 

after  horses  for  his  division,  bat  was  even  perfectly  delighted, 
and  took  no  pains  to  hide  it  from  his  comrades,  who  were 
generoos  enongh  to  sympathize  with  him. 

A  few  days  before  the  battle  of  Borodino,  Nikolai  received 
the  money  and  the  necessary  papers,  and,  sending  a  hussar  on 
in  advance,  he  started  for  Voronezh  by  post  relays. 

Only  a  man  who  has  experienced  this,  that  is,  who  has 
spent  several  months  in  succession  in  the  atmosphere  of 
military  campaign  life,  can  comprehend  the  delight  which 
Kikolai  experienced  when  he  passed  out  of  the  circle  beyond 
which  there  were  no  more  foraging  parties,  provision  trains, 
and  ambulances;  when  he  ceased  to  see  soldiers,  army  wagons, 
the  dirty  traces  of  a  camp,  and  his  eyes  were  greeted  by 
villages  with  peasant  men  and  women,  with  country  land- 
holders, mansions,  fields  with  pasturing  cattle,  post  station- 
houses  with  their  sleepy  agents,  he  felt  such  joy  as  though  he 
saw  it  all  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

One  thing  especially  kept  him  in  a  perpetual  state  of  sur- 
prise and  delight,  and  this  was  the  sight  of  young  and  healthy 
women,  who  did  not  each  have  a  dozen  officers  tagging 
after  her  all  the  time,  and  women  who  found  it  a  flattering 
novellnr  to  have  an  officer,  as  he  passed  by,  stop  and  chatter 
with  them. 

In  the  most  jovial  frame  of  mind,  Kikolai  reached  Voronezh 
at  evening,  put  up  at  the  inn,  ordered  all  that  he  had  so  long 
been  lacking  at  the  front,  and  on  the  next  day,  after  getting 
a  clean  shave,  and  putting  on  his  long  unused  dress  imiform, 
he  went  to  pay  his  respecte  to  the  city  officials. 

The  commander  of  the  landwehr  was  a  civil  general,  an  old 
man  who  evidently  took  great  delight  in  his  military  title  and 
rank.     He  received  Nikolai  sternly,  — thinking  that  this  was 

E roper  in  a  military  man  of  his  importance,  —  and  questioned 
im  in  a  very  significant  way,  approving  or  disapproving  as 
though  it  were  his  special  prerogative,  and  as  though  he  were 
the  judge  of  how  the  general  course  of  the  war  was  directed. 
Nikolai  was  so  happy  that  this  merely  amused  him, 
From  the  commander  of  the  landwehr  he  went  to  the 
governor.    The  governor  was  a  lively  little  man,  very  friendly 
and  simple-hearted.    He  told  Nikolai  of  several  establish- 
ments where  he  might  obtain  horses,  recommended  to  him  a 
horse-dealer  in  the  city  and  a  landed  proprietor  twenty  versts 
from  the  city,  who  kept  good  horses,  and  he  promised  him 
any  sort  of  co-operation. 
"Are  you  Clouut  Ilya  Audrey evitch's  son?    My  wife  used 


14  WAR  AND  PEACL:. 

to  be  very  good  friends  with  your  mitushka.  On  Thutsdavs 
I  always  have  a  reception :  today  is  Thursday ;  do  me  the 
favor  to  come  informally/'  said  the  governor  as  Nikolai  took 
his  leave. 

Immediately  on  leaving  the  governor's,  Nikolai  took  post- 
horses,  and,  accompanied  by  his  quartermaster^  drove  rapidly 
the  twenty  versts  so  as  to  see  the  stud  owned  by  the  landed 
proprietor. 

Nikolai  found  everything  jolly  and  comfortable  daring  this 
his  fii*st  visit  at  Voronezh,  and,  as  is  usually  the  case  when  a 
man  is  in  a  good  frame  of  mind,  everything  was  easily  and 
satisfactorily  settled. 

The  landed  proprietor  whom  Nikolai  went  to  see  was  an 
old  bachelor,  formerly  a  cavalryman,  a  connoisseur  of  horses, 
a  huntsman,  the  master  of  spiced  vodka*  a  hundred  yeais 
old,  of  old  Hungarian,  and  of  marvellous  horses. 

Nikolai,  in  two  words,  bought,  for  six  thousand  rubles, 
seventeen  stallions,  ^'  assorted,"  as  he  expressed  it,  ^'  for  the 
show  pieces  of  his  remount."  After  a  good  dinner,  and 
drinking  considerable  of  admirable  Hungarian,  Rostof,  ex- 
changing kisses  with  the  proprietor,  with  whom  he  was 
already  on  the  most  intimate  terms  of  friendship,  drove  back 
over  the  horrible  road  (which,  however,  did  not  affect  his 
spirits),  constantly  urging  his  yamshchik  to  do  his  very  best 
to  get  him  back  to  the  governor's  in  time  for  the  reception. 

Having  changed  his  clothes,  scented  himself,  and  wet  his 
hair  down  with  cold  water,  Nikolai,  though  rather  late,  but 
with  the  proverb  "  better  late  than  never  "  ready  for  use,  ap- 
peai'ed  at  the  governor's. 

It  was  not  a  ball,  and  it  was  not  formally  announced  that 
there  would  be  dancing ;  but  Katerina  Petrovna,  as  all  knew, 
would  play  some  valses  and  eeossaises  on  the  harpsichord,  and 
there  might  be  some  dancing ;  and  all  the  guests  took  this  lor 
granted,  and  came  in  ball  costumes. 

Provincial  life  in  1812  was  pretty  much  the  same  as  ever, 
with  this  sole  difference,  that  it  was  unusually  gay  in  the  little 
city,  owing  to  the  presence  of  a  number  of  wealthy  famihes 
from  Moscow,  and  to  the  fact  that,  as  a  general  thing,  at  this 
time  there  was  unprecedented  luxury  of  living  observable  (the 
sea  being  but  knee-deep  to  drunken  men),  while  the  small  talk 
that  is  a  necessity  among  people,  and  which,  hitherto^  had 
been  concerned  merely  with  the  weather  and  petty  gossip^ 
now  turned  on  the  state  of  Moscow,  the  war,  and  ^apoleoo. 

*  Zd^ekanka :  vodka  and  honey  boiled  with  epioea* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  16 

The  society  that  met  at  the  governor's  was  the  best  society 
of  Voronezh. 

There  were  any  number  of  ladies,  there  were  several  of 
Nikolai's  Moscow  acquaintances ;  but  there  was  not  a  man  who 
could  in  any  way  compare  with  the  Georgievsky  cavalier,  the 
gallant  hussar,  the  good-natured,  well-bred  Count  Bostof ! 

Among  the  men  wa£i  an  Italian,  who  had  been  an  officer  in 
the  French  army,  and  was  now  a  prisoner,  and  Nikolai  felt 
that  this  prisoner's  presence  still  further  enhanced  his  conse- 
quence as  a  Russian  hero.  It  was  a  kind  of  a  trophy !  Nikolai 
felt  this,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  the  way  they  all 
regarded  the  Italian,  and  so  he  treated  him  cordially,  but  with 
a  certain  dignity  and  reserve. 

As  soon  as  Nikolai  entered  the  room  in  his  hussar's  uniform, 
diffusing  around  him  an  odor  of  perfumes  and  of  wine,  and  he 
himself  said,  and  heard  others  say,  again  and  again,  the  words 
vaut  viieux  tard  que  jamais  —  better  late  than  never,  — he  be- 
came the  centre  of  the  gathering ;  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him,  and  he  immediately  felt  that  the  poisition  of  general 
favorite,  which  he  had  taken  in  the  province,  "was  exceedingly 
appropriate  to  him,  and  pleasant,  and,  after,  such  long  depriva- 
tion, really  intoxicating  in  its  agreeableness.  Not  only  at  the 
post  stations,  the  taverns,  and  the  residence  of  the  landed  pro- 
prietor, were  the  servant  maids  flattered  by  his  attentions,  but 
here,  at  the  governor's  reception,  it  seemed  to  Nikolai  that 
there  was  an  inexhaustible  array  of  young  married  women  and 
pretty  girls  who  were  impatient  to  have  him  give  them  a  share 
of  his  attention. 

The  ladies  and  young  girls  coquetted  with  hira^iand  the  old 
people,  from  the  very  first  moment,  took  it  upon  themselves 
to  find  a  wife^or  this  mad-cap  young  hussar,  and"  bring  him  to 
his  senses.  Among  the  latter  was  the  governor's  wife  her- 
self, who  received  Rostof  like  a  near  relative,  and  called  him 
"Nicolas"  and  addressed  him  with  the  familiar  tuiy  "thou." 

Katerina  Fetrovna,  as  was  expected,  began  to  play  her  valses 
and  ecossaisesy  and  the  dancing  began,  and,  by  his  graces  in  this 
accomplishment,  Nikolai  still  more  captivated  all  the  govern- 
mental society.  He  surprised  every  one  by  his  peculiarly  free 
and  easy  manner  of  dancing.  Even  Nikolai  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  himself  by  his  manner  of  dancing  that  evening.  He 
had  never  danced  so  at  Moscow,  and  he  wou^d  have  been  dis- 
posed to  call  such  extravagance  of  freedom  unbecoming,  and 
fnanvais  ffenre,  had  he  not  felt  the  necessity  upon  him  of  sur- 
prising them  all  by  something  extraordinary,  something  which 


16  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

they  must  be  taught  to  regard  as  the  proper  thing  in  capitals, 
but  as  yet  unknown  in  the  provinces. 

All  that  evening,  Nikolai  devoted  the  most  of  his  attentions 
to  a  blue-eyed,  plump  and  pretty  little  blonde,  the  wife  of  one 
of  the  governmental  chinovniks.  With  that  naive  persuasion 
with  which  young  men  flatter  themselves  that  other  men's 
Avives  were  created  especially  for  their  diversion,  Rostof 
staid  by  this  lady,  and  treated  her  husband  in  a  friendly, 
somewhat  conspiratical  way,  as  though  it  were  to  be  quite 
taken  for  granted,  though  as  yet  nothing  had  been  said  about 
it,  that  they  would  get  along  splendidly,  that  is,  Kikolai  with 
this  man's  wife ! 

The  husband,  however,  it  seemed,  did  not  share  in  this  per- 
suasion, and  did  his  best  to  treat  Rostof  with  marked  coldness. 
But  Nikolai's  unaffected  frankness  was  so  unbounded,  that 
more  than  once  the  husband  was  obliged,  in  spite  of  him,  to 
give  way  to  Nikolai's  geniality. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  evening,  however,  in  proportion  as 
his  wife's  face  grew  more  and  more  flushed  and  excited,  her 
husband's  face  grew  ever  more  and  more  set  and  melancholy, 
as  though  there  were  a  common  fund  of  vivacity  shared  by 
the  two  so  that  in  proportion  as  it  waxed  in  the  wife,  it  waned 
in  the  husband. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Nikolai,  with  a  beaming  smile  on  his  lips,  sat  in  his  easy- 
chair,  leaning  over  as  near  as  possible  to  the  pretty  blo7idi»ka, 
whispering  mythological  compliments  into  her  ear. 

Briskly  shifting  his  legs  in  their  tight  riding-trousers,  ex- 
haling the  odor  of  perfumes,  and  contemplating  his  lady  and 
himself,  and  the  handsome  shape  of  his  calves  under  his  top- 
boots,  Nikolai  was  telling  the  pretty  blonde  that,  while  he  was 
there  at  Voronezh,  he  intended  to  run  away  with  a  certain 
lady. 

"'  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Charming,  divine  !  Her  eyes  "  (Nikolai  looked  closely  at 
his  neighbor)  "  are  blue  ;  her  lips,  coral ;  her  complexion  "  — 
he  gave  a  significant  look  at  her  shoulders  —  "  her  fonn, 
Diana's ! " 

The  husband  rejoined  them,  and  asked  gloomily  what  she 
was  talking  about. 

"  All !    Nikita  Ivanuitch,"  exclaimed  Nikolai,  politely  risr 


14 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  17 

ing.  And,  as  though  he  were  anxious  for  Nikita  Ivanuitch  to 
share  in  his  jokes,  he  confided  to  him  his  intention  of  eloping 
with  a  certain  pretty  blonde. 

The  husband  smiled  chillingly,  the  wife  rapturously.  The 
governor's  worthy  wife  came  up  to  them  with  a  disapproving 
look  on  her  face. 

"  Anna  Ignatyevna  is  desirous  of  seeing  you,  Nicolas"  said 
she,  and  by  the  tone  in  which  she  mentioned  the  name  Anna 
Ignatyevna,  Rostof  instantly  realized  that  Anna  Ignat- 
yevna was  a  very  important  individual.  "  Come,  let  us  go, 
Nicolas.    You  permit  me  to  call  you  so,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma  tante.     But  who  is  she  ?  " 

"Anna  Ignatyevna  Malvintseva.  She  had  heard  of  you 
through  her  niece ;  —  how  you  rescued  her !  —  Can  you 
guess  ?  " 

"  But  I  rescued  so  many  there ! "  said  Nikolai. 

"  Her  niece  the  Princess  Bolkonskaya.  She  is  here  with 
her  aunt  in  Voronezh.  Oho !  how  he  reddens !  What  does 
that  mean,  now  ?  " 

I  could  not  imagine,  —  there,  there,  ma  tante  /  " 
Pretty  good,  pretty  good !    Oh,  what  a  boy  you  are  ! " 

The  governor's  wife  led  him  to  a  tall  and  very  stately  old 
lady  with  a  blue  toque  on  her  head,  who  had  just  finished  a 
hand  at  cards  with  the  most  consequential  personages  of  the 
city.  This  was  Malvintseva,  the  Princess  Mariya's  aunt  on 
her  mother's  side,  a  rich,  childless  widow,  who  had  always 
lived  in  Voronezh.  She  stood  settling  her  card  account  when 
Kostof  was  brought  to  her.  She  was  blinking  her  eyes  with  a 
stern  and  important  expression,  gave  him  a  glance,  and  went 
on  berating  the  general  who  had  won  her  money. 

*^  Very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,"  said  she,  extending  her 
hand.     "  Pray  come  and  see  me." 

After  speaking  a  few  words  about  the  Princess  Mariya  and 
her  late  father,  whom,  evidently,  Malvintseva  had  not  loved, 
and  asking  a  few  questions  as  to  what  news  Nikolai  had  to 
give  about  Prince  Andrei,  who  also  seemed  not  to  enjoy  her 
good  graces,  she  dismissed  him,  repeating  her  invitation  to 
visit  her. 

Nikolai  promised,  and  again  reddened  as  he  took  his  leave 
of  the  widow. 

At  the  remembrance  of  the  Princess  Mariya,  Rostof  expe- 
rienced a  feeling  of  bashfulness,  even  of  fear,  which  he  could 
not  understand. 

After  leaving  Malvintseva,  Rostof  intended  to  return  to 

VOL.  4.  —  2, 


18  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  dancing  again,  but  the  little  g^ihematorsha  laid  her  plunp 
little  hand  on  his  sleeve  and  said  that  she  wanted  to  have  a 
talk  with  him,  and  led  him  into  the  divan-room,  which  was 
instantly  evacuated  by  those  who  were  in  it  and  who  did  not 
want  to  be  in  her  way. 

"  You  must  know,  mon  cheT^'*  said  the  governor's  wife,  with 
a  serious  expression  on  her  good  little  face,  '<  I  have  found 
exactly  the  right  wife  for  you ;  do  you  want  me  to  arrange 
the  match?" 

"  Who  is  it,  ma  tante  ?  "  asked  Nikolai. 

''  I  propose  the  princess.  Katerina  Petrovna  advises  lili ; 
but  that's  not  my  idea  —  I  say  the  princess.  What  do  you 
say  ?  I  am  sure  your  mainan  would  be  very  thankful.  Truly, 
she  is  a  charming  girl,  and,  after  all,  she  is  not  so  veiy 
plain  I " 

^*  Indeed,  she  isn't ! "  exclaimed  Nikolai  in  an  injured  tone. 
*^  As  for  myself,  ma  tante,  I  do  as  a  soldier  should :  I  never 
intrude,  and  I  never  refuse  anything,"  said  Nikolai,  without 
stopping  to  consider  what  reply  he  ought  to  make. 

"  But  remember !    This  is  no  joke." 

"  What  is  no  joke  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  governor's  wife,  as  though  speaking  to 
herself.  "  And  see  here,  m^n  cher,  you  are  quite  too  atten- 
tive to  that  other  lady,  la  blonde.  Beally,  it's  pitiful,  her 
husband  "  — 

"  Oh,  no ;  he  and  I  are  very  good  friends,"  replied  Nikolai, 
who,  in  his  simplicity  of  soul,  never  once  dreamed  that  such  a 
jolly  way  of  whiling  away  time  could  be  aught  else  than  joUy 
to  any  one. 

"What  foolish  nonsense  did  I  speak  to  the  governor's 
wife  ?  "  Nikolai .  suddenly  asked  himself  while  at  supper. 
"  She  is  trying  to  make  a  match  —  but  Sonya  ?  " — 

And  on  bidding  the  governor's  wife  good-night,  when  she 
with  a  smile  said  to  him,  "  Now  remember  "  —  he  drew  her  to 
one  side. 

"  Ma  tante,  I  have  something  which  I  really  ought  to  tell 
you." 

"  What  can  it  be,  my  boy  ?  Come  in  and  let  us  sit  down 
here." 

Nikolai  suddenly  felt  a  desire  and  an  irresistible  impulse  to 
confide  in  this  almost  perfect  stranger  all  his  private  thoughts 
— thoughts  which  he  would  never  have  told  his  mother,  his 
sister,  his  friend.  Afterwards,  when  he  remembered  this  out^ 
burst  of  needless,  inexplicable  frankness,  which  nevertheless 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  19 

liad  rery  important  consequences,  it  seemed  to  him  as  it 
always  seems  to  people — that  he  had  acted  very  foolishly  ; 
this  outburst  of  frankness,  together  with  other  trivial  circum- 
stanees,  had  for  him  and  for  his  whole  family  portentous 
results. 

"  This  is  what  I  mean,  ma  tante,  Maman  has  for  a  long 
time  been  anxious  for  me  to  marry  a  rich  young  lady.  But 
the  idea  of  marrying  for  money  haA  always  been  extremely 
repugnant." 

**  Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  assented  the  governor's  wife. 

"  But  the  Princess  Bolkonskaya :  that  is  another  thing.  In 
the  first  place,  I  will  tell  you  honestly,  she  pleases  me  very 
much ;  I  like  her  extremely.  And  besides,  after  meeting  her 
in  such  a  way,  in  such  a  terrible  position,  the  thought  has 
often  occurred  to  me  that  it  was  fate.  You  may  remember, 
maman  long,  long  ago  thought  about  this,  before  I  ever  hap- 
pened to  meet  her,  and  somehow  it  happened  so :  we  never 
met.  And  then  when  my  sister  Natasha  was  engaged  to  her 
brother,  why,  of  course,  then  it  became  out  of  the  question  to 
think  of  marrying  her.*  And  now,  just  as  Natasha's  engage- 
ment is  broken  off,  it  must  needs  happen  that  I  meet  her; 
well,  it's  all  —  this  is  the  trouble  —  I  have  never  told  any  one 
about  this,  and  I  don't  intend  to.     Only  to  you." 

The  governor's  wife  gave  his  elbow  an  encouraging  pressure. 

"  You  know  Sophie,  my  cousin.  I  love  her,  and  I  have  prom- 
ised to  marry  her  and  I  shall  marry  her.  —  And  so  you  see 
there  is  nothing  to  be  said  about  this  other  matter,"  explained 
Nikolai,  incoherently  and  reddening. 

"  Mon  cher  I  man  eher  /  how  can  you  have  such  ideas  ? 
Why,  you  know  Sophie  has  nothing,  and  you  yourself  have 
told  me  that  your  papa's  affairs  were  in  a  wretched  state. 
And  your  Tnaman?  This  would  kill  her  surely t  Then, 
Sophie,  if  she  is  a  girl  with  any  heart,  what  a  life  it  would 
be  for  her !  Your  mother  in  despair,  your  property  all  dis- 
sipated !  —  No^  mon  cher,  you  and  Sophie  must  see  things  as 
they  are." 

Nikolai  made  no  reply.  It  was  pleasant  for  him  to  hear 
this  reasoning. 

"Still,  ma  tante,  this  cannot  be,"  said  he  with  a  sigh,  after 
some  little  silence.  "Then,  do  you  suppose  the  princess 
would  marry  me  ?  and  besides  she  is  in  mourning.  How  can 
such  a  thing  be  thought  of  ?  " 

*  The  marriage  sacrament  according  to  the  Greek  Ghnrob  makes  mar- 
riage relatioDBhip  blood  relationship. 


20  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  What  ?  do  you  suppose  I  would  have  you  many  her  m- 
stantly?  II  y  a  maniSre  et  mantle/"  said  the  govemofs 
wife. 

^'What  a  match-maker^  ma  tantel^^  said  Nikelai,  kisaing 
her  plump  hand. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

This  Princess  Mariya,  on  arriving  at  Moscow  after  her 
meeting  with  Bostof ,  found  there  her  nephew  and  his  tutor, 
and  a  letter  from  Prince  Andrei,  who  enjoined  upon  them  to 
go  to  Voronezh,  to  her  aunt  Malvintseva. 

The  labors  consequent  upon  this  move,  her  anxiety  for  her 
brother,  the  regulation  of  her  life  in  her  new  home,  new  ac- 
quaintances, the  education  of  her  nephew, — all  this  tended 
to  quench  in  the  Princess  Mariya's  heart  that  seductive  long* 
ing  which  had  tormented  her  during  her  father's  illness,  ai^ 
after  his  death,  and  especially  after  lier  meeting  with  Bostof. 

She  was  unhappy. 

The  impression  of  her  father's  loss,  associated  in  her  mind 
as  it  was  with  the  ruin  of  Eussia,  now,  after  a  month  spent 
in  the  conditions  of  a  calm,  equable  life,  grew  more  and  more 
vivid  to  her.  She  was  anxious ;  the  thought  of  the  perils  to 
which  her  brother  was  exposed  —  the  only  man  who  was 
closely  related  to  her  —  constantly  tormented  her. 

She  was  occupied  with  the  instruction  of  her  nephew,  but 
she  felt  all  the  time  that  she  was  peculiarly  unfitted  for  it 
Kevertheless  in  the  depths  of  her  soul  there  was  a  certain 
sense  of  quietude  arising  from  the  consciousness  that  she  had 
crushed  out  the  personal  hopes  and  dreams  that  had  sprung 
up  in  her  heart,  and  were  connected  with  the  appearance  of 
Rostof. 

When,  on  the  day  following  her  reception,  the  governor's 
wife  went  to  call  upon  Malvintseva,  after  a  private  conversa- 
tion with  her  in  regard  to  her  scheme  (making  the  reservation 
that,  though  under  present  circumstances  it  was  impossible  to 
think  of  a  formal  courtship,  still  the  young  people  might  be 
brought  together  and  made  acquainted),  and  when,  after  re- 
ceiving the  aunt's  approval,  the  gubernatorsha  spoke  in  the 
Princess  Mariya's  presence  of  Rostof,  praised  him,  and  told 
how  he  had  reddened  at  the  mere  mention  of  the  princess's 
name,  the  Princess  Mariya  experienced  a  feeling  not  of 
pleasure  but  of  pain ;  her  inward  calm  had  entirely  vanished, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  21 

and  agaiii  arose  her  desires,  doubts,  self-reproaches,  and 
hopes. 

During  the  two  days  that  intervened  between  hearing  this 
news  and  her  interview  with  Kostof,  the  Princess  Mariya  did 
not  cease  to  think  how  it  behooved  her  to  behave  toward  hira. 
At  one  moment  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  not  go 
into  the  drawing-room  when  he  came  to  call  upon  her  aunt^ 
that  it  was  not  becoming  for  her  to  receive  callers  when  she 
was  in  deep  mourning ;  then  again  she  thought  that  it  would 
be  rude  after  all  that  he  had  done  for  her ;  then  it  occurred  to 
her  that  the  governor's  wife  and  her  aunt  must  have  some 
designs  on  her  and  Bostof — their  glances,  and  certain  wordd 
that  they  had  dropped,  it  seemed  to  her,  confirmed  this  sup- 
position— then  she  said  to  herself  that  nothing  but  her  inborn 
depravity  made  her  have  such  thoughts  ;  they  could  not  help 
lemembering  that,  in  her  situation,  she  not  having  yet  taken 
off  her  "  weepers,"  —  such  a  wooing  would  be  an  insult  to  her, 
as  well  as  to  her  father's  memory. 

Assuming  that  she  should  go  down  to  meet  him,  the  Prin- 
cess Mariya  tried  to  imagine  the  words  which  he  would  say 
to  her,  and  which  she  should  say  to  him,  and  at  one  moment 
these  words  seemed  undeservedly  cold,  at  the  next  they 
seemed  to  possess  too  great  significance. 

More  than  all  else  she  was  apprehensive  that  on  meeting 
him  she  should  show  that  bashfidness  which  she  was  certain 
would  take  possession  of  her,  and  betray  her  as  soon  as  she 
saw  him. 

But  when  on  Sunday,  after  mass,  the  lackey  announced  at 
the  drawing-room  door  that  Count  Eostof  had  come,  the 
princess  showed  no  symptoms  of  confusion;  only  a  faint 
tinge  of  color  suffused  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  a 
new,  luminous  light. 

"You  have  seen  him,  auntie  ?  "  *  asked  the  Princess  Mariya 
in  a  tranquil  voice,  surprised  herself  that  she  could  be  out- 
wardly so  calm  and  natural. 

When  Eostof  entered  the  room,  the  princess  for  a  moment 
dropped  her  head,  as  though  for  the  purpose  of  allowing  the 
guest  time  to  exchange  greetings  with  her  aunt,  and  then  at 
file  very  moment  that  Nikolai  came  toward  her,  she  raised 
her  head,  and  with  radiant  eyes  met  his  glance. 

With  a  movement  full  of  grace  and  dignity,  she  arose  with 
a  joyful  smile,  offered  him  her  slender,  delicate  hand,  and 
spoke  to  him  in  a  voice  which  for  the  first  time  vibrated 
with  new,  womanly,  hearty  tones. 

*  Ti6t%uhh(k:  dixninntiTe  of  tmha. 


S2  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

« 

Mile;  BoTirienne^  who  happened  to  be  in  the  drawing-room, 
looked  at  the  Princess  Mariya  in  wonder  and  perplexity.    She 
herself,  though  a  most  accomplished  coquette,  could  not  have 
manoeuvred  better  on  meeting  a  man  whom  she  wished  to 
fascinate; 

"  Either  black  is  becoming  to  her,  or  really  she  has  grown 
pretty ;  I  certainly  never  remarked  it  so  before,"  said  Mile. 
Bounenne  to  herself. 

If  the  Princess  Mariya  had  been  in  a  position  to  think  at 
that  moment,  she  would  have  been  even  more  amazed  than 
l¥as  Mile.  Bourienne  at  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in 
her.  From  the  instant  that  she  saw  that  kind  face  so  beloved, 
a  new  power  of  life  took  possession  of  her,  and  compelled  her, 
irrespective  of  her  own  will,  to  speak  and  to  act.  Her  face  from 
that  moment  that  Rostof  entered  was  suddenly  transformed. 

Just  as  the  complicated  artistic  work  on  the  sides  of  a 
painted  or  carved  lamp  comes  out  with  sudden  and  unex- 
pected details  of  beauty  when  a  light  is  kindled  within,  though 
before  it  had  seemed  coarse,  dark,  and  meaningless,  so  was  the 
Princess  Mariya's  face  unexpectedly  transformed.  For  the  first 
time  all  that  pure,  spiritual,  inward  travail  which  she  had  gone 
through  for  so  many  years  was  laid  open  to  the  light.  All  that 
inward  travail,  which  had  left  her  so  dissatisfied  with  her- 
self,—  her  suffering,  her  yearnings  after  the  right,  her  sub- 
mission, love,  self-sacrifice, — all  this  now  shone  forth  in  those 
luminous  eyes,  in  her  gentle  smile,  in  every  feature  of  her 
tender  face.' 

Bostof  saw  all  this  so  clearly  that  it  seemed  to  him  he  had 
known  her  all  his  life.  He  felt  that  the  being  before  him 
was  different,  was  better  than  all  that  he  had  hitherto  met, 
and,  what  was  more  important,  was  better  than  himself. 

Their  conversation  was  extremely  simple  and  insignificant 
They  talked  about  the  war,  involuntarily,  like  every  one  else, 
exaggerating  their  grief  at  the  event ;  they  talked  about  their 
last  meeting,  whereupon  Nikolai  tried  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion to  something  else ;  they  talked  about  the  good  gubema- 
torsha,  about  their  respective  parents. 

The  Princess  Mariya  did  not  speak  of  her  brother,  deflect- 
ing the  subject  to  another  topic  as  soon  as  her  aunt  spoke 
about  Andrei.    It  was  evident  that,  while  there  might  be  some 

Eretence  in  her  expressions  of  grief  in  the  miseries  of  Bussia, 
er  brother  was  an  object  too  near  to  her  heart,  and  she 
would  not  and  could  not  talk  about  him.  Nikolai  remarked 
this,  for,  with  a  keenness  of  observation  that  was  not  at  all 


WAR  AND  PEACe.  28 

characteristic  of  him,  he  remarked  all  the  little  shades  Of  the 
princess's  nature  to  the  effect  of  greatly  intensifying  his  con- 
viction that  she  was  a  being  entirely  out  of  the  common. 

Nikolai,  exactly  the  same  as  the  princess,  had  changed  color 
when  her  name  was  mentioned  in  his  presence,  and  even 
when  he  thought  about  her ;  but  in  her  presence  he  felt  per- 
fectly unhampered,  and  by  no  means  confined  himself  to  the 
set  speeches  which  he  had  made  ready  in  advance,  but  spoke 
whatever  came  into  his  head. 

During  Nikolai's  short  call  there  were,  as  always  happens 
where  a  number  of  people  are  together,  moments  of  silence, 
and  during  one  of  these  Nikolai  made  up  to  Prince  Andrei's 
little  son,  petted  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to  be 
a  hussar.  He  took  hold  of  the  boy's  hands,  spun  him  around 
and  glanced  at  the  Princess  Mariya.  Her  tender,  happy,  and 
timid  eyes  followed  the  little  lad  whom  she  loved  while  he 
was  in  the  arms  of  the  man  whom  she  loved.  Nikolai  also 
remarked  this  look,  and,  as  though  he  understood  its  signifi- 
cance, he  flushed  with  gratification,  and  with  good-natured 
jollity  began  to  kiss  the  little  fellow. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  owing  to  her  mourning,  was  not  going 
into  society,  and  Nikolai  felt  that  it  was  unbecoming  for  him 
to  repeat  his  call  upon  them ;  but  the  governor's  wife,  never- 
theless, continued  her  task  of  match-maker,  and,  while  she 
took  occasion  to  repeat  to  Nikolai  all  the  flattering  things  that 
the  Princess  Mariya  had  said  about  him,  and  vice  versa,  she 
insisted  that  he  should  declare  himself  to  the  princess. 

In  order  to  bring  about  this  explanation,  she  arranged  a  meet- 
ing between  the  young  people  at  the  archbishop's,  before  mass. 

Although  Kostof  had  told  the  governor's  wife  that  he  would 
not  come  to  any  explanation  with  the  princess,  still  he  prom- 
ised to  be  present. 

Just  as  at  Tilsit  he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  doubt 
whether  what  had  been  enjoined  upon  all  was  good  or  not, 
so  now,  after  a  short  but  genuine  struggle  between  his  wish 
to  arrange  his  life  in  his  own  way  and  a  peaceful  submission 
to  circumstances,  he  chose  the  latter  alternative,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  that  power  which,  as  he  could  not  help  feeling, 
was  irresistibly  drawing  him  away,  he  knew  not  whither.  He 
knew  that,  having  plighted  his  troth  to  Sonya,  if  he  confessed 
his  feelings  for  the  Princess  Mariya,  it  would  be  nothing  else 
than  base.  And  he  knew  that  he  would  never  do  anything 
base.    But  he  knew  also  (not  so  much  knew  it  as  felt  it  in 


24  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  depths  of  his  heart)  that  if  he  gave  himself  np  into  the 
control  of  men  and  of  circumstances  and  let  them  guide  hii% 
he  not  only  would  do  nothing  wrong,  but  would  rather  do 
something  very,  very  important,  so  important  that  nothing  like 
it  would  ever  again  xecur  to  him  in  his  life. 

After  his  meeting  with  the  Princess  Mariya,  although  hii 
manner  of  life  continued  to  be  the  same  outwardly,  still  all 
his  former  pleasures  lost  for  him  their  zest,  and  he  frequently 
found  himself  thinking  of  the  Princess  Mariya ;  but  he  never 
thought  of  her  as  he  had  always,  without  exception,  thought 
of  the  various  young  ladies  whom  he  had  met  in  society,  nor 
even  as  he  had  for  long  and  sometimes  even  enthosiasticallf 
thought  of  Sonya. 

Like  almost  every  pure  young  man,  when  he  thought  about 
any  bdruishnya  as  his  possible  wife,  he  strove  to  make  her  fit  the 
condition  of  marital  existence,  as  he  imagined  it  —  the  white 
capote,  the  wife  behind  the  samovar,  his  wife's  carriage,  wee 
bits  of  children,  maman  and  papa,  their  relations  to  her,  and 
so  forth,  and  so  forth ;  and  these  representations  of  the  future 
gave  him  pleasure. 

But  when  he  thought  about  the  Princess  Mariya,  whom 
they  were  trying  to  make  a  wife  for  him,  he  could  not  make 
the  representations  of  his  future  married  life  in  any  way  con- 
crete. Even  when  he  tried  everything  seemed  incoherent  and 
false.    All  that  remained  in  his  mind  was  a  kind  of  dread. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

The  terrible  news  of  the  battle  of  Borodino,  of  our  losses 
in  dead  and  wounded,  and  the  still  more  terrible  tidings  of  the 
loss  of  Moscow,  were  received  in  Voronezh  toward  the  end  of 
September. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  learning  only  from  the  bulletin  that 
her  brother  was  wounded,  and  having  no  definite  informaticm 
about  him,  determined  to  go  in  search  of  him.  This  was  what 
Nikolai  heard.     He  himself  had  not  seen  her  again. 

On  learning  of  the  battle  of  Borodino  and  the  abandonment 
of  Moscow,  Nikolai,  while  not  giving  himself  up  to  feelings 
of  despair,  anger,  or  desire  for  vengeance  or  the  like,  still  sud* 
denly  began  to  feel  bored  and  out  of  place  at  Voronezh ;  his 
conscience  almost  reproached  him,  and  he  felt  awkward.  All 
the  talk  that  he  heard  seemed  to  him  hypocritical ;  he  knew 
not  what  judgment  to  pass  upon  events^  and  he  was  conscious 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  26 

that  not  until  lie  returned  to  his  regiment  would  things 
become  clear  to  him  again.  He  made  haste  to  accomplish 
his  ptirchase  of  horses,  and  oftentimes  without  any  just  cause 
became  impatient  with  his  servant  and  the  quartermaster. 

Several  days  before  RostoFs  departure,  a  solemn  service 
was  held  in  the  cathedral^  in  honor  of  the  victory  that  had 
been  won  by  the  Russian  troops,  and  Nikolai  was  present.  He 
was  standing  a  little  behind  the  governor,  and,  with  a  gravity 
worthy  of  the  occasion,  was  thinking  of  the  most  varied  sub* 
jects,  even  while  he  listened  to  the  service.  When  the  Te 
Deum  was  ended,  the  governor's  wife  called  him  to  her. 

^^  Have  you  seen  the  princess  ?  "  she  asked,  with  her  head 
indicating  a  lady  in  black  who  stood  behind  the  choir. 

Nikolai  instantly  recognized  the  Princess  Mariya,  not  so 
much  by  her  profile,  a  glimpse  of  which  could  be  seen  under 
■her  hat,  as  by  that  feeling  of  shyness,  fear,  and  pity  which 
instantly  came  over  him.  The  Princess  Mariya,  evidently 
absorbed  in  her  thoughts,  was  crossing  herself  for  the  last 
time  before  she  should  leave  the  church. 

Nikolai  looked  into  her  face  with  amazement.  It  was  the 
same  face  which  he  had  seen  before,  there  was  the  same  gen- 
eral expression  of  gentle,  inward,  spiritual  travail ;  but  now 
it  was  lighted  up  by  a  very  different  sort  of  light.  It  had 
a  touching  expression  of  sorrowfulness,  entreaty,  and  hope. 

As  had  been  the  case  with  Nikolai  before  when  he  was  in 
her  presence,  he,  without  waiting  for  the  gubematorsha's 
advice  to  join  her,  without  asking  himself  whether  it  were 
right  or  proper  for  him  to  address  her  there  in  the  churchy 
instantly  went  to  her  and  said  that  he  had  heard  of  her  sor- 
row, and  that  he  sympathized  with  her  with  all  his  heart. 
iSbe  had  hardly  caught  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  when  sud- 
denly a  bright  light  flashed  into  her  face,  giving  witness  at 
•  one  and  the  same  time  of  her  sorrow  and  her  joy. 

"I  only  wanted  to  tell  you  this,  princess,"  said  Rostof, 
'"that  if  Prince  Andrei  Nikolayevitch  were  not  alive,  it  would 
be  instantly  announced  in  the  bulletins,  since  he  is  a  regimen- 
tal commander." 

The  princess  looked  at  him,  not  comprehending  his  words, 
but  delighting  in  the  expression  of  sympathy  and  sorrow  in 
his  face. 

''And  I  have  known  so  many  cases  where  a  wound  caused 
by  a  splinter  (and  the  bulletins  would  say  a  shell)  was  either 
fatal  immediately,  or,  if  not,  very  trifling,"  said  Nikolai. 
^''You  must  hope  for  the  best,  and  I  am  certain"  — 


26  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

The  Princess  Mariya  interrupted  him,  — 

"Oh,  this  would  be  so  hor''  —  she  began,  but  her  emotion 
overmastered  her,  and,  without  completing  the  word,  she  bent 
her  head  with  a  graceful  motion  (like  everything  that  she  did 
in  his  presence),  and,  giving  him  a  grateful  look,  rejoined  her 
aunt. 

The  evening  of  that  same  day,  Nikolai  accepted  no  engage- 
ments out,  but  remained  at  his  lodgings  in  order  to  square  up 
certain  accounts  with  the  horse-dealei's. 

Having  completed  his  business,  it  being  too  late  to  go  any- 
where, but  too  early  to  retire  for  the  night,  Nikolai  long 
walked  up  and  down  his  solitary  room,  thinking  over  his  life, 
which  was  an  unusual  thing  for  him  to  do. 

The  Princess  Mariya  had  produced  upon  him  an  agreeable 
impression  when  he  saw  her  near  Smolensk.  The  fact  that  he 
had  met  her  then  in  such  extraordinarj'  circumstances,  and 
that  she  was  the  very  one  whom  his  motner  had  once  recom- 
mended to  him  as  an  eligible  heiress,  caused  him  to  regard 
her  with  peculiar  interest. 

When  ne  came  to  see  her  again  at  Voronezh,  this  impression 
was  not  only  agreeable  but  it  was  powerful.  Nikolai  was 
struck  by  that  peculiar  moral  beauty  which  he  for  the  first 
time  observed  in  her. 

He  was  ready  to  take  his  departure,  however,  and  it  had 
not  occurred  to  him  to  regret  the  fact  that  in  leaving  Voronezh 
he  was  depriving  himself  of  the  chance  of  seeing  the  prin- 
cess. But  his  meeting  with  her  that  morning  at  church 
(Nikolai  was  conscious  of  it)  had  sunk  deeper  into  his  heart 
than  he  could  have  foreseen,  and  deeper  than  he  would  have 
wished  for  his  peace  of  mind. 

That  pale,  gentle,  sorrowful  face,  those  luminous  eyes,  those 
quiet,  graceful  movements,  and,  above  all,  that  profound  and 
sweet  expression  of  sorrow  pervading  all  her  being,  trotibled 
him  and  aroused  his  sympathy. 

Rostof  could  not  endure  to  see  in  men  the  expression  of  a 
lofty  spiritual  life  —  that  was  the  reason  he  did  not  like 
Prince  Andrei  —  he  scornfully  called  it  philosophy,  day- 
dreavting ;  but  in  the  Princess  Mariya,  especially  in  that  sor- 
row which  brought  forth  all  the  depth  of  that  spiritual  world 
so  marvellous  to  Rostof,  he  felt  an  irresistible  attraction. 

"  She  must  be  a  marvellous  girl  I  A  real  angel ! "  said  he 
to  himself.  "  Why  am  I  not  free  ?  Why  was  I  in  such  haste 
with  regard  to  Sonya  ?  " 

And  involuntarily  he  began  to    institute    a    comparison 


J 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  27 

between  the  two :  the  poverty  in  one,  the  abundance  in  the 
other  of  those  spiritual  gifts  which  Nikolai  himself  had  not, 
and  which  therefore  he  prized  so  highly. 

He  tried  to  imagine  what  would  be  if  he  had  been  free. 
How  would  he  have  made  his  proposal  to  her,  and  if  she  had 
become  his  wife !    But  no,  he  could  not  imagine  it. 

A  strange  feeling  of  dread  came  over  him,  and  nothing  clear 
presented  itself  to  his  imagination.  Kow  he  had  long  ago 
formulated  the  picture  of  his  future  with  Sonya,  and  it  was 
all  clear  and  simple,  for  the  reason  that  it  had  been  thought 
out,  and  he  knew  all  that  was  in  Sonya;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  formulate  any  scheme  of  life  with  the  Princess  Mariya, 
because  he  did  not  understand  her,  but  only  loved  her. 

His  visions  of  Sonya  had  something  about  them  that  was 
jolly  and  frivolous.  But  it  was  always  hard  and  rather  terrible 
to  think  of  Princess  Mariya. 

"  How  she  was  praying ! "  he  mused,  following  his  recollec- 
tions. "It  was  evident  her  whole  soul  was  in  her  prayer. 
Yes,  that  is  the  prayer  that  removes  mountains,  and  I  am  sure 
that  her  prayer  will  be  fulfilled.  Why  cannot  I  pray  for  what 
I  need  V  "  he  asked  himself.  "  What  do  I  need  ?  My  free- 
dom, to  be  released  from  Sonya.  —  She  said  what  was  true," 
he  was  recalling  the  gubernatorsha's  words  —  "  *  Nothing  but 
misfortune  would  come  of  ray  marr^  ing  her.'  Confusion,  grief 
to  inafnan — business  —  confusion,  terrible  confusion!  Yes, 
and  I  don't  love  her.  I  don't  love  her  as  I  ought.  My  God ! 
save  me  from  this  terrible,  inextricable  muddle!"  he  began, 
trying  to  offer  a  prayer.  "  Yes,  prayer  moves  the  mountain, 
but  faith  is  needful,  and  to  pray  as  Natasha  and  I  used  to 
pray  when  we  were  children,  that  the  snow  would  change  into 
sugar,  and  then  run  out  of  doors  to  see  whether  our  prayer  was 
answered.  No,  but  I  cannot  pray  about  trifles  now,"  said  he, 
as  he  laid  his  pip^  down  in  the  corner,  and,  folding  his  hands, 
stood  in  front  of  the  holy  pictures.  And,  touched  by  his  recol- 
lection of  the  Princess  Maiiya,  he  began  to  pray  as  he  had  not 
pi-ayed  for  a  long,  long  time.  The  tears  were  standing  ip  his 
eyes  and  swelling  his  throat  when  Lavrushka  suddenly  came 
ill  with  documents  in  his  hand.  "  Idiot  —  durak !  —  what  do 
you  come  sneaking  in  for  when  you  weren't  called  ?  "  exclaimed 
Nikolai,  abruptly  changing  his  position. 

"  From  the  governor,"  said  Lavrushka,  in  a  sleepy  voice  — 
'•'  a  courier  came ;  letter  for  you." 

'<  All  right,  thanks !    Begone ! " 

Nikolai  had  two  letters.    One  was  from  his  mother,  the 


28  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

other  from  Sonya.  He  recognized  them  by  their  handwriting, 
and  he  opened  Sonya's  first.  He  had  only  read  a  few  lines 
when  his  face  grew  pale  and  his  eyes  opened  wide  in  tenor 
and  delight. 

<^No,  it  cannot  be!"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  He  could  not  sit 
still,  but  with  the  letter  in  his  hand  began  to  pace  the  nxmL 
He  glanced  through  the  letter,  then  read  it  once  and  a  seoond 
time,  and,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  opening  out  his  hands, 
he  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  open  mouth  and 
set  eyes. 

The  very  thing  which  he  had  just  been  praying  for  with  the 
faith  that  God  would  fulfil  his  prayer  was  granted;  but 
Nikolai  was  amazed  by  this,  as  though  it  had  been  something 
extraordinary,  and  as  though  he  had  never  expected  it,  and  as 
though  the  very  vhing  which  had  so  quickly  eventuated  proved 
that  this  had  come,  not  by  the  will  of  Grod,  to  whom  he  had 
offered  his  petition,  but  from  ordinary  chance. 

This  apparently  unsolvable  knot  which  fettered  Bostofs 
freedom  was  cut  by  this  letter  from  Sonya — so  unexpected 
(as  it  seemed  to  Nikolai)  and  unsolicited.  She  wrote  that 
the  recent  unfortunate  events,  the  loss  of  almost  all  the  B4»- 
tofs*  property  in  Moscow,  and  the  more  than  once  expressed 
desire  of  the  countess  that  Nikolai  should  marry  Princess 
Bolkonskaya,  and  his  dwn  silence  and  coldness  of  late, — all 
taken  together  had  caused  her  to  decide  to  release  him  from 
his  promise  and  give  him  perfect  freedom. 

"  It  was  too  trying  for  me  to  think  that  I  might  be  a  source 
of  sorrow  or  dissension  in  a  family  which  has  loaded  me  with 
benefits,"  she  wrote.  "  And  my  love  has  for  its  one  single 
aim  the  happiness  of  those  whom  I  love.  And  therefore  I 
beseech  you,  Nicolas,  to  consider  yourself  perfectly  free,  and 
to  know  that,  in  spite  of  all,  no  one  could  love  you  more  truly 
than  your  Sonya."  • 

This  letter  was  written  from  Troltsa. 

The  second  letter  was  from  the  countess.  In  this  there  was 
given  a  full  description  of  the  last  days  in  Moscow,  their 
departure,  the  fire,  and  the  loss  of  all  their  property.  In  this 
letter  also,  among  other  things,  the  countess  wrote  that  Prinee 
Andrei  was  among  the  wounded  whom  they  had  brought  away 
with  them.  His  position  was  veiy  critical,  but  now  the  doctor 
declared  that  there  was  more  hope.  Sonya  and  Natasha  were 
attending  him  as  watchers. 

On  the  following  day,  Nikolai  took  this  letter,  and  went  to 
see  the  Princess  Mariya.    Neither  Nikolai  nor  the  princess 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  29 

said  a  word  as  to  the  significance  of  the  fact  that  Natasha 
was  attending  the  sufferer ;  but,  thanks  to  this  letter,  Nikolai 
suddenly  felt  drawn  closer  to  the  princess,  almost  as  though 
he  were  a  relative. 

On  the  next  day,  Rostof  escorted  the  Princess  Mariya  to 
Yaroslavl,  and  not  long  after  rejoined  his  regiment. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

Sokta's  letter  to  Nikolai,  coming  so  opportunely  in  answer 
to  his  prayer,  had  been  written  from  Troitsa  (Trinity). 

This  was  the  way  it  happened. 

The  old  countess  had  become  more  and  more  occupied  by 
the  idea  of  Nikolai  marrying  a  rich  wife.  She  knew  that 
Sonya  was  the  chief  obstacle  in  the  way  of  this.  And  Sonya's 
life  in  the  countess's  home  had  been  made  more  and  more  try- 
ing of  late,  especially  since  Nikolai  wrote  of  meeting  the 
Princess  Mariya  at  Bogucharovo. 

The  countess  lost  no  opportunity  of  addressing  Sonya  with 
insulting  or  cruel  insinuations. 

A  few  days  before  their  departure  from  Moscow,  however, 
the  countess,  exacerbated  and  excited  by  all  that  was  happen- 
ing, had  called  Sonya  to  her,  and,  instead  of  loading  her  with 
reproaches  and  demands,  had  begged  her  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  to  have  pity  on  her,  and,  as  a  return  for  all  that  had  been 
done  for  her,  to  release  Nikolai  from  his  engagement. 

<^  I  shall  never  be  content  until  you  have  given  me  this 
promise." 

Sonya  sobbed  hysterically,  promised  through  her  sobs  that 
she  would  do  anything,  that  she  was  ready  for  any  sacrifice  ; 
but  she  did  not  give  the  promise  in  so  many  words,  and  in  her 
heart  she  found  it  impossible  to  consent  to  do  what  they 
requii'ed  of  her.  It  was  necessary  for  her  to  sacrifice  herself 
for  the  happiness  of  the  family  which  had  fed  and  educated 
her. 

To  sacrifice  herself  for  the  happiness  of  others  was  second 
nature  to  Sonya.  Her  position  in  the  household  was  such 
that  it  was  only  on  the  road  of  sacrifice  that  she  could  show 
her  worth,  and  she  was  accustomed  to  sacrifice  herself,  and 
loved  to  do  so. 

But  hitherto,  in  all  her  acts  of  self-sacrifice,  she  had  enjoyed 
the  pleasant  consciousness  that  in  thus  sacrificing  herself,  she 
was  by  this  very  act  enhancing  her  value  in  her  own  eyes  and 


80  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  eyes  of  others,  and  was  becoming  more  worthy  of  Nicolas, 
whom  she  loved  above  all  else  in  the  world. 

But  now  her  sacrifice  was  to  consist  in  renouncing  all  that 
had  promised  to  be  the  reward  of  her  sacrifice,  the  whole 
meaning  of  life.  And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had 
bitter  feelings  against  those  very  people  who  had  loaded  her 
with  benefits  only  to  torment  her  the  more.  She  began  to  hate 
Natasha,  who  had  never  been  called  upon  to  experience  any 
such  trial,  who  had  never  been  required  to  sacrifice  herself 
but  who  had  obliged  others  to  sacrifice  themselves  for  her, 
and  yet  was  loved  by  all. 

And  for  the  first  time  Sonya  felt  that  her  gentle,  pure  love 
for  Nicolas  was  growing  into  a  passion  which  was  mightier 
than  law  and  virtue  and  religion,  and  it  was  under  the  infla- 
ence  of  this  feeling  that  Sonya,  who  had  been  involuntarily 
taught  by  her  life  of  dependence  to  be  reserved,  replied  to  the 
countess  in  general,  indefinite  terms,  avoided  having  anything 
further  to  say  to  her,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  wait  until  she 
should  see  Nikolai  again,  with  the  idea,  not  of  giving  him  his 
freedom,  but,  on  the  contrary,  of  binding  him  to  her  forever. 

The  labors  and  terror  incident  to  those  last  days  that  the 
Erostofs  spent  in  Moscow  put  out  of  mind  the  gloomy  thoughts 
that  had  been  weighing  her  down.  She  was  glad  to  find  aji 
escape  from  them  in  practical  activity.  But  when  she  learned 
of  Prince  Andrei's  presence  in  the  house,  notwithstandiog 
the  genuine  pity  which  she  felt  for  him  and  for  Natasha,  she 
was  seized  by  a  blithe  and  superstitious  presentiment  that  God 
did  not  wish  her  to  be  separated  from  Nicolas. 

She  knew  that  Natasha  had  never  loved  any  one  bende 
Prince  Andrei,  and  that  she  still  loved  him.  She  knew  that, 
now  being  brought  together  in  such  terrible  circumstances. 
their  mutual  affection  would  be  renewed,  and  that  then  it 
would  be  impossible  for  Nikolai  to  marry  the  Princess  Mariya, 
on  account  of  the  relationship  which  would  be  entailed  upon 
them.  Notwithstanding  the  horror  of  all  that  had  taken 
place  during  the  last  days  and  during  the  early  part  of  their 
journey,  this  feeling,  this  consciousness  of  the  interference  of 
Providence  in  her  personal  affairs,  had  rejoiced  Sonya's  heart. 

The  Eostofs  made  their  first  halt  at  the  Troltskaya  Lavia 
or  Trinity  Monastery. 

At  the  hostelry  of  the  Lavra,  the  Eostofs  were  assigned 
three  large  rooms,  one  of  which  was  taken  by  Prince  Andrei. 
The  wounded  man  that  day  was  much  better.  Natasha  had 
been  sitting  with  him.     In  the  adjoining  room  were  the  coQBt 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  81 

and  countess  engaged  in  a  polite  conversation  with  the  father 
superior,  who  had  come  to  pay  his  respects  to  his  old  acquaint- 
ances and  benefactors.  Sonya  was  also  sitting  with  them  and 
was  tormented  by  curiosity  as  to  what  Prince  Andrei  and 
Natasha  were  talking  about ;  for  she  could  hear  the  sounds  of 
their  voices,  the  door  of  Prince  Andrei's  room  having  been  left 
open.  Natasha  with  agitated  face  came  running  out,  and  not 
heeding  the  monk,  who  arose  to  meet  her  and  offered  her  his 
right  hand  under  his  flowing  sleeve,  went  straight  to  Sonya^ 
and  took  her  by  the  arm. 

<' Natasha!  what  is  the  matter?  Come  here!"  said  the 
countess. 

Natasha  submitted  to  the  priest's  blessing,  and  the  father 
superior  advised  her  to  go  for  help  to  God  and  his  saint. 

As  soon  as  the  father  superior  was  gone,  Natasha  took  her 
cousin's  hand,  and  drew  her  into  the  empty  room. 

"  Sonya !  Do  you  think  he  is  going  to  live  ?  Say  yes  ! " 
said  she.  "Sonya!  How  happy  I  am,  and  how  unhappy! 
Sonya  darling,*  but  it  is  all  just  as  it  used  to  be.  If  only  he 
would  live  !  —  he  can't  get  well,  —  because  —  be — cause  "  — 
And  Natasha  burst  into  tears. 

"  Yes  !  he  will.  I  have  been  sure  of  it !  Glory  to  God ! 
He  will  get  well ! " 

Sonya  was  no  less  agitated  than  Natasha,  not  alone  because 
of  her  friend's  suffering  and  sorrow,  but  also  because  of  her 
own  private  thoughts,  which  she  shared  with  no  one,  Solh 
bing,  she  kissed  Natasha,  and  tried  to  soothe  her. 

"  If  only  he  would  get  well ! "  she  said  to  herself.  Having 
had  a  good  cry  and  a  talk  together,  and  wiping  away  their 
tears,  the  two  friends  went  to  Prince  Andrei's  door.  Natasha, 
carefully  opening  it,  glanced  into  the  room.  Sonya  stood  next 
her  at  the  half-opened  door. 

Prince  Andrei  lay  bolstered  up  high  on  three  pillows.  His 
white  face  was  calm,  his  eyes  closed,  and  apparently  he  was 
breathing  regularly. 

'•Akh!  Natasha!"  Sonya  almost  screamed,  suddenly  seiz- 
ing her  cousin's  hand,  and  starting  away  from  the  door. 

"What  —  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Natasha. 

"Let  me  tell  you!  this — this!"  said  Sonya,  with  pallid 
face  and  trembling  lips. 

Natasha  gently  closed  the  door,  and  went  with  Sonya  to  the 
window,  no  longer  remembering  what  had  been  said  to  her. 

^'Po  jrou  ren^ember,"  began  Sonya,  in  a  frightened  wd 

*  Goluhchik> 


82  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

solemn  voice,  —  "do  you  remember  when  I  looked  for  yon 
at  the  mirror  —  at  Otradnoye,  on  Twelfth  Night?  Do  yoa 
remember  what  I  saw  ?'^  — 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Natasha,  opening  her  eyes  wide,  and 
having  a  dim  remembrance  that  at  that  time  Sonya  bad  said 
something  about  Prince  Andrei,  whom  she  claimed  to  have 
seen  lying  down. 

"  Do  you  remember  ?  "  continued  Sonya :  "  I  saw  then  and 
told  you  all — you  and  Dunyasha.  I  saw  him  lying  on  a 
bed,"  said  she,  at  every  detail  waving  her  hand  with  out- 
stretched finger,  "  and  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  was  oot- 
ered  with  a  pink  spread,  and  his  arms  were  folded,"  pursued 
Sonya,  convinced  that  all  these  details,  which  she  had  just 
before  seen,  were  the  very  same  that  she  had  seen  at  that 
time. 

Keally,  at  that  time  she  had  seen  nothing,  but  she  had 
related  as  having  seen  what  first  entered  her  mind ;  bat  what 
she  had  imagined  then  seemed  to  her  the  reality,  like  any 
other  remembrance.  What  she  had  said  then  about  his  look- 
ing at  her  and  smiling,  and  being  covered  with  something  bine 
and  red,  she  did  not  remember,  but  was  firmly  persuaded  that 
she  had  then  said  and  seen  how  he  was  covered  with  some- 
thing pink,  indeed  a  pink  coverlet,  and  that  his  eyes  were 
closed ! 

"  Yes,  yes,  certainly  it  was  pink,"  said  Natasha,  who  also  at 
the  present  time  remembered  that  the  color  mentioned  had 
been  pink,  and  in  this  fact  she  found  the  chief  wonder  and 
mystery  of  the  prediction. 

"But  what  does  this  mean?"  queried  Natasha,  thought- 
fully. 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know !  How  extraordinary  it  all  is!" 
exclaimed  Sonya,  clasping  her  head  with  her  hands. 

In  a  few  minutes,  Prince  Andrei  rang,  and  Natasha  went  to 
him ;  but  Sonya,  experiencing  an  emotion  and  excitement  such 
as  she  had  rarely  experienced,  still  stood  by  the  window,  thinko 
ing  over  all  the  strangeness  of  what  had  happened. 

There  happened  to  be  on  that  day  an  opportunity  to  send 
letters  to  the  army,  and  the  countess  was  writing  to  her  son. 

"  Sonya,"  said  the  countess,  lifting  her  head  from  her  letter 
as  her  niece  passed  her, — "Sonya,  won't  you  write  Nik6- 
lenka  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  in  a  gentle,  trembling  voice ;  and 
by  the  look  in  her  weary  eyes,  which  the  countess  gave  her 
over  her  spectacles,  Sonya  read  what  she  meant  by  thoaa 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  88 

words.  In  that  look  was  expressed  a  prayer,  and  fear  of  a 
refusal,  and  shame  that  she  was  obliged  to  ask  such  a  thing, 
and  readiness  for  implacable  hatred  in  case  of  refusal. 

Sonya  went  to  the  countess,  and,  kneeling  down  beside  her, 
kissed  her  hand. 

"  I  will  write,"  said  she. 

Sonya  was  softened,  excited,  and  touched  by  all  that  had 
happened  on  that  day,  especially  by  the  mysterious  coinci- 
denoe  of  the  divination  which  she  had  just  seen.  Now,  when 
she  knew  that,  in  case  of  !N^atasha's  engagement  to  Prince 
Andrei  being  renewed,  Kikolai  could  not  marry  Princess 
Mariya,  she  had  a  sense  of  joy  in  the  return  of  this  condition 
of  self-sacrifice  in  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  living.  And 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  with  a  blissful  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing accomplished  a  magnanimous  action,  she,  though  several 
times  interrupted  by  the  teai'S  which  clouded  her  velvety  dark 
eyes,  wrote  the  touching  letter^  the  receipt  of  which  had  so 
amazed  Nikolai, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

At  the  guard-house  where  Pierre  was  conducted,  the  officer 
and  soldiers  who  had  him  in  charge  treated  him  like  an 
enemy,  but  at  the  same  time  with  consideration.  In  their 
treatment  of  him  there  seemed  to  be  some  suspicion  that  he 
might  prove  to  be  a  man  of  very  great  importance,  and  the 
unfriendliness  was  due  only  to  the  remembrance  of  the 
straggle  which  they  had  just  had  with  him. 

But  on  the  following  morning,  when  the  guard  was  relieved, 
Pierre  was  made  aware  that  for  the  new  guard — officers  and 
men  alike — he  had  not  that  importance  which  he  had  enjoyed 
with  those  who  captured  him.  And  indeed  this  great,  portly 
man,  in  peasant's  kaftan,  the  new  guards  did  not  know  as  that 
lively  man  who  had  fought  so  desperately  with  the  marauder 
and  with  the  horse  patrol,  and  had  spoken  that  solemn  phrase 
about  the  saving  of  the  child,  but  they  saw  in  him  meirely  No. 
17  of  the  Kussian  prisoners  who  had  been  taken  and  held  by 
order  of  men  high  in  command. 

If  there  had  been  anything  special  about  Pierre,  his  appear- 
ance, devoid  of  timidity,  and  full  of  intense,  concentrated 
thought,  the  perfection  with  which  he  expressed  himself  in 
elegant  French,  to  the  amazement  of  the  men,  would  have 
been  sufficient.  Nevertheless,  on  this  day  Pierre  was  put  ^l 
TOL.4,-^3. 


84  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

with  the  other  suspects  that  had  been  captured,  for  the  reason 
that  the  special  room  which  had  been  given  him  first  was 
required  by  the  officer. 

All  the  Russians  locked  in  with  Pierre  were  men  of  the 
very  lowest  station.  And  all  of  them,  recognizing  that  Pierre 
was  a  barin,  shunned  him,  and  all  the  more  from  the  fact  that 
he  spoke  French.  Pierre  felt  a  sense  of  melancholy  as  he 
listened  to  their  sarcasms  at  his  expense. 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  Pierre  learned  that  all  these 
prisoners  (and  apparently  he  himself  in  the  number)  were  to 
be  tried  for  incendiarism.  On  the  third  day  Pierre  and  the 
rest  were  conducted  to  a  house  where  were  a  French  general 
with  a  white  mustache,  two  colonels,  and  several  other  French- 
men with  chevrons  on  their  arms. 

Pierre,  the  same  as  the  rest,  was  subjected  to  a  series  of 
questions,  —  Who  was  he? — Where  had  he  been?  —  What 
purpose  ?  and  so  forth  —  put  with  that  shrewdness  and  pre- 
cision that  affect  to  be  superior  to  all  human  weaknesses  and 
are  characteristic  of  aU  ordinary  dealings  with  prisoners  at  the 
bar. 

These  questions,  making  no  account  of  the  essence  of  the 
fact  at  issue,  and  presupposing  the  impossibility  of  getting  at 
the  truth,  were  like  all  questions  put  at  legal  examinations, 
having  for  their  object  the  laying-down  of  a  sort  of  gutter  in 
which  examiners  wish  the  answers  of  the  victim  to  trickle  so 
that  he  may  be  brought  to  the  requisite  point;  namely,  in- 
crimination ! 

The  moment  he  began  to  make  any  remark  that  did  not 
satisfy  this  end,  the  ^^  gutter  "  was  applied,  and  the  water  made 
to  flow  in  the  desired  direction. 

Moreover,  Pierre  experienced  what  is  always  experienced 
by  men  on  trial :  a  sense  of  perplexity,  of  wonder  why  such 
and  such  questions  are  asked.  He  had  a  feeling  that  it  was 
only  out  of  condescension,  or,  possibly,  courtesy,  that  the  ex- 
pedient of  the  question-gutter  was  made  use  of.  He  knew 
that  he  was  in  the  power  of  these  men,  that  it  was  merely 
brute  force  that  had  brought  him  where  he  was,  that  only 
might  *  gave  them  the  right  to  demand  of  him  answers  to 
their  questions,  that  the  sole  aim  of  this  court  was  to  prove 
him  guilty. 

And  therefore,  as  they  had  the  power  and  the  desire  to  con- 
vict him,  there  was  no  need  of  the  expedient  of  the  interxogar 

*  The  simple  style  of  the  original  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  one  wmd— 
Vla9t*^»ifuxa9  for  power,  brnte  force  and  might. 


WAR  AND  PnACS.  85 

tovy  and  the  court.  It  was  evident  that  all  his  answers  were 
taken  as  proof  of  his  guilt. 

To  the  question  what  he  was  doing  when  he  was  arrested, 
Pierre  replied  with  a  certain  tragic  force  that  he  was  re- 
storing to  its  parents  a  child  that  he  had  rescued  from  the 
flames  -^  qu^U  avait  sauvS  des  flavimes. 

Why  had  he  fought  with  the  marauder  ?  Pierre  replied 
that  he  was  protecting  a  woman,  that  the  defence  of  an  in- 
sulted woman  was  the  duty  of  every  man,  that  — 

He  was  interrupted :  this  was  irrelevant. 

Why  had  he  been  in  the  yard  of  the  burning  building, 
where  the  witnesses  had  seen  nim  ? 

He  replied  that  he  had  gone  out  to  see  what  was  happening 
in  Moscow. 

He  was  again  interrupted :  he  had  not  been  asked  where 
he  was  going,  but  whtf  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  firei 

Who  was  he  ?  they  asked,  reiterating  their  first  question^ 
and  he  replied  that  he  would  not  divulge  his  name^ 

"  Write  that  down ;  it  looks  bad*  Very  bad,*'  sternly  said 
the  white-mustachioed  general  with  a  florid  complexloui 

On  the  fourth  day  fires  broke  out  on  the  Zubovsky  VaL 

Pierre  and  thirteen  others  were  removed  to  the  Kruimsky 
Bred  or  Crimean  Ford  and  placed  in  the  coach-house  of  a  mer- 
chant's mansion.  As  they  were  marched  along  the  streets, 
Pierre  was  suffocated  by  the  smoke,  which  seemed  to  him  to 
be  settled  down  over  the  whole  city.  In  various  directions 
fires  could  be  seen.  Not  even  then  did  Pierre  understand  the 
significance  of  the  burning  of  Moscow,  and  he  looked  upon 
these  fires  with  horror. 

In  the  coach-house  of  this  solitary  mansion  by  the  Kruimsky 
Brod,  Pierre  spent  four  days  more,  and  during  this  time  he 
learned,  from  the  talk  of  the  French  soldiers,  that  the  decision 
of  the  marshal  regarding  the  prisoners  confined  there  was  ex* 
pected  each  day. 

Pierre  could  not  learn  from  the  soldier  what  marshal  it 
was.  Evidently,  for  the  soldier  the  term  marshal  connoted 
some  elevated  and  mysterious  link  in  the  chain  of  power. 

These  days  up  till  the  twentieth  of  September,  on  which 
the  prisoners  were  put  through  a  second  examination,  were 
very  trying  for  Pierre. 


S6  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  X, 

On  the  twentieth  of  September,  an  officer  of  vefjr  great 
importance,  to  judge  by  the  respect  shown  him  by  the  guards, 
came  into  the  coach-house  to  see  the  prisoners.  This  officer, 
who  apparently  belonged  to  Napoleon's  staff,  had  a  list  in  his 
hand,  and  called  a  roll  of  all  the  Russians,  designating  Pierre 
as  celui  qui  n^avoue  pas  son  nom — the  man  who  refuses  to 
give  his  name. 

Surveying  the  prisoners  with  a  look  of  lazy  indifference,  he 
ordered  the  officer  of  the  guard  to  see  that  they  were  decently 
clad  and  ordered  before  they  were  brought  into  the  marshal's 
presence. 

Within  an  hour,  a  file  of  soldiers  appeared,  and  Pierre  and 
thirteen  others  were  taken  out  to  the  Dievitchye  Pole.* 

It  was  a  bright,  sunny  day  after  rain,  and  the  air  was 
extraordinarily  dear.  The  smoke  did  not  hang'Yow,  as  it  had 
on  that  day  when  Pierre  was  removed  from  the  watch->house  of 
the  Zabovsky  Val.  It  rose  in  columns  in  the  clear  atmos- 
phere. Ko  flames  were  visible,  but  on  all  sides  arose  these 
columns  of  smoke,  and  all  Moscow,  so  far  as  Pierre  could  see, 
was  one  vast  conflagration.  On  all  sides  were  ruins,  with 
stoves  and  chimneys,  and  here  and  there  the  devastated  walls 
of  stone  houses. 

Pierre  gazed  at  the  fires,  but  could  not  recognize  any  part  of 
the  city.  Here  and  there  could  be  seen  churches  stul  stand- 
ing. The  Kreml,  undevastated,  gleamed  white  in  the  dis- 
tance, with  its  cupolas  and  Ivdn  Veliki.f 

Kear  by  gleamed  jocund  the  cupola  of  the  Novo-dievitchy 
monastery,  and  with  unusual  clearness  could  be  heard  the 
sound  of  the  chimes.  This  sound  of  the  chimes  reminded 
Pierre  that  it  was  Sunday,  and  the  Festival  of  the  Nativity  of 
the  Virgin.  But  it  would  seem  as  if  there  was  no  one  to  cele- 
brate this  festival.  Everywhere  was  the  ravage  of  the  flames, 
and  only  rarely  were  any  of  the  Russian  populace  to  be  seen, 
and  these  were  ragged,  panic-stricken  folk,  who  concealed  them- 
selves at  sight  of  the  French. 

Evidently,  the  Russian  nest  was  wrecked  and  ruined ;  bat 

•  Maiden's  Field. 

t  Tlie  Tower  of  Ivin  VeinLi,  or  John  the  Great, "  a  goodly  steepUl  of  heven 
Btoen  in  the  inner  Gastell  of  Masco,"  bnilt  by  Borfs  Godondf,  1600.  It  is  380 
feet  high,  and  provided  with  a  chime  of  31  bells,  the  largest  of  which  wught 
61  tons. 


WAR  AND  PEAce.  S7 

Pierre  had  a  dim  consciousness  that  behind  the  overthrow  of 
this  old  order  of  life,  in  place  of  this  ruined  nest,  there  would 
be  established  the  new  and  entirely  different  but  stable 
French  order.  He  felt  it  at  the  sight  of  these  soldiers  who 
marched  gallantly  and  blithely  in  perfectly  unbroken  ranks 
as  they  escorted  him  and  the  other  offenders  along;  he  felt  it 
at  the  sight  of  an  important  French  official  in  a  two-horse 
calash,  driven  by  a  soldier,  coming  to  meet  him ;  he  felt  it 
by  the  inspiriting  sounds  of  the  martial  music  which  came 
across  from  the  left  of  tLe  field ;  and  especially  he  felt  it  and 
realized  it  by  the  way  in  which  the  French  officer  had  that 
morning  read  off  the  list  containing  the  names  of  the 
prisoners. 

Pierre  had  been  taken  by  certain  soldiers,  carried  to  one 
place,  then  transferred  to  another  with  a  dozen  other  men ;  it 
would  seem  as  though  they  might  have  forgotten  about  him, 
have  confused  him  with  others.  But  no !  the  answer  that 
he  had  given  during  the  investigation  returned  to  him  in  the 
form  of  an  appellation:  cdui  qui  n'avotie  pas  son  nom — the 
man  who  refuses  to  give  his  name. 

And  under  this  appellation,  terrible  to  Pierre,  ho  w^as  now 
conducted  somewhere,  with  the  undoubted  conviction  written 
on  all  faces  that  he  and  the  rest  of  the  prisoners  were  the  very 
ones  required,  and  that  they  were  being  taken  to  the  proper 
place.  Pierre  felt  himself  an  insignificant  chip  falling  into 
the  wheels  of  a  machine  which  he  knew  nothing  about,  but 
which  acted  with  absolute  regularity. 

Pierre  and  the  other  prisoners  were  conducted  to  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  Dievitchye  Pole,  to  a  large  white  house  with 
an  immense  park  not  far  from  the  monastery.  This  was 
Prince  Shcherbatof's  house,  where  Pierre  had  often  visited, 
and  which  now,  as  he  ascertained  from  the  talk  of  the  sol- 
diers, was  occupied  by  the  marshal,  the  Prince  d'Eckmiihl. 

They  were  taken  to  the  porch,  and  led  into  the  house  one 
at  a  time.  Pierre  was  number  six.  Through  the  glass  gal- 
lery, the  entry,  the  anteroom,  rooms  all  well  known  to  Pierre, 
he  was  led  into  a  long,  low  cabinet,  at  the  door  of  which  stood 
an  aide-de-camp. 

Davoust,  with  his  spectacles  on  his  nose,  sat  by  a  table  at 
one  end  of  the  room.  Pierre  came  close  to  him.  Davoust, 
without  raising  his  eyes,  evidently  consulted  a  document 
placed  in  front  of  him.  Without  even  raising  his  eyes,  he 
aflked  in  a  low  voice :  "  Qui  ^tes  v<ms  ?  —  Who  are  you  ?  " 

Pierre  said  nothing,  from  the  reason  that  he  had  not  the 


88  WAR  And  peace. 

power  to  utter  a  word.  Davoust,  in  Pierre's  eyes,  was  IjoI 
simply  a  French  general;  for  Pierre,  Davoust  was  a  man 
notorious  for  his  cruelty.  As  he  looked  into  Davoust's  icy 
face,  like  that  of  a  stem  teacher  who  is  willing  to  be  patient 
for  a  time  and  wait  for  a  reply,  Pierre  felt  that  every  second 
of  delay  might  cost  him  his  life,  but  he  knew  not  what  to  say. 
He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  repeat  what  he  had  said  at 
the  first  examination ;  to  conceal  his  name  and  station  was  at 
once  dangerous  and  shameful* 

Pierre  said  nothing. 

But  before  he  had  time  to  come  to  any  decision  DavonsI 
Ifaised  his  head,  pushed  his  spectacles  up  on  his  forehead, 
squinted  his  eyes,  and  gave  Pierre  a  fixed  stare. 

"  I  know  this  man,"  said  he  in  an  icy  tone,  evidently  meant 
to  alarm  Pierre.  The  chill  which  before  had  been  running  up 
and  down  Pierre's  back  clutched  his  head  as  in  a  vice. 

"  General;  you  cannot  possibly  know  me :  I  have  never  seen 
you'^ — 

"  He  is  a  Eussian  spy,"  ♦  interrupted  Davoust,  turning  to 
another  general  who  happened  to  be  in  the  room  and  had 
not  before  been  observed  by  Pierre.  And  Davoust  looked 
away. 

With  an  unexpected  rumbling  in  his  voice,  Pierre  suddenly 
began  to  speak  rapidly. 

"No,  your  highness,"  said  he,  unexpectedly  remembering 
that  Davoust  was  duke  {herzog),  — "  No,  your  highness,  you 
cannot  know  me.  I  am  an  officer  of  militia,  and  I  have  not 
been  out  of  Moscow." 

"  Your  name  ?  "  demanded  Davoust. 

"Bezukhoi." 

"Who  will  prove  that  you  are  not  imposing  on  me ? " 

"  Your  highness ! "  expostulated  Pierre,  in  a  tone  that  be- 
trayed not  offence  but  entreaty.f 

Davoust  raised  his  eyes  and  stared  at  Pierre.  For  several 
seconds  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  this  look  was 
what  saved  Pierre.  In  this  look  there  was  established  between 
these  two  men,  above  and  beyond  all  the  conditions  of  war 
and  the  court-room,  the  relations  of  a  common  humanity. 
Both  of  them  at  that  one  moment  became  confusedly  con- 

•  "Mon  g€niraU  vous  ne  pouvez  p<i8  me  connaUre,j6  ne  vous  aiJamaiMVu.** 
—  "  (Test  un  etpion  russe. 

t  "  Norit  motiseigneur,  vous  rCavez  nas  pu  me  connaitre.  Jt  ftiit  vn  oj^ 
tier  milUionnaire  et  je  n*ai  pas  quiiU  Moscou"  —  **  Voire  nom  f  "  —  *  *  Be90u^ 
ho/."—  **  Qu*est  ce  qui  me  prouvera  que  vous  ne  mentezpasf  "— "  Monteig' 
neur !  " 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  89 

acious  of  an  infinite  number  of  things,  aiid  tealized  that  tbej 
both  were  children  of  humanity,  —  that  they  were  brothers. 

For  Davoust,  who  had  only  just  raised  his  head  from  the 
list  where  the  acts  and  lives  of  men  were  represented  by 
numbers,  Pierre  at  first  glance  was  only  an  incident,  and 
Davoust  would  have  had  him  shot  without  his  conscience 
regarding  it  as  a  wicked  deed ;  but  now  he  already  began  to 
see  that  he  was  a  man.     He  deliberated  for  an  instant. 

"  How  will  you  prove  the  truth  of  what  you  tell  me  ? " 
asked  Davoust  coldly. 

Pierrd  remembered  Ramball,  and  mentioned  his  regiment 
and  name  and  the  street  where  his  lodging^  would  be  found. 

"  You  are  not  what  you  say  you  are,"  reiterated  Davoust. 

Pierre,  in  a  trembling,  broken  voice,  began  to  adduce  proofs 
of  the  correctness  of  his  representation, 

But  at  this  instant  an  aide  entered  and  made  some  report  to 
Davoust.  Davoust  suddenly  grew  radiant  at  the  news  com- 
municated by  the  aide-de-camp,  and  began  to  button  up  his 
coat.     He  had  evidently  forgotten  Pierre's  existence. 

When  the  aide  reminded  him  of  the  prisoner,  he  frowned, 
and  nodded  in  Pierre's  direction,  and  ordered  him  to  be  led 
away.  But  where  was  he  to  be  led?  Pierre  had  no  idea, 
whether  back  to  the  coach-house  or  to  the  place  prepared  for 
the  execution,  which,  as  he  had  crossed  the  Dievitchye  Pole, 
his  comrades  had  pointed  out  to  him. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  back,  and  saw  that  the  aide 
was  making  some  inquiry. 

"  Ouiy  sans  doute;"  but  what  this  *^  Yes,  of  course,"  meant, 
Pierre  had  no  idea. 

Pierre  had  no  idea  how  long  he  was  kept  walking  or  whither 
he  was  taken.  In  a  condition  of  absolute  stupor  and  abstrac- 
tion, conscious  of  nothing  around  him,  he  mechanically  moved 
his  legs  together  with  the  others  until  they  were  all  halted, 
and  then  he  also  halted. 

During  all  this  time  one  thought  filled  his  mind.  This 
thought  was :  Who  had  in  last  analysis  condemned  him  to  be 
executed  ?  It  was  not  the  same  men  who  had  examined  him 
at  the  court-martial ;  there  was  not  one  man  among  them  who 
would  have  been  willing,  or,  in  all  probability,  could  have  done 
so.  It  was  not  Davoust,  who  had  looked  at  him  with  such  a 
human  look.  One  instant  more  and  Davoust  would  have  under- 
stood that  they  were  making  a  mistake,  but  that  moment  was 
disturbed  bv  tiie  aide  who  had  come  in.  And  this  aide  evi- 
dently would  not  have  willingly  done  anything  wrong,  but  he 


40  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

could  not  help  it.  Who,  then,  was  it  that  was  the  final  caoae 
of  his  being  punished,  killed,  deprived  of  life — he,  Piene, 
with  all  his  recollections,  yearnings,  hopes,  ideas  ?  Who  was 
doing  this  ? 

And  Pierre  felt  that  it  was  no  one. 

It  was  the  order  of  things,  the  chain  of  circumstances. 

This  order  of  things  had  somehow  killed  him  —  Pierre » 
deprived  him  of  life,  destroyed  him. 


CHAPTER  XL 

From  Prince  Shcherbatof  s  house,  the  prisoners  were  con- 
ducted directly  down  along  the  Dievitchye  Pole,  to  the  left  of 
the  Dievitchy  monastery,  and  were  brought  into  a  kitehen- 
garden  where  stood  an  upright  post.  Back  of  the  post  a  great 
pit  had  been  dug,  the  fresh  earth  was  piled  up  at  one  side, 
and  around  the  pit  and  the  pillar  stood  a  great  throng  of 
people.  The  throng  consisted  of  a  few  Russians  and  a  great 
number  of  Napoleonic  troops  out  of  military  rank ;  Pmssians, 
Italians,  and  French,  in  various  uniforms.  At  the  right  and 
left  of  the  post  stood  files  of  French  troops  in  blue  imiforms 
with  red  epaulets,  in  gaiters  and  shakos. 

The  condemned  were  stationed  in  the  same  order  as  thai 
which  they  had  occupied  on  the  list — Pierre  was  number  six 
—  and  they  were  brought  up  to  the  post.  A  number  of  drums 
were  beaten  suddenly  on  two  sides,  and  Pierre  felt  that  at 
these  sounds  a  part  of  his  very  soul  was  torn  from  him.  He 
lost  the  faculty  of  thinking  and  considering.  He  could  only 
see  and  hear.  And  he  had  only  one  desire  left,  and  that 
that  the  terrible  thing  that  had  to  be  done  shotdd  be  done 
speedily  as  possible.  Pierre  glanced  at  his  comrades  and 
observed  them. 

Two  men  at  the  end  were  shaven-headed  convicts.  One  was 
tall,  thin ;  the  other,  dark,  hirsute,  muscular,  with  a  flattened 
nose.  Number  three  was  a  domestic  serf,'*  forty-five  years  old, 
with  grayish  hair  and  a  plump,  well-fed  body.  The  fourth 
was  a  very  handsome  muzhik,  with  a  bushy,  reddish  beard, 
and  dark  eyes.  Number  five  was  a  factory  hand,  a  sallow, 
lean  fellow  of  eighteen,  who  wore  a  khalat. 

Pierre  listened  to  the  French  soldiers  asking  how  the  inen 
should  be  shot :  one  at  a  time,  or  two  at  a  time. 

•  DvorovuL 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  41 

^'  Two  at  a  time/^  ireplied  the  senior  officer  in  a  tone  of  cool 
(composure. 

A  stir  ran  through  the  rank  and  file  of  the  soldiery,  and  it 
was  plain  to  see  that  all  were  making  ready,  and  making  ready 
not  as  men  do  who  make  haste  to  do  something  that  all  com- 
prehend, but  rather  as  men  make  haste  to  finish  some  unusual 
task,  that  must  be  done,  yet  is  unpleasant  and  incomprehensible. 

A  French  official  in  a  scarf  directed  his  steps  to  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  file  of  the  condemned,  and  read  the  sentence 
in  Russian  and  in  French. 

Then  two  couples  of  the  French  soldiers  advanced  to  the 
prisoners,  and,  by  direction  of  the  officer,  pinioned  the  two 
convicts  who  stood  at  the  end.  The  convicts  were  halted  at 
the  post,  and  while  they  were  bringing  the  death-caps  looked 
silently  around  them,  as  a  disabled  wild  beast  at  bay  glares  on 
the  hunter  approaching. 

One  kept  crossing  himself,  the  other  scratched  his  back  and 
tried  to  force  his  lips  to  smile.  The  soldiers,  with  hasty  hands, 
began  to  bind  their  eyes,  to  put  on  the  death-caps,  and  fasten 
the  men  to  the  post. 

A  dozen  musketeers,  with  their  arms  in  their  hands,  stepped 
forth  with  firm,  measured  steps,  and  came  to  a  halt  eight  paces 
from  the  post. 

Pierre  looked  away  so  as  not  to  see  what  was  going  to  take 
place.  Suddenly  was  heard  a  crash  and  a  rattle,  which  seemed 
to  Pierre  louder  than  the  most  terrific  thunder-clap,  and  he 
looked  round.  There  was  a  smoke,  and  some  Frenchmen  with 
pale  faces  and  trembling  hands  were  doing  something  around 
the  pit. 

Two  others  were  led  out.  In  the  same  way,  with  the  same 
eyes,  these  two  also  gazed  at  them  all,  vainly  with  their  eyes 
alone  —  for  their  lips  were  silent  —  begging  for  help,  and  evi- 
dently not  comprehending  and  not  realizing  what  was  going 
to  be.  They  could  not  believe,  because  they  alone  knew  what 
their  life  was  for  them,  and  therefore  they  understood  not  and 
believed  not  that  it^could  be  taken  from  them. 

Pierre  wished  not  to  look,  and  again  turned  his  head  away ; 
but  again  his  ears  were  assailed  as  by  a  terrible  explosion,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  he  saw  the  smoke,  the  blood  of  some  one,  and 
the  pale,  frightened  faces  of  the  Frenchmen  again  occupied 
with  something  near  the  post,  —  with  trembling  hands  push- 
ing one  another. 

Pierre,  breathing  heavily,  glanced  around  him,  as  though  to 
ask,  *•  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 


42  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  same  question  was  expressed  in  all  the  eyes  which  met 
Pierre's. 

On  all  the  faces  of  the  Eussians,  on  the  faces  of  the  French 
soldiers  and  officers,  all  without  exception,  he  read  the  same 
fear,  horror,  and  battle  which  were  in  his  heart. 

"  Yes,  who  is  it  that  is  really  responsible  for  this  ?  They 
all  suffer  just  exactly  as  I  do.  Whose  doings  is  it  ?  whose  ?" 
Such  was  the  question  that  flashed  through  Pierre's  mind. 

"  Tirailleurs  du  86»»*,  en  avant — Squad  of  the  86th,  forward," 
some  one  commanded. 

The  man  who  was  fifth  on  the  list,  and  stood  next  to  Pierre, 
Was  led  out  —  alone  ! 

Pierre  did  not  comprehend  that  he  was  saved ;  that  he  and 
all  the  others  had  been  brought  out  simply  to  be  witnesses  of 
the  execution.  With  ever  increasing  horror,  but  with  no  real- 
izing sense  either  of  joy  or  relief,  he  watched  proceedings. 

The  fifth  man  was  the  factory  workman  in  the  khalat.  The 
moment  they  laid  their  hands  on  him  he  seemed  overwhelmed 
with  terror,  and  clung  to  Pierre.  Pierre  shuddered,  and  shook 
him  off. 

The  factory  hand  could  not  walk.  He  was  seized  under 
the  arms  and  dragged  away,  yelling  something.  When  they 
brought  him  to  the  post,  he  suddenly  became  quiet.  An  idea 
suddenly  seemed  to  occur  to  him.  Whether  he  realized  that 
it  was  idle  to  scream,  or  felt  that  it  was  impossible  that  these 
men  should  really  mean  to  kill  him, — at  all  events,  he  stood  hr 
the  post  waiting  for  his  eyes  to  be  bandaged,  just  as  the  others 
had  done,  and  like  the  wild  beast  at  bay  glared  around  him 
with  flashing  eyes. 

Pierre  could  not  bring  himself  to  turn  away  or  close  hb 
eyes.  His  curiosity  and  emotion,  shared  with  the  whole 
throng  at  the  spectacle  of  this  fifth  execution,  had  arisen  to 
the  highest  pitch.  Like  the  other  four,  this  new  victim  was 
composed.  He  wrapped  his  khalat  around  him,  and  rubbed 
one  bare  foot  against  the  other. 

When  they  proceeded  to  bind  his  eyes,  be  himself  arranged 
the  knot  on  the  back  of  his  head,  as  it  was  too  tight  for  him. 
Then,  when  they  placed  him  with  his  back  to  the  blood- 
sprinkled  post,  he  leaned  back  against  it,  but  then,  as  though 
finding  it  uncomfortable  in  that  position,  he  straightened  him- 
self up,  and,  standing  on  even  feet,  he  coolly  stood  with  his 
back  to  it. 

Pierre  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  him,  or  lose  his  slightest 
motion. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  43 

Some  command  must  have  been  given ;  the  command  must 
have  been  followed  by  the  reports  of  eight  muskets.  But 
Pierre,  in  spite  of  all  his  subsequent  efforts  to  remember,  heard 
not  the  slightest  report  from  the  fire-arms.  He  only  saw  how 
the  factory  hand,  for  some  reason,  suddenly  leaned  with  all 
his  weight  on  the  ropes,  how  blood  showed  in  two  spots,  and 
how  the  ropes  themselves  from  the  weight  of  the  suspended 
body  gave  way,  and  the  factory  hand,  unnaturally  lolling  his 
head^  and  his  legs  doubling  under  him,  sat  down. 

Pierre  ran  up  to  the  post.  No  one  detained  him.  The 
pale,  terror-stricken  men  were  doing  something  or  other  about 
the  workman.  One  old,  mustachioed  French  soldier,  as  he 
untied  the  ropes,  could  not  prevent  his  lower  jaw  from  trem- 
bling. The  body  was  laid  on  the  ground.  The  soldiers 
clumsily  and  in  all  haste  dragged  it  behind  the  post,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  push  it  into  the  pit. 

They  all,  evidently,  were  well  assured  that  these  men  were 
criminals,  and  that  it  was  necessary  as  quickly  as  possible  to 
put  out  of  sight  all  traces  of  their  crime. 

Pierre  glanced  into  the  pit,  and  saw  that  the  factory  hand 
lay  there  with  his  knees  drawn  up  near  to  his  head,  and  one 
shoulder  higher  than  the  other.  And  this  shoulder  was  con- 
vulsively but  regularly  falling  and  rising.  But  already  shovel- 
fuls of  earth  were  falling  on  his  whole  body. 

One  of  the  soldiers  sternly,  impatiently,  wrathfuUy  called 
to  Pierre  to  come  back.  But  Pierre  heard  him  not,  and  stood 
by  the  post,  and  no  one  drove  him  away. 

When  now  the  pit  was  all  filled  up,  a  word  of  command 
was  heard.  Pierre  was  brought  back  to  his  place,  and  the 
French  troops,  standing  in  files  on  both  sides  of  the  post, 
faced  about,  and  marched  by  the  post  in  measured  step. 

The  twenty-four  men  whose  muskets  had  been  emptied, 
standing  in  the  midst  of  the  square,  ran  to  their  places,  as 
their  companies  marched  by  them. 

Pierre  gazed  with  lack-lustre  eyes  at  these  men,  who  two 
by  two  left  the  circle.  All  but  one  had  rejoined  their  com- 
panies. A  young  soldier  with  a  deathly  pale  face,  and  wearing 
a  shako  on  the  back  of  his  head,  had  grounded  his  musket, 
and  still  stood  in  front  of  the  pit,  in  the  spot  where  he  had 
fired.  He  staggered  like  a  drunken  man  a  few  steps  forward, 
then  back,  and  could  scarcely  keep  from  falling.  An  old 
soldier,  a  non-commissioned  officer,  ran  from  the  ranks,  and, 
seizing  the  young  soldier,  drew  him  back  to  his  company. 
The  throng  of  Eussians  and  French  began  to  disperse.  AU 
went  off  in  silence,  with  dejected  heads, 


44  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  Ca  leur  apprendra  a  encendier,  —  This  '11  teach  'em  to  set 
fires,'"  said  one  of  the  Frenchmen.  Pierre  glanced  at  the 
speaker,  and  saw  that  he  was  a  soldier  who  wanted  to  get 
some  consolation  from  what  had  been  done,  but  could  not 
Without  finishing  what  he  had  begun  to  say,  he  waved  lu& 
hand,  and  went  on  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

After  the  execution,  Pierre  was  parted  from  the  others^ 
and  placed  by  himself  in  a  small,  dilapidated  church  that  had 
been  burned. 

Just  before  evening  a  non-commissioned  officer  of  the 
guard,  accompanied  by  two  soldiers,  came  into  the  church,  and 
explained  to  Pierre  that  he  was  reprieved,  and  was  to  be  pot. 
into  the  baiTacks  of  the  prisoners  of  war. 

Without  comprehending  what  was  said  to  him,  Pierre  got 
up  and  went  with  the  soldiers. 

He  was  conducted  to  some  huts  at  the  upper  part  of  the 
field,  constructed  of  burned  planks,  beams,  and  scantling,  and 
introduced  into  one  of  them.  It  was  dark,  and  Pierre  found 
himself  surrounded  by  a  score  of  various  characters.  Piene 
looked  at  these  men,  without  comprehending  who  they  were,. 
why  they  were  there,  or  what  they  wanted  of  him.  He  heard 
the  words  that  they  spoke,  but  he  saw  no  connection  or 
coherence  in  them  :  he  did  not  comprehend  their  meaning. 
He  answered  their  questions,  but  he  had  no  idea  who  listened 
to  him  or  how  his  answers  were  received.  He  looked  at  the 
faces  and  forms,  and  they  all  alike  seemed  to  him  meaningless. 

From  the  moment  that  Pierr3  had  looked  upon  that  honid 
massacre  perpetrated  by  men  who  did  not  wish  to  do  it,  it 
might  have  been  thought  that  the  mainspring  by  which 
everything  had  been  co-ordinated  and  kept  alive  in  his  mind 
had  been  torn  away,  and  everything  had  crumbled  into  a  heap 
of  incoherent  dust.  Although  he  made  no  attempt  to  explain 
how  it  happened,  his  faith  in  the  beneficent  ordering  of  the 
universe,  m  the  human  soul,  and  in  his  own  and  in  God^ 
was  destroyed. 

Pierre  had  passed  through  such  a  mental  crisis  before,  bat 
never  one  of  such  violence  as  this.  Before,  when  this  kind  of 
doubts  had  come  upon  Pierre,  they  had  had  their  origin  in 
his  own  wrong-doing.  And  Pierre  had  felt  in  the  depths 
of  his  heart  that  his  salvation  from  such  despair  and  doubt 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  45 

iraa  in  himself.  But  now  he  was  conscious  that  At  was  not 
his  own  fault  that  the  universe  had  collapsed  before  his  eyes, 
leaving  only  incoherent  ruins.  He  felt  that  it  was  not  in  his 
power  to  return  to  faith  in  life. 

Around  him  in  the  darkness  stood  a  number  of  men :  appar- 
ently, they  found  something  in  him  to  interest  them.  They 
told  him  things,  they  asked  questions  of  him  ;  then  they  led 
Mm  somewhere,  and  at  last  he  found  himself  in  a  corner  of 
the  balag^,  together  with  certain  men  who  were  talking  and 
laughing  together.  "  Here,  now,  my  brothers,  is  the  prince 
himself  who  "  —  (special  stress  was  laid  on  the  word  "  who  ") 
said  some  one's  voice  in  the  opposite  comer  of  the  balag&n. 

Pierre  sat  motionless  and  silent  on  the  straw  next  the  wall, 
now  opening  and  now  closing  his  eyes.  But  as  soon  as  he 
closed  his  eyes  he  saw  before  him  the  factory  workman's 
face,  terrible,  yes,  terrible,  from  its  very  simplicity  of  expres- 
sion, and  the  still  more  terrible  faces  of  the  involuntary  execu- 
tioners, with  their  anxious  looks.  And  he  would  again  open 
his  eyes,  and  again  stared  meaninglessly  into  the  darkness 
around  him. 

Next  him  sat  a  little  man  all  doubled  up,  whose  presence 
Pierre  was  made  aware  of  from  the  very  first  by  the  powerful 
odor  of  perspiration  which  emanated  from  him  every  time  he 
moved.  This  man  was  engaged  in  doing  something  to  his 
feet,  and  though  Pierre  could  not  see  his  face  he  felt  conscious 
that  this  man  kept  looking  at  him.  By  straining  his  eyes  to 
suit  the  darkness,  Pierre  made  out  that  this  man  was  baring 
his  feet.  And  Pierre  began  to  grow  interested  in  the  way  in 
which  he  performed  the  operation. 

Having  unwound  the  long  band  which  was  twisted  around 
one  foot  and  leg,  he  carefully  rolled  it  up,  and  then  went  to 
work  on  the  other  foot  the  same  way,  constantly  glancing  at 
Pierre.  While  one  hand  was  hanging  up  the  ^rst  leg-wrap- 
per, the  other  had  instantly  begun  to  undo  the  one  on  the 
other  leg.  Having  thus  bared  his  feet  with  precise  but  flow- 
ing, well-directed  motions  whereby  no  time  was  lost,  the  man 
spread  out  his  foot-gear  on  the  pegs  which  were  driven  in  just 
above  his  head,  took  out  his  pocket-knife,  pared  off  something, 
shut  up  his  knife,  thrust  it  und^  his  pillow,  and,  having  set- 
tled himself  more  comfortably,  he  clasped  his  knees  with  both 
hands  and  stared  straight  at  Pierre. 

For  Pierre  there  was  something  agreeable,  soothing,  and 
satisfying  in  these  well-regulated  motions,  and  in  this  map 
Slaking  himself  so  at  home  in  his  corner,  —  even  in  the  pdoi 


46  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

emanating  from  him ;  and  Pierre,  without  dropping  his  eyes, 
returned  his  gaze. 

"Well,  have  you  seen  pretty  hard  times,  barin?  hah?-- 
suddenly  asked  the  little  man.  And  there  was  such  an 
expression  of  gentleness  and  simple-hearted  goodness  in  the 
man's  sing-song  voice  that  Pierre  would  have  instantly 
replied,  but  his  jaw  trembled  and  the  tears  came  into  his 
e^es.  The  little  man  at  the  same  second,  not  giving  Pierre 
time  to  betray  his  confusion,  went  on  in  the  same  pleasant 
voice :  — 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,*  don't  repine,"  said  he,  in  that  gentle, 
sing-song,  affectionate  tone  with  which  old  Russian  peasant 
women  talk,  "don't  repine,  my  friend.  An  hour  to  suffer, 
but  an  age  to  live !  That's  the  way  it  is,  my  dear  !  But  we 
live  here,  thank  Ood,  without  offence.  There's  bad  men  and 
there's  good  men  as  well,"  said  he,  and,  while  still  speaking, 
he  got  up  on  his  knees  with  an  agile  motion,  arose,  and, 
coughing,  went  somewhere. 

"  Here,  you  little  rascal,t  you've  come,  have  you !  —  There, 
there  !  that'll  do ! " 

And  the  soldier,  pushing  off  a  puppy  that  was  jumping  upon 
him,  returned  to  his  place  and  sat  down.  He  carried  in  his 
hand  something  wrapped  up  in  a  rag. 

"  Here's  something  to  eat,  barin,"  said  he,  returning  to  his 
former  respectful  tone,  and,  unwrapping  the  bundle,  he  gave 
to  Pierre  several  baked  potatoes.  "  We  had  porridge  for  din- 
ner.   But  potatoes  are  excellent." 

Pierre  had  eaten  nothing  all  day,  and  the  smell  of  the 
potatoes  seemed  to  him  extraordinarily  pleasant.  He  thanked 
the  soldier  and  began  to  eat. 

"  Well,  how  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  soldier,  with  a  smile,  and 
taking  one  of  the  potatoes,  —  "  do  you  relish  it  ?  "  —  He  again 
got  out  his  jack-knife,  laid  the  potato  on  his  palm,  and  cut  it 
into  halves,  sprinkled  salt  on  from  the  rag,  and  offered  it 
to  Pierre.  "  Potatoes  excellent,"  he  reiterat^  "  Eat  it  that 
way ! " 

It  seemed  to  Pierre  that  he  had  never  eaten  any  viands 
that  tasted  more  appetizing. 

"  No,  it  makes  no  differeilfce  to  me,  one  way  or  the  other," 
said  Pierre.  "  But  why  did  they  shoot  those  poor  wretches  ? 
The  last  one  wasn't  twenty." 

«  Ts  /  Us  /  "  —  said  the  little  man.  "  A  sin !  — a  sin ! "  he 
quickly  added;  and  as  though  words  were  always  ready  to  his 

f  i  9ok4flik  (little  haifk).  f  Ish  Meimo, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  47 

lipe,  and  winged  to  fly  away  very  unexpectedly  from  them,  he 
added, — 

'^  How  was  it,  barin,  that  you  staid  in  Moscow  ?  " 

''  I  did  not  think  they  would  come  so  soon.  It  was  by  acci- 
dent I  staid,"  replied  Pierre. 

"  And  how  came  they  to  take  you  ?  Was  it  from  your  own 
house,  my  dear  ?  "  * 

'<No:  I  was  going  to  the  fire,  and  it  was  then  they  seized 
me,  and  tried  me  as  an  incendiary." 

*^  Where  the  tribunal  is,  there  is  injustice,"  said  the  little 
man  sententiously. 

^^Have  you  been  long  here  ?  "  asked  Pierre,  as  he  munched 
the  last  potato. 

"I?  Since  Sunday.  I  was  taken  from  the  hospital  in 
Moscow." 

"  80  you  were  a  soldier,  were  you  ?  " 

''One  of  Apsheron's  regiment.  I  was  dying  of  fever.  No 
one  had  ever  told  us  anything  about  it.  There  were  twenty 
of  us  lying  there.  We  had  no  idea  of  such  a  thing —  didn't 
dream  of  it ! " 

"  Well,  are  you  bored  at  being  here  ?  " 

''How  can  I  help  being,  my  dear  ? *  My  name  is  Platon; 
surname,  Karatayef,"  he  added,  evidently  so  as  to  make 
Pierre's  intercourse  with  him  less  formal.  "They  always 
called  me  sokolik  in  the  army.  How  can  one  help  being  bored, 
my  dear?  Moscow  is  the  mother  of  our  cities!  How  can 
one  look  on  and  see  her  destruction  and  not  be  blue  ?  The 
worm  gnaws  the  cabbage,  but  perishes  before  it:  that's  the 
old  folks'  saying,"  he  added  quickly. 

"  What  is  that  remark  you  made  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

"  I  ?  "  demanded  Karatayef.  '*  Oh,  I  said,  '  Not  by  our  wit, 
bat  as  God  sees  fit,' "  t  s^id  he,  thinlung  he  was  repeating  the 
former  proverb.  And  immediately  he  pursued  :  —  "  And  you 
have  property,  haven't  you,  barin  ?  And  have  a  house  ?  Your 
cup  must  be  full.  And  have  a  wife  ?  t  And  old  folks  alive  ?  " 
he  asked.  And  Pierre,  though  he  could  not  see  because  it 
was  so  dark,  still  knew  that  the  soldier's  lips  were  curved 
in  a  respectful  smile  of  friendliness  as  he  asked  these  ques- 
tions. 

He  was  evidently  grieved  to  learn  that  Pierre  had  no 
parents,  especially  no  mother. 

"  A  wife  for  advice,  a  wife's  mother  for  a  welcome,  but 

*  Sokdliky  darling  Oittle  hawk),      t  Ny€  ndshim  un»fm  a  Bifzhyim  wdifm* 
X  KhozyaXkaf  mistreflB  of  the  house. 


48  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

nothing  sweeter  than  one's  own  mitnshka!"  said  he.  "But 
have  you  any  children  ?  "  he  proceeded  to  inquire.  Picne's 
negative  reply  again  evidently  grieved  him,  and  he  hastened 
to  add:  "Well,  you  are  young  yet;  Grod  may  give  them. 
Only  you  should  live  in  good  understanding  "  — 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me  now,"  said  Pierre,  inyolxintarily. 

"Ekh!  My  dear  man!"  exclaimed  Platon.  "There's  lo 
getting  rid  of  the  beggar's  sack  nor  of  the  prison  cell!"  He 
got  into  a  more  comfortable  attitude,  cleared  his  throat,  and 
was  evidently  preparing  to  spin  a  long  yarn.  '^This  was  the 
way,  my  dear  mend,*  I  lived  when  I  was  at  home,"  he  began. 
'<  We  had  a  rich  estate  —  much  land  —  peasants  lived  weD,  and 
we  in  the  house  too,  glory  to  thee,  0  Grod !  My  Utynsbka 
would  harvest  sevenfold.  Lived  well,  as  Chrtstiatis  shoold! 
But  one  time"  — 

And  Platon  Karatayef  related  a  long  story  about  how  he 
went  into  another  man's  grove  after  firewood,  and  the  watch- 
man had  caught  him;  how  he  had  been  flogged,  tried,  and 
sent  off  as  a  soldier.  —  *<  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  t  said  he,  h^ 
voice  altered  by  his  smile,  '^  it  seemed  a  misfortune ;  on  the 
contrary,  good  thing !  My  brother  would  have  had  to  go  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  my  sin.  But  my  younger  brotiher  had  five 
children,  while,  you  see,  I  had  only  a  wife  to  leave.  I  had  a 
little  girl  once,  but  God  took  her  back  before  I  went  8oldie^ 
ing.  I  went  home  on  leave  once.  I  will  tell  you  about  it 
I  see  they  live  better  than  they  did  before.  Yard  fall  of 
live-stock ;  women  at  home ;  two  brothers  off  at  work.  Only 
Mikh^ilo,  the  youngest,  at  home.  And  my  batyushka,  he  says, 
says  he,  'All  my  children's  alike  to  me;  no  matter  which 
flnger  you  pinch,  it  hurts  just  the  same.  And  if  they  had  not 
taken  Platon,  Mikhai'lo'd  had  to  go.'  He  took  us  all  in  front 
of  the  *  images'  —  would  you  believe  it? — and  made  ns 
stand  there.  '  Mikhailo,'  says  he,  '  come  here.  Bow  down  to 
the  ground  before  him ;  and  you,  woman,  bow  down ;  and  yon, 
little  ones,  bow  down  all  of  you  !  Have  you  understood  ? '  says 
he.  And  that's  the  way  it  is,  my  dear  friend.  ^No  escaping 
fate.'  t  And  we  are  always  declaring,  <  This  is  not  good,  or 
this  is  all  wrong.'  But  our  happiness  is  like  water  in  a  trawl- 
net:  pull  it  along  and  it's  full;  take  it  out  and  if s  empty ! 
'fhat's  the  way  it  is." 

And  Platon  shifted  his  seat  on  his  straw. 

*  Drvk  mot  livbeznui,  t  Sok6lik 

X  Tjiterally,  Fate,  destiny,  seeks  heads.  A  rariant  of  the  piovei^  readSi 
'  If  Fate  does  not  find  the  man,  the  man  goes  to  FMe*' 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  49 

A&m  a  little  space  of  silence,  Platon  arose :  '^  Well,  I  sap- 
pose  joa'd  like  to  go  to  sleep  ?  "  said  he,  and  he  began  to 
cross  himself,  muttering,  '^Loixl  Jesus  Christ  I  Saint  Nikola ! 
Frola  and  Lavra  I  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  Saint  Nikola !  Frola 
and  Lavra,  Lord  Jesus  Christ  —  have  mercy  upon  us  and  save 
us ! "  he  said  in  conclusion,  bowed  down  to  tne  very  gpround, 
got  up,  drew  a  deep  sigh,  and  lay  down  on  his  straw.  '<  Now, 
0  Gk)d !  let  me  '  sleep  like  a  stone,  and  rise  like  a  loaf,'  "  *  he 
exclaimed,  and  lay  down,  covering  himself  with  his  soldier's 
coat. 

^  What  was  that  prayer  you  were  repeating?"  asked  Pierre. 

''Heh  ?  "  said  Platon.  He  was  already  asleep.  '^  Repeated 
what  ?    I  was  praying  to  Grod.    Don't  you  say  your  prayers  ?  " 

^Certainly  I  say  my  prayers,"  replied  Pierre.  <<But  what 
was  that  about  Frola  and  Lavra  ?  "  f 

"  Why,"  swiftly  replied  Platon,  "  that's  the  horses'  saints. 
For  we  must  have  pity  on  the  cattle,"  said  Karatayef  .  '^  Oh, 
you  rascal !  you  have  come  back,  have  you  ?  You  want  to  get 
warm,  do  you,  you  nice  little  slut?"  said  he,  fondling  the 
puppy  at  his  feet,  and,  turning  over  again,  instantly  fell 
asleep. 

Outside  in  the  distance  were  heard  the  sounds  of  wailing 
and  yells,  and  through  the  cracks  in  the  hut  the  glare  of  the 
fire  could  be  seen,  but  in  the  balagin  it  was  dark  and  still.  It 
wis  long  before  Pierre  could  go  to  sleep ;  and  he  lay  in  his 
place  in  the  darkness  with  wide-open  eyes,  listening  to 
Platen's  measured  snoring,  as  he  lay  near  him,  and  feeling 
that  that  formerly  ruined  world  was  now  arising  again  in  his 
soul,  in  new  beauty  and  with  new  and  steadfast  foundations. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Thb  balagdn  or  hut  where  Pierre  was  confined,  and  where 
he  spent  four  weeks,  contained  twenty-three  soldiers,  three 
officers,  and  two  chinovniks,  —  all  prisoners. 

Afterwards  all  of  them  seemed  to  be  misty  memories  to 
Pierre;  but  Platon  Karatayef  forever  remained  in  Pierre's 
mind  as  a  most  powerful  and  precious  recollection,  the  very  em- 
bodiment of  all  that  was  good  and  worthy  and  truly  Russian. 

When,  on  the  following  day,  at  dawn,  Pierre  saw  his  neigh- 
bor, the  first  impression  of  something  rotund  was  fully  con- 

*  Kaldehik  (kalatch),  a  sort  of  pretzel  or  light  loaf, 
t  J^rola  and  Ltmra:  Flora  and  JLaora. 

T0L.4.— 4, 


60  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

firmed ;  Platon's  whole  figure,  in  his  French  overooat  belted 
with  a  rope,  in  his  forage  cap  and  bast  shoes,  was  rotund.  His 
head  was  absolutely  round ;  his  back,  his  chest,  his  shoulden, 
even  his  arms,  which  he  always  carried  as  though  he  weie 
always  ready  to  throw  them  around  something,  were  round ; 
his  pleasant  smile  and  his  large,  thick  brows  and  his  gentle 
eyes  were  round. 

Platon  Karatayef  must  have  been  upwards  of  fifty,  to 
judge  by  his  stories  of  campaigns  in  which  he  had  taken  part 
as  a  soldier.  He  himself  had  no  idea,  and  could  never  have 
told  with  any  accuracy,  how  old  he  was.  ^Bat  his  teeth, 
brilliantly  white  and  strong,  were  always  displayed  in  two 
unbroken  rows  whenever  he  laughed,  —  which  he  often  did, — 
and  not  one  was  not  good  and  sound.  There  was  not  a  trace 
of  gray  in  beard  or  hair,  and  his  whole  frame  had  the  appear- 
ance of  4igility  and  especially  of  steadfastness  and  endurance. 

His  face,  in  spite  of  a  multitude  of  delicate  round  wrinkles, 
gave  the  impression  of  innocence  and  youth:  his  voice  was 
agreeable  in  its  melodious  sing-song.  But  the  chief  peculiaritj 
of  his  speech  consisted  in  its  spontaneity  and  shrewdness.  He 
evidently  never  thought  of  what  he  said  or  what  he  was  gtnng 
to  say.  And  from  this  arose  the  irresistible  persuasiveness 
that  was  found  in  the  rapidity  and  certainty  of  his  intona- 
tions. 

His  physical  powers  and  activity  were  so  great  during  tbe 
early  part  of  their  term  of  captivity  that  it  seemed  as  though 
he  knew  not  what  weariness  or  ill-health  meant.  Eveiy 
morning  and  evening,  as  he  lay  on  his  couch  of  straw,  he 
would  say :  '^  Lord,  let  me  sleep  like  a  stone,  and  rise  like  a 
loaf." 

When  he  got  up  in  the  morning  he  always  shrugged  his 
shoulders  in  a  certain  way  and  said:  ^'Tum  over  when  you 
lie  down,  shake  yourself  when  you  get  up."  And,  in  point  of 
fact,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  lie  down,  and  instantly  he  would 
be  asleep  like  a  stone ;  and  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  shake  him- 
self, and  without  a  second's  delay  he  would  be  ready  to  take 
up  auything,  just  as  children,  when  they  are  once  up,  take  to 
their  toys. 

He  was  a  jack-at-all-trades,  but  neither  very  good  nor  veiy 
bad  at  any.  He  could  bake,  cook,  sew,  cut  hair,  cobble  boots. 
He  was  always  busy,  and  only  when  it  came  night  did  he 
allow  himself  to  enjoy  social  converse,  though  he  enjoyed  it, 
and  to  sing.  He  sang  his  songs,  not  as  singers  usually. sing, 
knowing  that  they  will  be  heard,  but  he  sang  as  the  biids 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  61 

fimgy  eridently  because  it  was  just  as  much  a  necessity  upon 
him  as  it  was  for  him  to  stretch  himself  or  to  walk.  And 
these  sounds  were  always  gentle,  soft,  almost  like  a  woman's, 
plaintive,  and  his  face,  while  he  was  engaged  in  this,  was 
very  grave. 

I>uring  his  captivity  he  let  his  beard  grow,  and  evidently 
discarded  everything  extraneous  that  was  foreign  or  mili- 
tary, and  involuntarily  returned  to  his  former  condition  of  the 
peasant  and  man  of  the  people. 

" '  A  soldier  on  leave  is  a  shirt  made  out  of  drawers/  "  he 
would  quote.  He  was  not  fond  of  talking  about  his  soldier- 
ing days,  although  he  regretted  them  not,  and  often  declared 
tiiat  during  all  his  term  in  the  service  he  had  not  once  been 
flogged.  When  he  had  stories  to  tell  he  much  preferred  to 
confine  them  to  old  and  evidently  precious  recollections  of 
the  time  when  he  was  a  serf — Khristianin,  Christian,  he  called 
it,  instead  of  Krestyanin  I 

The  proverbs  of  which  he  made  so  much  use  were  not  that 
generally  coarse  and  vulgar  slang  such  as  soldiers  are  apt  to 
employ,  but  were  genuine  popular  "  saws,"  which  seem  per- 
fectly insignificant  when  taken  out  of  connection,  but  which 
suddenly  acquire  a  meaning  of  deep  wisdom  when  applied 
appositely. 

He  often  said  things  that  were  diametrically  opposed  to 
what  he  had  said  before,  but  yet  each  statement  would  be 
correct.  He  loved  to  talk,  and  talked  well,  embellishing  his 
discourse  with  affectionate  diminutives  and  proverbs,  which, 
it  seemed  to  Pierre,  the  man  himself  improvised ;  but  the 
chief  charm  of  his  narrations  arose  from  the  fact  that  the 
simplest  events,  those  which  Pierre  himself  had  participated 
in  without  being  any  the  wiser,  assumed  a  character  of 
solemn  beauty. 

He  liked  to  listen  to  the  yams  —  though  they  were  all  of  a 
single  stamp  —  which  a  certain  soldier  used  to  tell  evenings, 
but  above  all  he  liked  to  listen  to  tales  of  actual  life. 

He  smiled  blithely  while  listening  to  such  tales,  suggesting 
words  and  asking  questions  conducive  to  bringing  out  all  the 
beauty  of  what  was  related  to  him. 

Special  attachments,  friendships,  loves,  as  Pierre  under- 
stood them,  Karatayef  had  none ;  but  he  liked  all  men,  and 
lived  in  a  loving  way  with  all  with  whom  his  life  brought  him 
in  contact,  and  especially  with  men  —  not  any  particular  men 
— but  with  such  as  were  in  his  sight.  He  loved  his  dog  ;  he 
loved  his  comrades;  the  French;  he  loved  Pierre^  who  was  his 


52  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

oompanion ;  but  Pierre  felt  that  Karatajef,  in  spite  of  all  tkak 
affectionate  spirit  whicli  he  manifested  toward  him, — and 
which  he  could  not  help  giving  as  a  tribute  to  Pierre's  spirit* 
ual  life,  —  not  for  one  moment  would  grieve  over  sepanSbion. 
And  Pierre  also  began  to  have  the  same  feeling  towaid 
Karatayef. 

Platon  Karatayef  was,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  other  priaoneray 
a  most  ordinary  soldier.  They  called  him  sokolikj  "little 
hawk,"  or  Flatosha,  good-naturedly  quizzed  him,  made  him  do 
odd  jobs  for  them. 

But  for  Pierre  he  remained  forever  what  he  had  seemed  to 
him  the  first  night,  —  the  incomprehensible,  rotund,  and  eter- 
nal  personification  of  the  spirit  of  simplicity  and  truth. 

The  only  thing  that  Platon  Karatayef  knew  merely  bj 
rote  was  his  prayer.  When  he  talked,  he,  it  would  appear, 
would  have  no  idea  where,  having  once  begun,  it  would  bring 
him  out. 

When  Pierre,  as  sometimes  happened,  missed  the  sense  of 
what  he  said,  and  would  ask  him  to  repeat  himself,  Platon 
would  not  be  able  to  remember  what  he  had  spoken  only  the 
minute  before,  just  as  in  the  same  way  he  could  not  give 
Pierre  the  words  of  his  favorite  song.  The  words  were: 
Rodimaya,  beryozanka  i  tdsknenko  mni/S,  —  Mother,  little 
birch-tree,  sick  at  heart  am  I,  —  but  there  was  no  coherent 
sense  in  those  words.  He  could  not  remember  or  define  woids 
apart  from  the  context. 

Every  word  he  spoke  and  everything  that  he  did  was  tbe 
manifestation  of  that,  to  him,  incomprehensible  activity,  his 
life.  But  his  life,  as  he  himself  looked  upon  it,  had  no  seme 
as  a  separate  existence.  It  had  sense  only  as  it  was  a  part  of 
the  great  whole  of  which  he  was  constantly  conscious.  His 
words  and  deeds  flowed  from  him  as  regularly,  unavoidably, 
and  spontaneously  as  the  fragrance  exhales  from  a  fiower.  He 
could  not  comprehend  either  the  object  or  the  sig^ficanoe  of 
words  or  deeds  taken  out  of  their  proper  connection. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Thb  Princess  Mariya,  having  learned  from  Nikolai  that  her 
brother  was  with  the  Eostofs  at  Yaroslavl,  immediately,  in 
spite  of  her  aunt's  dissuasion,  made  her  arrangements  to  join 
him,  not  alone,  but  with  her  nephew. 

She  did  not  ask  herself  whether  this  would  be  hard  or  easy, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  56 

feasible  or  impossible,  and  she  cared  not  to  know :  it  was  her 
duty  not  only  to  be  with  her  brother,  who  perhaps  was  dying, 
but  also  to  put  forth  her  utmost  endeavors  to  bring  his  son  to 
him,  and  she  was  bound  to  go. 

If  Prince  Andrei  himself  did  not  send  her  word,  it  was  to 
be  explained,  the  princess  was  certain,  either  because  he  was 
too  feeble  to  write,  or  because  he  felt  that  the  long,  round- 
about journey  would  be  too  hard  and  perilous  for  her  and  his 
son. 

In  a  few  days  the  Princess  Mariya  was  ready  for  the  jour- 
ney. Her  outfit  consisted  of  the  vast,  princely  coach  in  which 
she  had  made  the  journey  to  Voronezh,  a  britchka  and  a  bag- 
gage-wagon. She  was  accompanied  by  Mile.  Bourienne,  Niko- 
lushka  with  his  tutor,  the  old  nyanya,  three  maids,  Tikhon,  a 
young  footman,  and  a  haiduk  whom  her  aunt  sent  with  her. 

To  go  by  the  usual  route,  by  way  of  Moscow,  was  not  even 
to  be  thought  of,  and  therefore  the  roundabout  journey  which 
the  princess  had  to  take  through  Lipetsk,  Riazan,  Vladimir, 
Shuya^  was  venr  long,  and,  by  reason  of  the  dearth  of  post- 
horses,  very  difficult,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  Eiazan,  where,  so 
a  was  said,  the  French  had  begun  to  appear,  even  perilous. 

During  this  trying  journey,  Mile.  Bourienne,  Dessalles,  and 
the  Princess  Mariya's  servants,  were  amazed  at  her  steadfast- 
ness and  activity.  She  was  the  last  of  all  to  retire,  she  was 
the  first  of  all  to  rise,  and  no  difficulties  sufficed  to  daunt  her. 
Thanks  to  her  activity  and  energy,  which  inspirited  her  com- 
panions, at  the  end  of  the  second  week  they  reached  Yaroslavl. 

During  the  last  part  of  her  stay  in  Voronezh,  the  Princess 
Mariya  had  experienced  the  keenest  joy  of  her  life.  Her  love 
for  Rostof  no  longer  tormented  her  or  excited  her.  This  love 
filled  her  whole  soul,  had  made  itself  an  inseparable  part  of  her 
being,  and  she  no  longer  struggled  against  it.  Of  late,  the 
Princess  Mariya  had  persuaded  herself  —  though  she  never 
said  this  in  so  many  words  even  to  herself  —  that  she  loved, 
and  was  loved  in  return.  She  was  convinced  of  this  at  her 
last  meeting  with  Nikolai,  when  he  came  to  explain  that  her 
brother  was  with  his  parents. 

Nikolai  had  not  intimated  by  a  single  word  that  now,  in 
case  of  Prince  Andrei's  restoration  to  health,  the  former  re- 
lations between  him  and  Natasha  would  be  renewed,  but  the 
Princess  Mariya  saw  by  Nikolai's  face  that  he  knew  it  was 
possible  and  had  thought  of  it. 

And,  nevertheless,  his  relations  toward  her,  so  considerate^ 
80  gentle,  and  so  affectionate,  not  only  underwent  no  change. 


U  WAR  AND  PEACte. 

but  he  was  apparently  delighted,  because  now  the  kinslup 
between  him  and  the  Princess  Mariya  gave  him  greater  free- 
dom in  manifesting  to  her  his  friendship-love,  for  such  the 
princess  sometimes  considered  it  to  be.  The  Princess  Mariya 
knew  that  this,  in  her  case,  was  love  for  the  first  and  last  time 
in  her  life,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  loved,  and  she  was  happj 
and  calm  in  this  state  of  things. 

But  this  happiness  did  not  prevent  her  from  feeling  grief  in 
all  its  force  for  her  brother:  on  the  contrary,  this  spiritual 
composure,  in  one  sense,  permitted  her  greater  possibility  of 
giving  herself  up  completely  to  this  feeling  for  her  brother. 

This  feeling  was  so  intense  at  the  first  moment  of  her  de- 
parture from  Voronezh  that  her  attendants  were  convinced,  as 
they  looked  into  her  anguished,  despairing  face,  that  she  would 
assuredly  fall  ill  on  the  way ;  but  the  difficulties  and  trials  of 
the  journey,  which  employed  so  much  of  her  energies,  saved 
her  for  the  time  being  from  her  grief,  and  imparted  strength 
to  her. 

As  is  always  the  case  during  a  journey,  the  Princess  Mariya 
had  no  other -thought  than  about  the  journey,  and  forgot  the 
object  for  which  it  was  undertaken.  But,  as  she  approached 
Yaroslavl,  when  what  was  possibly  before  her  recurred  to  her, 
and  she  realized  that  it  was  to  be  that  very  evening  and  not  at 
the  end  of  days,  the  Princess  Mariya's  agitation  reached  its 
utmost  limits. 

When  the  halduk  who  had  been  sent  forward  to  find  where 
in  Yaroslavl  the  Rostofs  were  quartered,  and  how  Prince 
Andrei  was,  rode  back  and  met  the  great  travelling-coach  at 
the  barriers,  he  was  horror-struck  to  see  the  princess's  terribly 
pallid  face,  as  she  put  it  out  of  the  window. 

"I  have  found  out  all  about  it,  your  ladyship:*  the 
Bostofs  are  on  the  square,  at  the  house  of  the  merchant 
Bronnikof.  Not  very  far  from  here,  right  on  the  Volga,"  said 
the  halduk. 

The  Princess  Mariya  looked  into  his  face  anxiously  and 
inquiringly,  not  understanding  why  he  did  not  reply  to  the 
question  that  chiefly  occupied  her :  "  How  is  my  brother?" 

Mademoiselle  Bourienne  asked  this  question  for  the 
princess. 

"  How  is  the  prince  ?  "  asked  she. 

**  His  illustriousness  is  with  them  in  the  same  house." 

"  Of  course,  then,  he  must  be  alive,"  thought  the  princess, 
and  she  softly  asked  :  "  How  is  he  ?  " 

*  Vcuthe  siydtelatvo  (illustriouBness). 


WAR  AND  PEACJS.  66 

''The  servants  say  he  is  still  in  the  same  condition.^' 

The  princess  did  not  dream  of  asking  what  he  meant  by 
being  "in  the  same  condition,"  and  imperceptibly  giving  a 
swift  glance  at  the  seven-year-old  Nikolushka,  who  was  sii> 
ting  next  her  and  rejoicing  in  the  sight  of  the  city,  she 
dropped  her  head  and  did  not  look  up  again  until  the  heavy 
carriage,  rumbling,  jolting,  and  swaying,  stopped  somewhere. 
The  steps  were  let  down  with  a  clatter.  The  door  was  thrown 
open.  At  the  left  was  water  —  the  great  river ;  at  the  rights 
a  door-step;  on  the  door-step  were  servants  and  a  young, 
ruddy-faced  girl,  with  a  long,  dark  switch  of  hair,  who  wore 
what  seemed  to  the  Princess  Mariya  a  disagreeably  hypocrit- 
ical smile. 

This  was  Sonya. 

The  princess  got  out  and  mounted  the  steps ;  the  hypocriti- 
cally smiling  young  girl  said,  "  This  way,  this  way,"  and  the 
princess  found  herself  in  the  anteroom,  in  the  presence  of  an 
elderly  woman,  with  an  Eastern  type  of  face,  who,  with  a 
flurried  expression,  came  swiftly  to  meet  her. 

This  was  the  old  countess. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  the  Princess  Mariya  and  began 
to  kiss  her. 

"  My  child ! "  she  exclaimed, "  I  love  you  and  I  have  known 
you  for  a  long  time."  * 

In  spite  of  all  her  agitation  the  princess  realized  that  this 
was  the  countess  and  that  she  must  say  something  to  her. 
She,  without  knowing  how  she  did  it,  murmured  a  few  polite 
words  in  French,  in  the  same  tone  in  which  those  spoken  to 
her  were  said,  and  then  she  asked,  "  How  is  he  ?  " 

*^  The  doctor  says  that  there  is  no  danger,"  said  the  coun- 
tess ;  but  even  while  she  made  that  remark  she  sighed  and 
raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  in  this  action  contradicted 
what  she  had  just  said. 

**  Where  is  he  ?  May  I  see  him  ?  May  I  ?  "  asked  the 
princess. 

"Directly,  princess,  directly,  dear  friend!  —  Is  this  his 
son  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  Kikolushka,  who  had  come  in 
with  Dessalles.  "  There  will  be  room  enough  for  us  all.  It 
is  a  large  house.  —  Oh,  what  a  lovely  little  boy  I " 

The  countess  took  the  princess  into  the  drawing-room. 
Sonya  engaged  in  conversation  with  Mademoiselle  Bourienne. 
The  countess  fondled  the  boy.  The  old  count  came  into  the 
room  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  princess. 

•  Man  enfant  I  Je  vou»  aime  et  vous  connaU  depuU  Umgtemps* 


i 


66  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

The  old  count  had  completely  altered  since  the  priacen  had 
seen  him  the  last  time.  Then  he  was  a  lively,  jovial,  self- 
confident  little  old  man ;  now  he  seemed  like  a  melancholy 
wreck  of  himself.  As  he  talked  with  the  countess  he  ke^ 
looking  round,  as  though  he  wete  asking  all  present  whether 
he  were  doing  the  proper  thing*  After  the  destruction  of 
Moscow  and  his  property,  being  taken  out  of  the  ruts  in  which 
he  was  accustomed  to  run,  he  had  apparently  lost  his  bearings^ 
and  felt  that  there  was  no  longer  any  place  for  him  in  life. 

In  spite  of  her  one  desire  to  see  her  brother  as  speedily  as 
possible,  and  her  annoyance  because  at  the  moment  when  shs 
might  be  gratifying  this  desire,  and  seeing  him,  she  was 
obliged  to  exchange  courtesies  with  these  people,  and  to  listea 
to  pretended  praise  of  her  nephew,  still  the  princess  kept  a 
close  watch  on  everything  around  her,  and  felt  that  it  was 
incumbent  upon  her  to  conform  to  the  new  order  of  things 
into  which  she  had  fallen.  She  knew  that  it  was  a  necessity, 
and,  hard  as  it  was,  still  she  kept  her  temper. 

'*  This  is  my  niece,"  said  the  count,  introducing  Sonya. 
"  You  have  not  met  her,  have  you,  princess  ?  " 

The  princess  turned  to  her,  and,  trying  to  overmaster  the 
feeling  of  hostility  that  this  young  lady  caused  in  her  hearty 
she  gave  her  a  kiss.  But  it  was  made  hard  for  her  because  of 
the  want  of  harmony  between  all  these  people  and  what  was 
in  her  own  heart. 

<<  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  asked  again,  addressing  no  one  in 
particular. 

^<  He  is  downstairs.  Natasha  is  with  him,"  replied  Sonya, 
coloring.  '<  TheyVe  sent  word  to  him.  I  think  you  must  be 
tired,  princess." 

Tears  of  vexation  arose  to  the  princess's  eyes.  She  turned 
away,  and  was  going  once  more  to  ask  the  countess  how  the 
could  go  to  him,  when  light,  impetuous,  one  might  almost  say 
jocund,  steps  were  heard  in  the  adjoining  room.  The  princess 
glanced  round  and  saw  Natasha  almost  nmning,  —  that  same 
Natasha  who,  when  she  had  last  seen  her  in  Moscow,  had  so 
completely  failed  to  please  her. 

The  princess  had  scarcely  glanced  into  the  face  of  this 
Natasha  before  she  perceived  that  this  was  a  genuine  sympa- 
thizer in  her  grief,  and  hence  her  friend.  She  went  to  meet 
her,  and,  throwing  her  arms  around  her,  melted  into  tears  oa 
her  neck. 

As  soon  as  Natasha,  who  had  been  sitting  by  Prince 
Andrei's  bedside,  learned  of  the  princess's  arrival,  she  had 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  67 

quietly  left  the  room,  and  with  the  same  swift  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  the  Princess  Mariya,  jocund  steps,  harried  to  meet 
her. 

On  her  agitated  face  there  was  onlj^  one  expression  when 
she  came  into  the  room  —  the  expl*esSion  of  love^  unbounded 
love  for  him,  for  his  sister,  for  everything  that  was  uear  and 
dear  to  this  beloved  man,  the  expression  of  pity,  of  sympathy 
for  others,  and  a  passionate  desire  to  give  herself  up  entirely 
if  only  he  might  hnd  help.  It  was  evident  that,  at  that  mo' 
ment,  there  was  no  room  in  Natasha's  soul  iot  thoughts  about 
herself,  or  about  her  relations  toward  him. 

The  sensitive  Princess  Mariya,  at  the  first  glance  into 
Katasha's  face,  realized  all  this,  and,  with  a  bitter  sweetness, 
she  wept  on  her  neck. 

**  Let  us  go  to  him  \  come,  Marie  1  ^'  exclaimed  Natasha,  lead* 
ing  her  into  the  next  room. 

The  Princess  Mariya  looked  up,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  was 
about  to  ask  Natasha  a  question.  She  felt  that  from  her  she 
could  ask  and  learu  all  that  she  Wanted  to  know. 

"  How "  —  she  began  to  ask,  but  suddenly  paused.  She 
felt  that  her  question  could  not  be  asked  or  answered  in 
words.  Natasha's  face  and  eyes  would  tell  her  everything 
more  clearly  and  with  profounder  meaning. 

Natasha  looked  at  her,  but,  it  seemed,  she  was  in  too  great 
fear  or  doubt,  either  to  tell  or  not  to  tell  all  that  she  knew ; 
she  seemed  to  feel  that,  in  presence  of  those  lucid  eyes,  search* 
ing  the  very  depths  of  her  soul,  it  was  impossible  not  to  tell 
the  whole  truth,  everything  as  she  herself  saw  it.  Natasha's 
lip  suddenly  trembled,  the  ugly  wrinkles  grew  more  pro- 
nounced around  her  mouthy  and  she  burst  into  tears^  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

The  Princess  Mariya  understood  all. 

But  still  she  hoped,  and  she  asked  in  words  in  which  she 
had  no  faith,  — 

"  But  how  is  his  wound  ?    What  is  his  general  condition  ?  '* 

"  You  — you  —  will  see  for  yourself,"  was  all  that  Natasha 
could  manage  to  say. 

The  two  waited  for  some  time  downstairs,  next  his  room, 
so  as  to  finish  crying,  and  to  go  to  him  with  composed  faces. 

**  How  has  his  whole  illness  gone  ?  Has  the  change  for  the 
worse  been  of  recent  occurrence  ?  When  did  thU  take  place  ?  " 
asked  the  Princess  Mariya. 

Natasha  had  told  her  that  during  the  first  part  of  the  time 
there  was  danger  from  his  fever  and  suffering,  but  that  at 


68  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Troltsa  this  had  passed  off,  and  the  doctor  had  only  teaxed 
Anthony's  fire.  But  even  this  danger  of  mortification  had 
been  avoided.  When  they  reached  Yarosiavl,  the  wound  began 
to  suppurate  (Natasha  understood  all  about  suppuration  and 
such  things),  and  the  doctor  said  that  the  suppuration  might 
take  its  normal  course.  There  had  been  some  fever.  The 
doctor  declared  that  this  fever  was  not  ominous.  ^'  But  two 
days  before,"  Natasha  said,  ^^this  had  suddenly  come  upon 
him."  —  She  restrained  her  sobs.  —  "I  don't  know  why,  but 
you  will  see  how  he  is." 

"  Has  he  grown  weaker  ?  Has  he  grown  thin  ?  "  —  asked 
the  princess. 

^' No,  not  exactly,  but  thinner.  You  will  see.  Ah,  Marie! 
he  is  too  good;  he  cannot,  cannot  live  —  because"  — 


CHAPTER  XV. 

When  Natasha,  with  her  ordinary  composure,  opened  the 
door  of  his  room,  allowing  the  princess  to  enter  before  her, 
the  Princess  Mariya  felt  that  the  sobs  were  already  swelling 
her  throat.  In  spite  of  her  preparations,  her  endeavors  to 
compose  herself,  she  knew  that  she  should  not  be  able  to  see 
him  without  tears. 

The  Princess  Mariya  comprehended  what  Natasha  meant 
by  the  phrase,  "  Two  days  before,  this  hcid  suddenly  come 
upon  him"  She  realized  what  it  meant  that  he  had  sud- 
denly grown  softened :  this  sweetness  and  humility  were  the 
symptoms  of  death.  As  she  entered  the  doorway,  she  already 
saw  in  her  fancy  that  face  of  her  Andriusha,  which  she  had 
known  in  childhood,  gentle,  sweet,  full  of  feeling,  sensitive,  in 
a  way  that  later  had  rarely  shown  itself,  and  which  had,  there- 
fore, always  made  such  a  vivid  impression  upon  her.  She 
knew  that  he  would  speak  to  her  those  subdued,  affectionate 
words,  like  what  her  father  had  spoken  just  before  he  died, 
and  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  endure  it,  and  would  boist 
into  tears  before  him. 

But  sooner  or  later  it  had  to  be,  and  she  entered  the  room. 
The  sobs  rose  higher  and  higher  in  her  throat,  as,  with  greater 
and  greater  distinctness,  with  her  near-sighted  eyes,  she  dis- 
tinguished his  form  and  searched  his  features,  and  then  she 
saw  his  face  and  met  his  eyes. 

He  lay  on  a  sofa,  propped  up  with  pillows,  and  wrapped  in 
a  squirrel-skin  khalat.     He  was  thin  and  pale.    One  thin, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  69    y 

transparently  white  hand  held  his  handkerchief;  with  the 
other  he  was,  by  a  gentle  motion  of  the  fingers,  caressing  the 
long  ends  of  his  mustache.  His  eyes  were  turned  toward 
the  visitors. 

When  the  Princess  Mariya  saw  his  face  and  her  eyes  met 
his,  she  suddenly  modified  the  haste  of  her  steps,  and  felt  that 
her  tears  were  suddenly  dried  and  her  sobs  relieved.  As  she 
caught  the  expression  of  his  face  and  eyes,  she  suddenly  grew 
awestruck,  and  felt  that  she  was  guilty. 

''But  what  am  I  guilty  of  ?  "  she  asked  herself. 

''Because  thou  art  alive,  and  art  thinking  of  the  future, 
while  I  ?  '*  — was  the  reply  of  his  cold,  stem  look. 

In  that  look  of  his,  not  outward  from  within,  but  turned 
inward  upon  himself,  there  was  almost  an  expression  of  hos- 
tility, as  lie  slowly  turned  his  eyes  on  his  sister  and  Natasha. 
He  exchanged  kisses  with  his  sister,  and  shook  hands  as 
usiud. 

"  How  are  you,  Marie  ?  How  did  you  get  here  ?  "  he  asked, 
but  his  voice  had  the  same  monotonous  and  alien  sound  that 
was  in  his  look.  If  he  had  uttered  a  desperate  cry,  this  cry 
would  have  filled  the  Princess  Mariya  with  less  horror  than 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  "And  have  you  brought  Niko- 
Inshka  ?  "  he  asked,  in  the  same  slow,  indifferent  way,  and 
evidently  finding  it  hard  to  recollect. 

"How  are  you  now?"  inquired  the  Princess  Mariya, 
amazed,  herself,  at  her  question. 

"That  you  must  ask  of  the  doctor,"  he  replied,  and  evi- 
dently collecting  his  strength,  so  as  to  be  more  gracious,  he 
said  with  his  lips  alone  (it  was  evident  that  he  did  not  think 
at  all  of  what  he  was  saying),  "  Merci,  chh'e  amie,  d^etre  venue 
— Thank  you  for  coming  I " 

The  Princess  Mariya  pressed  his  hand.  He  almost  notice- 
ably frowned  at  the  pressure  of  her  hand.  He  was  silent, 
and  she  knew  not  what  to  say.  She  now  understood  what  had 
come  over  him  two  days  before.  In  his  words,  in  his  tone, 
especially  in  this  glance  of  his,  this  cold,  almost  hostile  look, 
could  be  perceived  that  alienation  from  all  that  is  of  this 
world,  that  is  so  terrible  for  a  living  man  to  witness.  He 
evidently  found  it  difficult  to  understand  the  interests  of  life, 
but  at  the  same  time  one  could  feel  that  this  was  so  not  because 
be  was  deprived  of  the  power  of  remembrance,  but  because 
his  mind  was  turned  to  something  else,  which  the  living 'com- 
prehend not  and  cannot  comprehend,  and  which  was  absorb- 
ing him  entirely. 


60  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

''Yes,  866  what  a  strange  fate  has  brought  ns  tageUm 
again ! "  said  he,  breaking  the  silence,  and  indicating  Natasha 
'<  She  has  taken  care  of  me  all  the  time." 

The  Princess  Mariya  heard  him  and  understood  not  what 
he  said.  He,  the  sensitive,  gentle  Prince  Andrei,  how  could 
he  say  this  of  her  whom  he  loved  and  who  loved  him  ?  If  he 
had  had  any  thought  of  living  he  could  never  have  niade  sueh 
a  remark  in  such  a  coldly  insulting  tone.  If  he  had  not 
known  that  he  was  going  tc>  die,  how  could  he  have  failed  to 
pity  her,  how  could  he  have  said  such  a  tfiing  in  her  presence! 
The  only  explanation  could  be  that  to  him  it  was  a  matter  of 
indifference  and  wholly  of  indifference,  because  something 
else,  something  far  more  important,  had  been  revealed  to  him. 

The  conversation  was  cold,  desultory,  and  interrupted  eveiy 
instant. 

''  Marie  came  through  Riazan,"  said  Natasha. 

Prince  Andrei  did  not  remark  that  she  had  spoken  of  bis 
sister  as  Marie.  But  Natasha,  having  called  her  so  for  the 
first  time,  noticed  it  herself. 

"  Well,  what  about  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

<<  They  told  her  that  Moscow  was  all  on  fire,  all  burned  up, 
and  that "  — 

Natasha  paused :  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  speak.  He 
was  evidently  making  an  effort  to  listen,  and  still  could  not. 

'^  Oh,  yes,  burned,"  said  he.  '^  Too  bad ! "  and  again  he 
looked  straight  ahead,  smoothing  his  mustache  abstractedly 
with  his  fingers. 

'<  And  so  you  met  Count  Nikolai,  did  you,  Marie  ? "  sud- 
denly asked  Prince  Andrei,  evidently  trying  to  say  something 
pleasant.  ^'  He  wrote  home  that  he  was  very  much  in  love 
with  you,"  he  pursued  very  simply  and  calmly,  evidently  not 
being  strong  enough  to  realize  all  the  complicated  significance 
which  his  words  had  for  the  living.  ''  If  you  love  him  also, 
then  it  would  be  a  very  good  thing. —  if  you  were  to  marry," 
he  added  a  little  more  rapidly,  as  though  rejoiced  to  find  at 
last  words  which  he  had  been  long  trying  to  find. 

The  Princess  Mariya  heard  his  woiSds,  but  they  had  for  her 
no  meaning,  except  as  they  showed  how  terribly  far  he  was 
now  from  all  earthly  interests. 

'<  Why  speak  about  me  ? "  she  asked  composedly,  and 
glanced  at  Natasha.  Natasha,  feeling  conscious  of  this  glance, 
did  not  look  at  her. 

Again  all  were  silent. 

'^Andr^,  do  you  wa — ^,"  suddenly  asked  the  phneess  in  a 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  61 

trembling  voioe  —  '^  do  yoa  want  to  see  Nikolushka  7  He  is 
always  talking  about  you." 

Prince  Andrei  for  the  first  time  smiled,  though  almost  im- 
perceptibly ;  but  his  sister,  who  knew  his  face  so  well,  observed 
to  her  horror  that  this  was  not  a  smile  of  pleasure  or  of.  afFec- 
tion  for  his  son,  but  one  of  quiet,  sweet  irony  at  his  sister 
employing,  as  he  supposed,  this  final  means  of  bringing  him 
back  to  conscious  emotion. 

**  Yes,  very  glad  to  see  Nikolushka.    Is  he  well  ?  '* 

When  they  brought  to  Prince  Andrei  his  little  Nikolushka, 
who  gazed  in  terror  at  his  father,  but  did  not  weep,  because 
no  one  else  was  weeping,  Prince  Andrei  kissed  him,  and 
evidently  knew  not  what  to  say  to  him. 

When  Nikolushka  was  led  away  again,  the  Princess  Mariya 
returned  to  her  brother,  kissed  him,  and,  unable  to  control  her- 
self longer,  burst  into  tears. 

He  gazed  at  her  steadily. 

**  Are  you  crying  for  Nikolushka  ?  '^  he  asked. 

The  princess,  weeping,  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Marie,  you  know  the  New  Tes — "  but  he  suddenly 
stopped. 

**  What  did  you  say  ?  ^ 

''Nothing.  But  you  must  not  weep  here,"  he  added,  look- 
ing at  her  with  the  same  cold  look. 

When  the  Princess  Mariya  burst  into  tears,  he  understood 
that  she  was  weeping  because  Nikolushka  would  be  left  father- 
less. 

By  a  great  effort  of  self-mastery  he  tried  to  return  to  life 
and  look  upon  things  from  their  standpoint. 

"Yes,  it  must  seem  very  sad  to  them,"  he  thought,  "but 
how  simple  this  is !  —  the  fowls  of  the  air  sow  not,  neither 
do  they  reap,  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedeth  them,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  that  was  what  he  was  going  to  say  to  the 
princess ;  "but  no,  they  understood  that  in  their  way;  they 
will  not  comprehend  it.  They  cannot  comprehend  that  all 
these  feelings  which  they  cherish,  all  these  ideas— ^ which 
seem  to  us  so  important,  are  of  no  consequence.  We  cannot 
understand  each  other."    And  so  he  held  his  peace. 

Prince  Andrei's  little  son  was  seven  years  old.  He  scarcely 
knew  how  to  read.  He  really  knew  nothing.  He  went 
through  much  subsequent  to  that  day^  acquiring  knowledge^ 


62  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  habit  of  observation^  experience ;  but  if  he  had  at  that 
time  enjoyed  the  mastery  of  all  that  he  acquired  later,  be 
could  not  have  had  a  deeper,  truer  comprehension  of  the 
significance  of  that  sceue  between  his  father,  the  Princess 
Mar|^  and  Natasha,  than  he  had  then.  He  understood  it 
perfectly,  and,  not  shedding  a  tear,  he  left  the  room,  silently 
crept  up  to  Natasha,  who  followed  him,  and  shyly  looked  at 
her  out  of  his  beautiful,  dreamy  eyes ;  his  short  li^  trembled ; 
he  leaned  his  head  against  her  and  wept. 

From  that  day  he  avoided  Dessalles,  avoided  th^  ountess, 
who  petted  him,  and  either  staid  alone  by  himself  or  timidly 
joined  the  Princess  Mariya  and  Natasha,  whom  he,  as  it 
seemed,  liked  better  than  his  aunt,  and  quietly  and  shyly 
staid  by  them. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  on  leaving  her  brother,  perfectly 
comprehended  what  Natasha's  face  had  told  her.  She  said 
nothing  more  about  any  hope  of  saving  his  life.  She  took 
turns  with  her  in  sitting  by  his  sofa,  and  she  ceased  to  weep ; 
but  she  prayed  without  ceasing,  her  soul  turning  to  that 
eternal,  searchless  One,  whose  presence  so  palpably  hovered 
over  the  dying  man. 


CHAPTES  XVI. 

Prince  Andrei  not  only  knew  that  he  was  going  to  die,  but 
he  also  felt  that  he  was  dying,  that  he  was  ^ready  half-way 
toward  death.  ^  J  1 

He  experienced  a  consciousness  of  alienation  from  every- 
thing earthly,  and  a  strange,  beatific  exhilaration  of  betng. 
Without  impatience  and  without  anxiety,  he  waited  for  what 
was  before  him. 

That  ominous,  Eternal  Presence,  unknown  and  far  away, 
which  had  never  once  ceased,  throughout  all  his  life,  to  haunt 
his  senses,  was  now  near  at  hand,  and,  by  reason  of  that 
strange  exhilaration  which  he  felt,  almost  comprehensible  and 
palpable. 


•  .....•• 

Before,  he  had  feared  the  end*    Twice  he  had  experienced 

thait  terribly  tormenting  sense  of  the  fear  of  death,  of  the  end, 

and  now  he  did  not  realize  it. 

The  first  time  he  had  experienced  that  feeling  was  when 

the  shell  was  spinning  like  a  top  before  him,  and  he  looked  at 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  63 

the  dttlbble  field,  at  the  shrubbery,  at  the  sky,  and  knew  that 
death  was  before  him. 

When  he  waked  to  consciousness,  after  his  wound,  and  in 
his  soul,  for  an  instant,  as  it  were,  freed  from  the  burden  of 
life  that  crushed  him,  had  sprung  up  that  flower  of  love  eter- 
nal, unbounded,  independent  of  all  life,  he  no  longer  feared 
death,  and  thought  no  more  of  it. 

During  those  tormenting  hours  of  loneliness  and  half-delir- 
ium which  he  had  spent  since  he  was  wounded,  the  more  he 
pondered  over  this  new  source  of  eternal  love  which  had  at 
first  been  concealed  from  him,  the  more  he  became  alienated 
from  the  earthly  life,  though  the  process  was  an  unconscious 
one. 

To  love  everything,  all  men,  always  to  sacrifice  self  for 
love's  sake,  meant  to  love  no  one  in  particular,  meant  not  to 
live  this  mundane  life.  And  the  more  he  imbued  himself 
with  this  source  of  love,  the  more  he  let  go  of  life,  and  the 
more  absolutely  he  broke  down  that  terrible  impediment 
which,  if  love  be  absent,  holds  between  life  and  death. 

When,  during  this  first  period,  he  remembered  that  he  must 
die,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Well,  then,  so  much  the  better." 

But  after  that  night  at  Muitishchi,  when  in  his  semi- 
delirium  she  whom  he  had  longed  for  appeared  before  him, 
and  when  he,  pressing  his  lips  to  her  hand,  had  wept  gentle 
tears  of  joy,  then  love  for  one  woman  imperceptibly  tooK  pos- 
session of  his  heart  and  again  attached  it  to  life.  And  joyful 
bub  anxious  thoughts  began  to  recur  to  him.  As  he  remem- 
bered the  moment  at  the  field  lazaret,  when  he  had  seen 
Kuragin,  he  could  not  now  renew  that  former  feeling :  he  was 
tortured  by  the  question :  "  Is  he  alive  ?  "  But  he  dared  not 
make  the  inquiry. 

His  illness  followed  its  physical  course,  but  what  Natasha 
had  spoken  of  as  having  come  over  him  happened  two  days 
before  the  Princess  Mariya's  arrival.  This  was  the  last  moral 
combat  between  life  and  death,  and  death  had  been  victorious. 
It  was  the  unexpected  discovery  that  he  still  prized  his 
life,  which  presented  itself  in  the  guise  of  his  love  for 
Natasha,  and  the  last  victorious  attack  of  horror  before  the 
unknown. 

It  was  evening.  As  was  usually  the  case  after  dinner,  he 
was  in  a  slightly  feverish  condition,  and  his  mind  was  preter- 
naturally  acute.  Sonya  was  sitting  by  the  table.  Suchienly, 
a  realizing  sense  of  bliss  took  possession  of  him. 

**  Ah !  she  has  come  !  "  he  said  to  himself. 


64  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

In  point  of  fact,  Sonya's  place  was  occupied  by  Natasha, 
who  had  just  come  in  with  noiseless  steps. 

Ever  since  the  time  when  she  had  begun  to  be  his  nuiae,  be 
had  always  experienced  this  physical  sense  of  her  presence. 

She  sat  in  the  easy-chair,  with  her  side  toward  him,  shading 
his  eyes  from  the  candle-light,  and  knitting  stockings.  (She 
had  learned  to  knit  stockings  because  one  time  Prince  Andrei 
had  told  her  that  no  one  made  such  admirable  nurses  for  the 
sick  as  old  nyanyas,  who  are  always  knitting  stockings,  be- 
cause there  is  something  very  soothing  in  the  operation  of 
knitting.)  Her  slender  fingers  swiftly  plied  the  oceasionallj 
clicking  needles,  and  the  pensive  profile  of  her  bended  bead 
was  full  in  his  sight.  She  movedf — the  ball  of  yarn  rolled 
from  her  lap.  She  started,  glanced  at  him,  and  shading  the 
candle  with  her  hand,  with  a  cautious,  lithe,  and  graceful 
movement,  she  bent  over,  picked  up  the  ball,  and  resumed 
her  former  position. 

He  looked  at  her  without  stirring,  and  noticed  that  after 
slie  had  picked  up  the  ball  she  had  wanted  to  draw  a  long 
breath,  with  her  full  bosom,  but  had  i*efrained  from  doing  so, 
and  had  cautiously  masked  her  sigh. 

At  the  Troitskaya  Lavra  they  had  talked  over  the  past,  and 
he  had  told  her  that  in  case  he  lived  he  should  eternally 
thank  God  for  his  wound,  which  had  brought  him  back  to 
her ;  but  from  that  time  they  had  not  spoken  of  the  future. 

"  Can  it  possibly  be  ?  "  he  was  now  musing,  as  he  looked  at 
her  and  listened  to  the  slight  steely  click  of  her  knitting  nee- 
dles, '*  can  it  be  that  fate  has  so  strangely  brought  us  together 
again  only  that  I  mav  die  ?  .  .  .  Can  it  be  that  the  true  mean- 
ing of  life  was  revealed  to  me  only  that  I  might  live  in  a-lie  ? 
I  love  her  more  than  all  else  in  the  world.  But  what  can  I  do 
if  I  love  her  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  and  he  suddenly,  in  spite 
of  himself,  groaned,  as  he  often  did,  out  of  a  custom  acqmied 
while  he  had  been  suffering. 

Hearing  this  sound,  Natasha  laid  down  her  stocking,  bent 
nearer  to  him,  and,  suddenly  noticing  his  flashing  eyeS|  she 
went  over  to  him  and  bent  down  to  him. 

"  Haven't  you  been  asleep  ?  " 

"  No  •  I  have  been  looking  at  you  this  long  time.  I  knew 
by  feeling  when  you  came  in.  No  one  except  you  gives  me 
such  a  sense  of  gentle  restfulness.  —  Such  light!  I  feel 
like  weeping  from  very  joy." 

Natasha  moved  still  closer  to  him.  Her  face  was  radiant 
with  solemn  delight. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  65 

**  Katasha,  I  love  you  too  dearly  I  More  than  all  in  the 
world ! » 

**  And  I  ?  "  She  turned  away  for  an  instant  "  Why  *  too 
dearly '  ?  ^  she  asked. 

«*  Why  too  dearly? — Now  tell  me  what  you  think — what 
you  think  in  the  depths  of  your  heart!  shall  I  get  well? 
How  does  it  sisin  to  you  ?  " 

'^  I  am  sure^  it,  sure  of  it/'  Natasha  almost  screamed,  with 
a  passionate  motion  seizing  both  his  hands. 

He  was  silent. 

*'  How  good  it  would  be ! "  And;  taking  her  hand,  he  kissed 
it. 

Natasha  was  happy  and  agitated ;  and  instantly  she  remem- 
bered that  this  was  all  wrong,  that  he  needed  to  be  kept  per- 
fectly quiet. 

**  However,  you  have  not  been  asleep,"  said  she,  calming  her 
pleasure.     "  Try  to  get  a  nap  —  please  do." 

He  relinquished  her  hand,  after  pressing  it  once  again,  and 
she  went  back  to  the  candle  and  resumed  her  former  position. 
Twice  she  looked  at  him;  his  eyes  met  hers.  She  set  herself 
a  stint  on  the  stocking,  and  resolved  that  she  would  not  look 
up  until  she  had  finished  it. 

In  point  of  fact,  soon  after  this  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  went 
to  sleep.  He  did  not  sleep  long,  and  woke  suddenly  in  a  cold 
perspiration  of  anxiety. 

While  he  slept,  his  mind  was  constantly  occupied  with  the 
question :  death,  or  life  ?  And  death  more  than  life  I  He  felt 
tnat  it  was  near. 

**  Love  ?    What  is  love  ?  "  he  asked  himself. 

'*  Love  is  the  antidote  to  death.  Love  is  life.  All,  all  that 
I  understand,  I  understand  solely  because  I  love.  All  is,  all 
exists  simply  and  solely  because  I  love.  All  is  summed  up  iu 
this  alone.  Love  is  God ;  and  death  for  me,  who  am  a  tiny 
particle  of  love,  means  returning  into  the  universal  and  eternal 
source  of  love." 

These  thoughts  seemed  to  him  a  consolation.  But  they 
were  only  thoughts.  There  was  something  lacking  in  them, 
something  that  was  exclusive  and  personal  —  there  was  no 
basis  of  reality.  And  he  was  a  prey  to  the  same  restlessness 
and  lack  of  clearness. 

He  fell  asleep. 

It  seemed  to  him,  in  his  dream,  that  he  was  lying  in  the 
same  room  in  which  he  was  actuallv  lying,  but  that  he  was  not 
wounded,  but  quite  welL  Many  different  persons^  insignifioanii, 

VOL.  4. — 5. 


66  WAH  AND  PEACE. 

indine^nty  appear  before  him.  He  is  talking  with  iheiB, 
discussing  something  of  no  earthly  consequence.  They  are 
preparing  to  go  somewhere.  Prince  Andrei  dimly  compre- 
hends that  all  this  is  mere  waste  of  time,  and  that  he  has 
something  of  real  importance  to  accomplish,  but  still  he  goes 
on  talking,  filling  them  with  amazement  at  his  wordsy  which 
are  witty  but  devoid  of  sense.  ^ 

Gradually,  but  imperceptibly,  all  these  perso^^begin  to  dis- 
appear, and  his  attention  is  wholly  occupied  by  the  question 
of  a  closed  door.  He  gets  up  and  goes  to  the  door^with  the 
intention  of  pushing  the  bolt  and  closing  the  door. 

Everything  depends  on  whether  he  succeeds  or  not  in  clos- 
ing it.  He  starts,  he  tries  to  make  haste,  but  his  legs  refuse 
to  move,  and  he  knows  that  he  will  not  have  time  to  close  the 
door,  but  still  he  morbidly  puts  forth  all  his  energies.  And 
a  painful  anguish  of  fear  takes  hold  of  him.  And  this  fear  i5 
the  fear  of  death :  behind  the  door  It  is  standing. 

But  by  the  time  that  he  feebly,  awkwardly  drags  himself  to 
the  door,  this  something  horrible,  pushing  its  way  from  the 
other  side,  breaks  through.  Something  that  is  not  human  — 
Death  —  is  pushing  the  door  open,  and  he  must  keep  it  shut 
He  clutches  the  door,  exerts  his  final  energies, — not  indeed  to 
shut  it,  for  that  is  impossible,  but  to  hold  it ;  his  energies, 
however,  are  weak  and  maladroit,  and,  crushing  him  with  its 
horror,  the  door  opens  and  again  closes. 

Once  more  the  pressure  came  from  without.  His  last,  sn- 
perhuman  energies  were  vain,  and  both  wings  of  the  door 
noiselessly  swung  open.    It  came  in,  and  it  was  death. 

And  Prince  Andrei  was  dying. 

But  at  the  very  instant  that  he  seemed  to  be  dying,  Prince 
Andrei  remembered  that  he  was  asleep,  and  at  the  very  instant 
that  he  was  dying,  he  made  one  last  effort  and  awoke. 

*'  Yes,  that  was  death.  I  died  —  I  woke  up.  Yes,  death  is 
an  awakening." 

This  thought  suddenly  flashed  through  his  soul,  and  the  veil 
which  till  then  had  covered  the  unknown  was  lifted  from  be- 
fore his  spiritual  eyes.  He  felt  as  it  were  a  deliverance  from 
the  bonds  which  before  had  fastened  him  down,  and  that 
strange  buoyancy  that  henceforth  did  not  forsake  him. 

When  he  woke  in  a  cold  sweat  and  stirred  on  his  couch,  and 
Natasha  came  to  him  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  he 
made  no  replv,  and,  not  understanding  what  she  said,  gave  her 
a  strange  look. 

This  was  what  had  taken  place  two  days  before  the  Princess 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  67 

Mariya's  arrival.  From  that  day,  as  the  doctor  said,  his  slow 
fever  took  a  turn  for  the  worse^  but  Katasha  had  no  need  to 
depend  on  what  the  doctor  said :  she  could  see  for  herself  those 
tenible  moral  symptoms  which  allowed  less  and  less  room  for 
doubt. 

From  that  time  forth  began  for  Prince  Andrei,  simultane- 
ously with  the  awakening  from  his  dream,  the  awakening  from 
life.  And,  (Asidering  the  length  of  life,  this  seemed  to  him 
no  slower  tn¥i  the  awakening  from  the  dream  when  com- 
pared to±he  length  of  his  nap. 

Theresas  nothing  terrible  and  nothing  cruel  in  this  rela^ 
tively  slow  awakening. 

The  last  days  and  hours  glided  away  peacefully  and  simply. 
Both  the  Princess  Mariya  and  Natasha,  who  staid  constantly 
by  his  side,  felt  this.  They  wept  not,  tliey  trembled  not,  and 
the  last  part  of  the  time,  as  they  themselves  realized,  they 
were  watching,  not  the  man  himself,  —  for  he  was  no  more,  he 
had  gone  from  them,  — but  simply  the  most  immediate  remem- 
brance of  him,  simply  his  body. 

The  feelings  of  both  were  so  strong  that  the  external,  ter- 
rible side  of  death  had  no  effect  upon  them,  and  they  found  it 
unnecessary  to  give  vent  to  their  grief.  They  wept  neither 
in  his  presence  nor  when  away  from  him,  and  they  never 
talked  about  him  among  themselves.  They  felt  that  they 
could  not  express  in  words  what  was  real  to  their  under- 
standings. 

They  both  saw  how  he  was  sinking,  deeper  and  deeper, 
slowly  and  peacefully  away  from  them  into  the  whither,  and 
they  both  knew  that  this  was  inevitable  and  that  it  was  well. 
He  was  shrived  and  partook  of  the  sacrament.  All  came  to 
bid  him  farewell. 

When  bis  little  son  was  brought,  he  kissed  him  and  turned 
away,  not  because  his  heart  was  sore  and  filled  with  pity  (the 
Princess  Mariya  and  Natasha  understood  this),  but  simply 
because  he  supposed  that  this  was  all  that  was  required  of 
him.  But  when  he  was  told  that  he  should  give  him  his 
blessing,  he  did  what  was  required  of  him,  and  looked  around 
as  though  asking  whether  it  were  necessary  to  do  anything 
more. 

When  the  last  gentle  spasms  shook  the  body,  as  it  was 
deserted  by  the  spirit,  the  princess  and  Natasha  were  present. 

"  It  is  over ! "  said  the  Princess  Mariya,  after  his  body  had 
lain  motionless  and  growing  cold  for  several  moments.  Na- 
tasha came  to  the  couch,  looked  into  his  d^ad  eyes,  and  made 


68  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

haste  to  close  them.  She  closed  them  and  kissed  them  DOfe, 
but  reverently  kissed  that  which  had  been  the  most  imme- 
diate remembrance  of  him. 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?    Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

When  the  mortal  frame,  washed  and  clad,  lay  in  the  eoffin 
on  the  table,  they  all  went  in  to  say  farewell,  and  all  shed 
tears. 

Nikolushka  wept  from  the  tormenting  perpAsity  that  tore 
his  young  heart. 

The  coimtess  and  Sonya  wept  from  sympathy  for  Natasha, 
and  because  he  was  no  more.  ^ 

The  old  count  wept  because  very  soon,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
he  also  would  have  to  tread  this  terrible  path. 

Katasha  and  the  princess  also  wept  now,  but  they  wept 
not  because  of  their  own  personal  sorrow ;  they  wept  from  & 
reverent  emotion  which  took  possession  of  their  souls  in 

Eresence  of  the  simple  and  solemn  mystery  of  death,  whksh 
ad  been  accomplished  before  their  eyes. 


PART  SECOND. 


CHAPTER  i;. 

Thb  association  of  cause  and  effect  is  something  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  the  human  mind.  But  the  impulse  to  search 
into  causes  is  inherent  in  man's  very  nature.  And  the  human 
intellect,  unable  to  search  the  infinite  variety  and  complicated 
tangle  of  conditions  accompanying  phenomena, — every  one 
of  which  may  seem  to  be  the  ultimate  cause,  —  seizes  upon 
the  first  and  most  obvious  coincidence,  and  says,  '*  This  is  the 
cause ! " 

In  historical  events  where  the  acts  of  men  are  the  obiect  of 
investigation,  that  which  first  suggests  itself  seems  to  be  the 
will  of  the  gods ;  then  the  will  of  those  men  who  stand  in  the 
forefront  of  historical  prominence  —  historical  heroes. 

But  it  requires  only  to  penetrate  into  the  essence  of  any 
historical  event,  that  is,  the  activity  of  the  whole  mass  of  the 
people  who  took  part  in  the  event,  to  become  convinced  that 
the  will  of  the  historical  hero  not  only  did  not  guide  the  actions 
of  the  masses,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was  constantly  guided  by 
them. 

It  would  seem  as  though  it  were  a  matter  of  indifference 
whether  the  significance  of  an  historical  event  were  explained 
in  one  way  or  another.  But  between  the  man  who  should  say 
that  the  nations  of  the  west  marched  against  the  east  because 
Napoleon  wished  them  to  do  so,  and  the  man  who  should  say 
that  this  happened  because  it  had  to  happen,  there  is  as  wide 
a  difference  as  between  men  who  are  convinced  that  the  earth 
stands  fixed  and  that  the  planets  move  aroimd  it,  and  those 
who  assert  that  they  know  not  what  holds  the  earth,  but  they 
know  that  there  are  laws  which  govern  the  motion  of  the 
earth  and  the  other  planets. 

The  causes  of  historical  events  can  be  nothing  else  than  the 
only  cause  of  all  causes.  But  there  are  laws  which  govern 
events,  and  some  of  them  are  unknown  to  us,  and  some  of 
them  we  have  investigated.  The  discovery  of  these  causes  is 
possible  only  when  we  repudiate  the  idea  that  these  causes 

69 


70  WAR  AND  lie  ACE. 

may  be  found  in  the  will  of  a  single  man,  exactly  in  the  same 
way  as  the  discovery  of  the  laws  governing  the  motions  of  the 
planets  became  possible  opjy  when  men  repudiated  the  notion 
of  the  fixity  of  the  earth.' 

After  the  battle  of  Borodino  and  the  occupation  of  Moscow 
by  the  enemy  and  its  destruction  by  fire,  the  most  important 
episode  of  the  war  of  1312,  according  to  the  historians,  is  the 
movement  of  the  Eusdan  army  from  the  Riazan  road  toward 
the  camp  of  TarutinQ  by  way  of  the  Kaluga  road,  the  ao- 
called  flank  movement  beyond  Krasnaya  Pakhra. 

Historians  ascribe  the  glory  of  this  stroke  of  genius  to 
various  individuals,  and  do  not  agree  upon  any  one  to  whom 
it  belongs.  Foreign  historians,  even  the  French  historians, 
in  speaking  of  this  *'  flank  movement/'  recognize  the  genius 
of  the  Russian  generals. 

But  why  military  writers  and  everybody  else  suppose  that 
this  flank  movement  was  the  perspicacious  invention  of  any 
single  person,  which  thus  saved  Russia  and  overthrew  Napoleon, 
is  something  hard  to  understand. 

In  the  first  place  it  is  hai'd  to  understand  in  what  consists 
the  perspicacity  and  genius  displayed  by  this  movement,  for 
it  does  not  require  a  great  intellectual  effort  to  see  that  the 
best  position  tor  an  army  when  not  enduring  attacks  is  where 
there  is  the  greatest  abundance  of  supplies.  And  any  one, 
even  a  dull  boy  of  thirteen,  might  suppose  that  in  1812  the 
most  advantageous  position  for  the  Russian  army  after  the 
retreat  from  Moscow  was  on  the  road  to  Kaluga.  Thus  it  is 
impossible  in  the  first  place  to  understand  by  what  arguroeDts 
historians  persuade  themselves  that  they  see  perspicacity  in 
this  mauceuvre. 

In  the  second  place  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  understand 
exactly  how  historians  attribute  the  salvation  of  the  Russians 
and  the  destruction  of  the  French  to  this  manoeuvre ;  for  it 
this  ^^  flank  movement "  had  been  carried  out  under  other  con* 
ditions,  preceding,  accompanying,  or  following,  it  might  hare 
brought  about  the  destruction  of  the  Russian  army  and  the 
salvation  of  the  French.  Even  though  the  situation  of  the 
Russian  arinv  began  to  improve  from  tne  time  that  this  move* 
ment  was  effectuated,  still  it  does  not  follow  that  Uds  move- 
ment was  the  cause  of  it. 

This  flank  movement  not  only  might  not  have  brought 
any  advantage,  but  might  even  have  been  fatal  to  the  Russian 
army  had  there  not  been  a  coincidence  of  other  conditions. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  71 

What  would  hare  happened  if  Moscow  had  not  been  burned  ? 
If  Murat  had  not  lost  sight  of  the  Bussians  ?  If  Napoleon 
had  not  remained  inactive?  If  at  Krasnaya  Fakhra  the 
Russian  army  had  followed  the  advice  of  Beuigsen  and  Bar- 
clay, and  given  battle  ? 

What  would  have  happened  if  the  French  had  attacked  the 
Bussians  when  they  were  on  the  march  beyond  Fakhra  ? 

What  would  have  happened  if  Napoleon,  after  approaching 
Tarutino,  had  attacked  the  Bussians  with  even  a  tenth  part 
of  the  energy  with  which  he  had  attacked  at  Smolensk  ? 

What  would  have  happened  if  the  French  had  marched 
toward  Fetersbui'g  ?  — 

In  any  one  of  these  suppositions,  the  flank  movement,  instead 
of  being  the  salvation  of  Russia,  might  have  been  a  disaster. 

In  the  third  place,  most  incomprehensible  of  all  it  is  that 
those  who  make  a  study  of  history  are  unwilling  to  see  that 
it  is  impossible  to  attribute  the  flank  movement  to  any  par- 
ticular person,  that  no  one  could  ever  have  foreseen  it,  that  this 
manoeuvre,  like  the  retreat  to  Fili,  never  presented  itself  to 
anybody  in  its  totality,  but,  step  by  step,  event  by  event, 
moment  by  moment,  it  came  about  as  the  result  of  an  inflnite 
number  of  most  heterogeneous  conditions,  and  it  appeared 
clearly  in  its  totality  only  when  it  had  been  consummated  and 
was  an  accomplished  fact. 

At  the  council  of  war  held  at  Fili  among  the  Bussian  gen- 
erals the  predominant  opinion  was  for  retreat  by  the  most 
direct  and  obvious  route,  the  Nizhni-Novgorai  road.  This 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  the  majority  of  votes  at  the  council 
were  thrown  in  favor  of  this  plan,  and  abqve  all  by  the  con- 
versation that  occurred  after  the  council  between  the  com- 
mander-in-chief and  Lanskoi,  who  was  in  charge  of  the 
commissary  department. 

Lanskoi  informed  the  commander-in-chief  that  the  army 
stores  were  concentrated  principally  along  the  Oka  in  the 
provinces  of  Tula  and  Kazan,  and  that  in  case  of  retreat 
upon  Nizhni,  the  army  would  be  separated  from  its  stores  by 
the  great  river  Oka,  which,  during  the  first  stages  of  winter, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  cross  with  supplies. 

This  was  the  first  indication  of  the  necessity  for  renouncing 
the  plan  of  a  direct  retreat  to  Nizhni,  which  at  first  had  seemed 
the  most  natural. 

The  army  kept  farther  to  the  south,  on  the  road  to  Biazan, 
so  as  to  be  nearer  its  base  of  supplies. 

Afterwards  the  inactivity  of  the  French,  who  seemed  even  to 


72  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

hare  lost  sight  of  the  Russian  army,  the  work  of  pioteetmg 
the  arsenal  at  Tula,  and  above  all  the  advantage  of  proximity 
to  its  supplies,  compelled  the  Russian  army  to  move  still 
farther  to  the  south  along  the  Tula  road. 

When  at  length  Fakhra  had  been  passed  by  this  bold  move- 
ment along  the  Tula  road,  the  chiefs  of  the  Russian  annj 
thought  of  halting  at  Podolsk,  and  there  was  no  idea  at  all  of 
taking  up  a  position  at  Tarutino ;  but  an  infinite  number  of 
circumstances  —  the  re-appearance  of  the  French  army,  whidi 
before  had  lost  the  Russians  out  of  sight,  and  plans  of  battle, 
and  above  all  the  abundance  of  stores  at  Kaluga — compelled 
our  army  still  more  to  swerve  to  the  southward,  and,  taking  % 
route  right  through  the  midst  of  its  abundance,  to  cross  over 
from  the  Tula  road  to  the  Kaluga  road  and  approach  Tarutina 

Just  as  it  is  impossible  to  answer  the  question  when  Moscow 
was  abandoned,  so  it  is  impossible  to  teU  when  and  by  whom 
it  was  decided  to  go  to  Tarutino. 

Only  when  the  troops  had  alreadv  reached  Tamtinoi,  bj 
reason  of  an  infinite  number  of  differentiated  efforts,  then 
men  began  to  persuade  themselves  that  this  had  been  their 
wish  and  their  long  predetermination. 


CHAPTER  11. 

The  celebrated  flank  movement  consisted  simply  in  this: — 
The  Russian  army,  which  had  been  retreating  straight  back 
as  the  invaders  pushed  forward,  turned  aside  from  the  straight 
direction  when  they  saw  the  French  no  longer  pursuing,  ind 
naturally  took  the  direction  in  which  they  were  attracted 
by  an  abundance  of  supplies. 

If  there  had  not  been  men  of  genius  at  the  head  of  the 
Russian  army,  if  it  had  been  merely  an  army  without  generals, 
it  could  have  done  nothing  else  than  return  to  Moscow,  de- 
scribing a  semicircle  in  that  direction  where  there  were  more 
provisions  and  where  the  country  was  richer. 

The  change  of  route  from  the  Nizhni  road  toward  the 
Riazan,  Tula,  and  Kaluga  roads  was  so  natural  that  the 
foragers  of  the  Russian  army  took  that  very  direction,  and 
that  very  direction  was  the  one  in  which  Kutuzof  was  ordered 
from  Petersburg  to  conduct  his  army. 

At  Tarutino,  Kutuzof  received  almost  a  reproach  from  the 
sovereign  because  he  had  led  his  army  in  the  direction  of 
^iazaui  and  he  was  ordered  to  take  up  the  very  position  relstiye 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  78 

to  Kaluga,  which  he  was  already  occnpying  at  the  time  when 
he  received  the  letter  from  the  sovereign. 

The  Russian  army,  like  a  ball  which  had  been  rolling  in  the 
direction  of  the  blow  given  it  all  through  the  campaign  and 
especially  at  the  battle  of  Borodino,  assumed  its  natural  posi- 
tion of  stable  equilibrium,  as  soon  as  the  force  of  the  blows 
diminished  and  no  new  ones  were  communicated. 

KutuzoFs  merit  lay  not  in  what  is  called  the  genius  of 
strategical  manoeuvres,  but  simply  in  the  fact  that  he  was  the 
only  one  who  understood  the  meaning  of  what  was  taking 
place  about  him. 

He  alone  understood  what  the  inactivity  of  the  French  army 
signified,  he  alone  persisted  in  declaring  that  the  battle 
of  Borodino  was  a  victory  for  the  Russians.  He  alone  — the 
very  man  who,  it  would  seem,  from  his  position  as  commander- 
in-chief,  ought  to  have  been  disposed  to  favor  objective  meas- 
ures —  used  all  his  power  to  restrain  the  Russian  army  from 
undertaking  useless  battles. 

The  Beast  wounded  at  Borodino  lay  where  it  had  been 
left  by  the  escaping  huntsman ;  but  whether  it  was  alive, 
or  whether  it  still  had  strength  left,  or  whether  it  was  hiding 
itself,  the  huntsman  knew  not. 

Suddenly  was  heard  this  wild  beast's  cry. 

The  cry  of  this  wounded  beast, — the  French  army,  —  the 
betrayal  of  its  destruction,  was  the  sending  of  Lauriston  to 
Kutuzofs  camp  with  a  request  for  peace. 

Napoleon,  with  his  conviction  that  whatever  it  occurred  to 
him  to  do  was  as  right  as  right  could  be,  wrote  to  Kutuzof  the 
first  words  that  entered  his  mind,  and  entirely  lacking  in 
sense. 

'*  Prince  Kutuzof,"  he  wrote,  '*  I  send  von  one  of  my  seneral  aides 
to  discuss  with  you  on  various  matters  of  interest.  I  wish  your  high- 
ness to  repose  confidence  in  what  he  will  say,  especially  when  he  ex- 
presJies  the  ttentiments  of  esteem  and  respect  which  I  have  long  felt  for 
you  personally.  This  letter  having  no  other  purpose^  I  pray  Ood,  prince^ 
that  he  have  you  in  His  holy  and  ben^cent  care. 
Hoscow,  Oct,  30, 1812. 

Signed,  KAPOLBOK."  • 

*  "Monsieur  U  Prince  Koutouzov!  fenvoie  prh  de  vou$  nn  de  mes  aide$  de 
eatnp  g^niravx 
dMre  que  voire 
exprimera  les  sentiments 
depuu  longtemps  pour  sa  personne.  Cette  lettre  n'€tant  a  antre  Jin,  je  prie 
Dt'etf,  Monsieur  JPrinee  koutouxov,  qu^il  vous  ait  en  Sa  saints  et  dtgne 
garde. 

Moscou,  U  SO  Octohre.  1S12. 

Signi,  NAPOLEON,'' 


74  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

<'I  should  be  cursed  by  posterity  if  I  were  regarded  as  the 
first  to  move  toward  any  compromise.  Such  is  the  spirit  of 
our  people^^^  *  replied  Kutuzof,  and  he  continued  to  put  forth 
all  his  energies  to  keep  his  troops  from  an  attack. 

During  the  month  spent  by  tne  French  army  in  the  pillage 
of  Moscow,  and  by  the  Russian  army  in  tranquil  recuperation 
at  Tarutino,  a  change  had  taken  place  in  the  relative  strength 
of  the  two  armies,  —  their  spirit  and  effective,  —  the  result  of 
which  redounded  to  the  advantage  of  the  Russians. 

Although  the  condition  of  the  French  army  and  its  effective 
were  unknown  to  the  Russians,  yet  as  soon  as  the  relative  po- 
sition was  changed,  the  inevitability  of  an  attack  was  shown 
by  a  multitude  of  symptoms. 

These  symptoms  were  the  sending  of  Lauriston  and  the 
abundance  of  provisions  at  Tarutino,  and  the  reports  coming 
in  from  all  sides  of  the  inactivity,  lack  of  order,  of  the  French, 
and  the  tilling-up  of  our  regiments  with  recruits,  and  the  fine 
weather,  and  the  long  rest  accorded  to  the  Russian  soldiers, 
and  the  general  impatience  caused  among  the  troops  by  the 
long  rest,  and  their  desire  to  finish  the  work  for  w^hich  they 
had  been  brought  together,  and  the  curiosity  about  what  was 
going  on  in  the  Fi*ench  army,  which  had  lost  them  out 
of  sight  so  long,  and  the  audacity  with  which  now  the  Rus- 
sian outposts  skirmished  around  the  French  stationed  at  Taru- 
tino, and  the  news  of  easy  victories  over  the  French  won  by 
Russian  muzhiks  and  ''partisans,"  and  the  jealousy  aroused 
by  this,  and  the  desire  of  vengeance  kindled  in  every  man's 
soul  from  the  moment  that  the  French  occupied  Moscow,  and, 
above  all,  the  indefinite  but  genuine  consciousness  that  filled 
the  heart  of  every  soldier  that  the  relative  positions  were  re- 
versed, and  the  superiority  was  on  our  side. 

The  material  relations  were  changed,  and  the  attack  was  be- 
coming inevitable.  And  instantly,  just  as  the  chime  of  bells 
in  the  clock  begin  to  strike  and  to  play  when  the  hand  has 
accomplished  its  full  circuit  of  the  hour,  so  in  the  higher 
circles,  by  the  correspondingly  essential  correlation  of  forces, 
the  increased  motion  was  effectuated,  —  the  whizzing  of  wheels 
and  the  playing  of  the  chimes. 

*  "«7ie  terais  maudU  par  la  posterity  Mi  Von  me  regardait  comme  le  premier 
moteur  d^un  accommodement  quelconque,  Tel  e9t  Ve^^trit  actttel  de  ma  naiionn** 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  75 


CHAPTER  III. 

Thb  Russia  atnijr  was  directed  by  Kutuzof  and  his  staff, 
and  by  the  sovelfelgn^  who  was  at  Petersburg. 

Even  before  news  of  the  abandonment  of  Moscow  had 
reached  Petersburg,  a  circumstantial  plan  of  the  whole  wat* 
had  been  drawn  up  and  sent  to  Kutuzof  fot  hid  guidance. 
Although  the  plan  was  made  with  the  pl^esUpposition  that 
Moscow  was  still  in  our  hands,  it  was  approved  by  Kutuzof 'a 
staff  and  accepted  as  the  basis  of  action. 

Kutuzof  merely  wrote  that  plans  made  at  a  distance  were 
always  hard  to  carry  out.  And  then  further  instructions, 
meant  to  solve  the  difficulties  that  might  arise^  were  sent, 
and  individuals  charged  to  watch  his  movement  and  to  send 
back  reports. 

Moreover,  at  this  time  great  changes  Were  made  in  the  staff 
of  the  Russian  army.  They  had  to  fill  the  places  of  Bagra* 
tion,  who  had  been  killed,  and  of  Barclay,  who,  considering 
himself  insulted,  had  resigned. 

They  debated  with  perfect  seriousness  what  would  be  best : 
to  put  A  in  the  place  of  B,  and  B  in  the  place  of  D,  or, 
on  the  contrary,  to  put  D  in  the  place  of  A,  and  so  on ;  as 
though  anything  else  than  the  pleasure  given  to  A  and  B 
could  depend  on  this. 

In  the  army  staff,  owing  to  the  animosity  between  Kutuzof 
and  Benigsen,  his  chief  of  staff,  and  the  presence  of  the  sov- 
ereign's inspectors,  and  these  changes,  there  arose  a  much  more 
than  usually  complicated  play  of  party  intrigues ;  by  all  pos- 
sible plans  and  combinations  A  was  undermining  the  authority 
of  B,  and  D  that  of  C,  and  so  on. 

In  all  these  operations  the  object  of  their  intrigues  was  for 
the  most  part  the  war  which  all  these  men  thought  they  were 
conducting,  but  all  the  while  the  war  was  going  on  independ- 
ently of  them  in  its  own  destined  way,  that  is,  never  con- 
forming to  the  schemes  of  these  men,  but  resulting  from  the 
real  relations  of  masses.  All  these  schemes,  crossing  and 
conflicting,  merely  represented  in  the  higher  spheres  the  faith- 
ful reflection  of  what  had  to  be  accomplished. 

On  October  14,  the  sovereign  wrote  the  following  letter,* 
which  was  received  by  Kutuzof  after  the  battle  of  Taru- 
tino:  — 


76  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Prince  Mikhail  Ilarionovitch  I  — 

Since  September  14,  Moscow  has  been  in  the  hands  of  the  enemr. 
Tour  latest  reports  are  dated  October  2;  and  In  all  this  time  not  only 
nothing  has  been  done  in  the  way  of  a  demonstration  against  the  enemy 
and  to  deliver  the  first  capital,  but  according  to  your  last  reports  yoa 
have  been  retreating  again.  Serpulchof  is  already  occupied  by  a  detadi- 
ment  of  Uie  enemy,  and  Tula,  with  its  famous  arsenal  so  indispensabte 
to  the  army,  is  In^ril. 

From  General  Winzengerode's  report,  I  see  that  a  body  of  the  enemy, 
of  ten  thousand  men,  is  moving  along  the  Petersburg  road.  Another  oil 
several  thousand  men  is  marching  upon  Dmitrovo.  A  third  ia  advandng 
on  the  road  to  Vladimir.  A  fourth,  of  considerable  size,  is  between 
Ruza  and  Mozhaisk.    Napoleon  himself,  on  the  7th,  was  at  Moscow. 

Since,  according  to  all  this  information,  the  enemy  has  scattered  his 
forces  hi  strong  detachments,  since  Napoleon  himself  is  stUl  at  Moscow 
with  his  Guard,  is  It  possible  that  the  strength  of  the  enemy  before  yoa 
has  been  too  great  to  prevent  you  from  taking  the  offensive  ? 

One  might  assume,  on  the  contrary,  with  certainty  that  he  would  pur- 
sue you  with  detachments,  or  at  least  by  an  army  corps  far  weaker  than 
the  army  which  you  command. 

It  seems  as  if,  profiting  by  these  circumstances,  you  might  with  ad- 
vantage have  attacked  an  enemy  weaker  than  yourself,  and  exterminated 
him,  or,  at  least,  by  obliging  him  to  retire,  have  regained  a  great  part  of 
the  province  now  occupied  by  the  enemy,  and  at  the  same  time  have 
averted  the  peril  of  Tula  and  our  other  cities  of  the  interior. 

On  vour  responsibility  it  will  rest  if  the  enemy  send  a  consldenible 
body  of  troops  to  Petersburg  to  threaten  this  capital,  which  is  almost 
destitute  of  troops;  for,  with  the  army  confided  to  you,  if  you  act  with 
firmness  and  celerity,  you  have  all  the  means  needed  to  avert  this  new 
misfortune. 

Bear  In  mind  that  vou  are  still  bound  to  answer  before  an  jwfTjiM 
country  for  the  loss  of  Moscow! 

Tou  have  already  had  proof  of  my  readiness  to  reward  yon.    This 

?;ood  will  shall  not  grow  less,  but  I  and  Russia  have  a  right  to  demaad 
rom  you  all  the  zeal,  fortitude,  and  success  that  your  Intellect,  yoor 
milltary  talents,  and  the  gallantry  of  the  troops  under  your  command, 
assure  us. 

But  while  this  letter,  which  shows  how  the  state  of  things 
was  regarded  in  Petersburg,  was  on  its  way,  Entuzof  could 
no  longer  restrain  the  army  which  he  commanded  from  taking 
the  oflfensive,  and  the  battle  had  already  been  fought. 

On  October  14,  a  Cossack,  Shapovalof,  while  on  patrol  duty, 
killed  one  hare  and  shot  at  another.  In  pursuing  the  wounded 
hare,  Shapovalof  struck  into  the  forest  at  some  distance  and 
stumbled  upon  the  left  flank  of  Murat's  army,  which  was  en> 
camped  without  outposts. 

The  Cossack  laughingly  told  his  comrades  how  he  had 
almost  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  French.  A  cornet  who 
heard  this  tale  told  it  to  his  commander. 

The  Cossack  was  sent  for  and  questioned.  The  Cossack 
chiefs  wished  to  profit  by  this  chance  to  get  horses ;  but  one 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  77 

of  them,  who  was  acquainted  at  beadquarterSy  told  a  Staff 
general  what  had  occurred. 

Latterly,  the  relations  of  the  army  staff  had  been  strained 
to  the  last  degree*  Yermolof,  several  days  before,  had  gone  to 
Benigsen  and  implored  him  to  use  all  his  influence  with  the 
commander-in-chief  in  favor  of  assuming  the  offensive. 

"If  I  did  not  know  you,"  replied  Benigsen,  "I  should  think 
that  you  did  not  wish  what  you  were  asking  for.  I  have  only 
to  advise  anything  and  his  serene  highness  will  do  exactly 
the  contrary." 

The  news  brought  in  by  the  Cossacks  being  confirmed  by 
scouts  sent  out,  it  became  evident  that  the  time  was  ripe  for 
action. 

The  strained  cord  broke,  and  the  clock  whizzed  and  the 
chimes  began  to  play.  Notwithstanding  all  his  supposed 
power,  his  intellect,  his  experience,  and  his  knowledge  of  men, 
KutuaM>f  —  taking  into  consideration  Benigsen's  report  sent 
directly  to  the  sovereign,  and  the  one  desire  expressed  by  all 
of  his  generals,  and  the  sovereign's  supposed  wishes,  and  the 
information  brought  by  the  Cossacks — could  no  longer  restrain 
a  movement  that  was  inevitable,  and  gave  the  order  for  some- 
thing that  he  regarded  as  useless  and  harmful,  consented  to 
an  accomplished  fact ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Bknigsen's  note  and  the  report  of  the  Cossacks  about  the 
uncovered  left  flank  of  the  French  were  only  the  last  symp- 
toms that  it  was  absolutely  inevitable  to  give  the  order  for 
the  attack,  and  the  attack  was  ordered  for  October  17. 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixteenth  Kutuzof  signed  \\\q  order 
for  the  disposition  of  the  troops.  Toll  read  it  to  Vennolof, 
proposing  to  him  to  take  charge  of  the  further  arrangements. 

"  Very  good,  very  good,  but  I  can't  possibly  attend  to  it 
now,"  said  Yermolof,  and  left  the  room. 

The  plan  of  attack  drawn  up  by  Toll  was  very  admirable. 
Just  as  for  the  battle  of  Austerlitz  it  had  been  laid  down  in 
the  "  disposition : "  die  erste  Kolonne  marschirt  this  way  and 
that  way,  die  zweite  Kolonne  marsehirt  this  way  and  that  way, 
so  here  also,  only  not  in  German,  it  was  prescribed  where  the 
first  column  and  the  second  column  should  march. 

And  all  these  columns  were  to  unite  at  a  designated  time  and 
at  a  designated  place^  and  annihilate  the  enemy.    Everything 


T8  WAR  AND  PEACn. 

was  beautifully  foreseen  and  provided  for  as  in  all  'MisposU 
tions/'  and  as  in  all ''  dispositions  "  not  a  single  column  wai 
in  its  place  at  the  right  time. 

When  the  proper  number  of  copies^  had  been  made  of  the 
oi'der,  an  officer  was  summoned  and  sent  to  Yermolof,  to  gire 
him  the  papers  that  he  might  do  the  business. 

A  young  cavalry  officer,  Kutuzof  s  orderly,  delighted  with 
the  important  commission,  hastened  to  Yermolof  s  lodgings. 

"He  is  out,"  replied  Yermolof 's  servant. 

The  cavalry  officer  went  to  the  lodgings  of  the  general  in 
whose  company  Yermolof  was  frequently  found. 

"No,  — and  the  general  is  also  out." 

The  cavalry  officer,  mounting  his  horse,  went  to  stall 
another. 

"No,  gone  out." 

"  Hope  I  sha'n't  be  held  accountable  for  the  delay.  What 
a  nuisance!"  said  the  officer  to  himself.  He  rode  entirely 
around  the  camp.  One  man  declared  that  Yermolof  had  been 
seen  driving  of¥  somewhere  with  some  other  generals ;  another 
said  that  he  was  probably  at  home  again. 

The  officer,  without  even  taking  time  to  eat  his  dinner, 
searched  till  six  o'clock.  Yermolof  was  nowhere  to  be  found, 
and  no  one  knew  where  he  was.  The  officer  took  a  hasty 
supper  at  a  comrade's,  and  started  off  once  more,  this  time 
in  search  of  jVT iloradovitch,  who  was  with  the  advance  guard. 

Miloradovitch  also  was  not  at  home,  but  there  he  was  told 
that  Miloradovitch  was  at  a  ball  given  by  General  Kikin,  and 
that  Yermolof  was  probably  there  also. 

"  And  where  is  that  ?  " 

"  Over  yonder  at  Yetchkino,"  said  a  Cossack  officer,  indicat- 
ing the  estate  of  a  landed  pi*oprietor  at  some  distance. 

"  But  how  is  that  ?    It's  beyond  the  lines ! " 

"  Two  regiments  of  ours  were  sent  up  to  the  lines,  and 
they're  having  a  spree  there  this  evening ;  that's  just  the  mis- 
chief of  it !    Two  bands,  three  choirs  of  regimental  singers." 

The  officer  crossed  the  lines  to  Yetchkino.  While  still  a 
long  way  off,  as  he  rode  toward  the  mansion,  he  heard  the 
jovial,  reckless  sounds  of  the  soldiers'  choragic  song. 

"  V(H}bluziakh  —  vo-ohluziakh !  "  rang  the  meaningless 
words  of  the  song,  mingled  with  whistling  and  the  sounds 
of  the  torban,*  occasionally  drowned  out  by  the  loar  of 
voices. 

These  jolly  sounds  made  the  officer's  heart  beat  faster,  but 

*  A  kind  of  musical  instniment. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  79 

at  the  same  time  he  was  terribly  alarmed  lest  he  should  be 
blamed  for  having  been  so  long  in  delivering  the  weighty 
message  which  had  been  intrusted  to  him. 

It  was  already  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  He  dismounted 
and  climbed  the  steps  of  the  great  mansion,  which  had  been 
preserved  intact,  though  it  was  situated  between  the  French 
and  the  Russians.  Servants  were  flying  about  in  the  dining- 
room  and  the  anteroom  with  wines  and  refreshments.  The 
singers  stood  under  the  windows. 

The  officer  was  shown  in,  and  he  suddenly  caught  sight  of 
all  the  most  distinguished  generals  of  the  army  gathered 
together,  and  in  their  number  he  recognized  the  tall,  well- 
known  figure  of  Yermolof.  All  the  generals  wore  their  uni- 
form-coats unbuttoned ;  their  faces  were  flushed  and  full  of 
excitement,  and  they  were  laughing  noisily  as  they  stood 
round  in  a  semicircle.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  a  hand- 
some, short  general  with  a  red  face  was  skilfully  and  vigo- 
rously dancing  the  triepakd.  * 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  bravo !  at  da!  —  Nikolai  Ivanovitch !  ha  I 
ha!  ha!" 

The  officer  felt  that  to  come  in  at  such  a  moment  with  an 
important  order  he  should  be  doubly  in  the  wrong,  and  he 
wanted  to  wait ;  but  one  of  the  generals  caught  sight  of  him, 
and,  understanding  why  he  had  come,  called  Yermolof  s  atten- 
tion to  him.  Yermolof,  with  a  frowning  face,  advanced  to  the 
officer,  and,  after  listening  to  his  story,  took  from  him  the 
paper,  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  that  it  was  a  mere  accident  that  he 
had  gone  off  ?  "  said  a  staff  comrade  to  the  cavalry  officer,  in 
reference  to  Yermolof. 

'*  'Twas  a  joke  I  it  was  all  cut  and  dried.  It  was  to  play  it 
on  Konovnitsuin.     See  what  a  stew  there'll  be  to-morrow  1'' 


J 


i 


CHAPTER  V. 

On  the  following  day,  Kutuzof  was  awakened  early  in  the 
morning,  prayed  to  God,  dressed,  and,  with  the  disagreeable 
consciousness  that  he  was  obliged  to  direct  an  engagement 
of  which  he  did  not  approve,  took  his  seat  in  his  calash,  and 
from  Letashevka,  five  versts  behind  Tarutino,  drove  to  the 
place  where  the  attacking  columns  were  to  rendezvous.  As 
he  was  driven  along  he  kept  dozing  and  awakening  again^  all 


80  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  time  listening  if  be  could  hear  the  sounds  of  firing  at  tiie 
right,  and  if  the  battle  had  begun. 

But  as  j^et  all  was  silent.  A  damp  and  gloomy  autumn  morn- 
ing was  only  just  beginning  to  dawn.  On  reaching  Taratino, 
he  noticed  some  cavalrymen  who  were  leading  their  horses  to 
water  beyond  the  road  along  which  the  calash  was  dhTen. 
Kutuzof  looked  at  these  cavalrymen,  stopped  the  calash,  and 
asked  to  what  regiment  they  belonged.  These  cavalrymen 
belonged  to  the  column  which  should  have  long  before  been 
far  forward  in  ambush. 

<'  A  mistake,  perhaps,"  thought  the  old  commander-in-chieL 

But  when  he  had  driven  a  little  farther,  Kutuzof  saw  scNoe 
infantry  regiments  with  stacked  arms,  the  soldiers  in  their 
drawers,  cooking  their  kasha  and  getting  firewood. 

An  officer  was  summoned.  The  officer  reported  that  so 
orders  had  been  received  about  any  attack. 

"  How  could  it "  —  Kutuzof  began,  but  he  instantly  checked 
himself,  and  ordered  the  senior  officer  to  be  brought  to  him. 

He  got  out  of  his  calash,  and  walked  back  and  forth,  with 
sunken  head,  drawing  long  sighs  as  he  silently  waited.  When 
Eichen,  an  officer  of  the  general  staff,  who  had  been  sent  for, 
appeared,  Kutuzof  gi*ew  livid  with  rage,  not  because  this 
officer  was  to  blame  for  the  blunder,  but  because  he  was  a 
convenient  scapegoat  for  his  wrath.  Trembling  and  panting 
the  old  man,  who  was  falling  into  that  state  of  fury  whk^ 
sometimes  would  cause  him  to  roll  on  the  ground  in  his 
paroxysm,  attacked  Eichen,  threatening  him  with  his  fists, 
screaming,  and  loading  him  with  the  grossest  abuse.  Another 
officer  who  happened  to  be  present,  Captain  Brozin,  though  in 
no  respect  to  blame,  came  in  also  for  his  share. 

"These  wretched  dogs  !  Let  'em  be  shot!  Scoundrels  I'* 
he  lioarsely  screamed,  gesticulating  and  reeling.  He  suffered 
physical  pain.  He,  the  commander-in-chief,  "his  highness^'' 
who,  as  every  one  believed,  held  more  power  than  any  one  in 
Kussia  had  ever  before  possessed,  how  came  he,  he,  to  be 
placed  in  such  a  position — to  be  made  the  laughing-stoek  of 
the  whole  army! 

"  Was  it  all  in  vain  that  I  tried  so  hard  to  pray  for  to4a7» 
all  in  vain  that  I  passed  a  sleepless  night  and  planned  and 
planned  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  When  I  was  a  mere  litUe 
chit  of  an  officer,*  no  one  would  have  dared  to  turn  me  into 
ridicule  so  —  but  now  ?  "  — 

He  suffered  physical  pain,  as  though  from  oorporal  punish- 

*  MalehUhkorofitaer, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  81 

ment,  and  he  oould  not  lielp  expressing  it  in  cries  of  pain  and 
fury  :  but  soon  Ms  strength  began  to  fail  him,  and  he  took  his 
seat  in  his  calash^  looking  around  with  the  consciousness 
that  he  had  said  much  that  was  unseemly,  and  silently  rode 
back. 

His  fu^  was  spent,  and  returned  no  more ;  and,  feebly 
blinking  his  eyes,  Kutuzof  listened  to  Benigsen,  Konovnitsuin, 
and  Toll,  — Yermoiof  kept  out  of  sight  for  a  day  or  two,  —  and 
their  excuses  and  wordSs  of  justification,  and  their  urgent 
representations  that  the  movement  which  had  so  miscarried 
should  be  postponed  till  the  following  day.  And  Kutuzof 
was  obliged  to  consent. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Ok  the  following  evening,  the  troops  rendezvoused  in  the 
designated  places,  and  moved  during  the  night. 

It  was  an  autumn  night,  with  dark  purple  clouds,  but  no 
rain.  The  ground  was  moist,  but  there  was  no  mud,  and 
troops  proceeded  noiselessly;  the  only  sound  was  the  occa- 
sional dull  clanking  of  the  artillery.  The  soldiers  were  strin- 
gently forbidden  to  talk  above  a  whisper,  to  smoke  their  pipes, 
to  strike  a  light;  even  the  horses  refrained  from  neighing. 
The  mysteriousness  of  the  enterprise  enhanced  the  fascination 
of  it.  The  men  marched  blithely.  Several  of  the  columns 
halted,  stacked  their  arms,  and  threw  themselves  down  on 
thp  cold  ground,  supposing  that  they  had  reached  their  des- 
tination;  others — the  majority  —  marched  the  whole  night, 
and  came  to  a  place  that  was  obviously  not  their  destination. 

Count  Orlof-Denisof  with  his  Cossacks  —  the  smallest  de- 
tachment of  all  the  others  —  was  the  only  one  who  reached 
tiie  right  place  and  at  the  right  time.  This  detachment  was 
halted  at  the  very  skirt  of  the  forest,  on  the  narrow  footpath 
that  led  between  the  villages  of  Stromilova  and  Dmitrovskoye. 

Before  dawn,  Count  Orlof,  who  had  fallen  asleep,  was  aroused. 
A  deserter  from  the  French  camp  had  been  brought  in.  This 
was  a  Polish  non-commissioned  officer  from  Poniatowsk^'s 
corps.  This  non-commissioned  officer  explained  in  Polish 
that  he  had  deserted  because  he  had  been  insulted  in  the 
French  service,  that  he  ought  long  before  to  have  been  pro- 
moted to  be  an  officer,  that  he  was  the  bravest  of  them  all, 
and  therefore  he  had  given  them  up,  and  was  anxious  to  have 
his  revenge  on  them.  He  declared  that  Murat  was  spending 
VOL.  4.— a. 


82  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  night  only  a  yerst  from  there,  and  that  if  they  would  give 
him  an  escort  of  a  hundred  men  he  would  take  him  alive. 

Count  Orlof-Denisof  consulted  with  his  comrades.  The 
proposal  was  too  attractive  to  be  refused.  All  offered  to  go ; 
all  advised  to  make  the  attempt.  After  many  discussions  and 
calculations,  Major-General  Orekof,  with  two  regiments  of  Cos- 
sacks, decided  to  go  with  the  non-commissioned  officer. 

"Now  mark  my  word,"  said  Count  Orlof-Denisof  to  the 
Pole,  as  he  dismissed  him  \  "  in  case  you  have  lied,  I  will 
have  you  hanged  like  a  dog ;  but  if  you  have  told  the  truth— 
a  hundred  ducats  ! " 

The  non-commissioned  officer  with  a  resolute  face  made  no 
reply  to  these  words,  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  rode  off  with 
Grekof,  who  had  swiftly  mustered  his  men. 

They  vanished  in  the  forest. 

Count  Orlof,  pinched  by  the  coolness  of  the  morning,  which 
was  now  beginning  to  break,  excited  and  made  anxious  by  the 
responsibility  which  he  had  incurred  in  letting  Grekof  go, 
went  out  a  little  from  the  forest  and  began  to  reconnoitre  the 
enemy's  camp,  which  could  be  seen  now  dimly  in  the  light  of 
the  dawn  and  the  dying  watch-fires. 

At  Count  Orlof  s  right,  on  an  open  declivity,  our  columns 
were  to  show  themselves.  Count  Orlof  glanced  in  that  direc- 
tion ;  but,  although  they  would  have  been  visible  for  a  long 
distance,  these  columns  were  not  in  sight.  But  in  the  French 
camp,  it  seemed  to  Count  Orlof-Denisof,  who  also  put  great 
confidence  in  what  his  clear-sighted  adjutant  said,  there  were 
signs  of  life. 

"  Akh  !  too  late  ! "  said  Count  Orlof,  as  he  gazed  at  the  camp. 

Just  as  often  happens  when  a  man  in  whom  we  have 
reposed  confidence  is  no  longer  under  our  eyes,  it  suddenly 
seemed  to  him  clear  and  beyond  question  that  the  Polish  non- 
commissioned officer  was  a  traitor,  that  he  had  deceived  them, 
and  the  whole  attack  was  going  to  be  spoiled  by  the  absence 
of  the  two  regiments  which  this  man  had  led  off  no  one  knew 
where.  "How  could  they  possibly  seize  the  commander-in- 
chief  from  among  such  a  mass  of  troops  I ''  "  Of  course  he 
lied,  that  scoundrel ! "  exclaimed  the  count. 

"  We  can  call  them  back,"  said  one  of  the  suite,  who,  exactly 
like  Count  Orlof-Denisof,  felt  a  distnist  in  the  enemy  on  see- 
ing the  camp. 

«  Ha  ?  So  ?  —  What  do  you  think  ?  Shall  we  let  them  go 
on,  or  not  ?  " 

"  Do  you  order  them  called  back  ? '' 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  88 

^' Yes,  call  them  back,  call  them  back/'  cried  Count  Orlof, 
coming  to  a  sudden  decision^  and  looking  at  his  watch.  ''It 
would  be  too  late  ;  it's  quite  light." 

And  the  adjutant  galloped  off  through  the  forest  after 
Grekof.  When  Grekof  retiirned,  Count  Orlof-Denisof,  excited 
both  by  the  failure  of  this  enterprise  and  by  his  disappoint- 
ment at  the  non-arrival  of  th^  infantry  columns,  which  had 
not  even  yet  showed  up,  and  by  the  proximity  of  the  enemy — 
all  the  men  of  his  division  experienced  the  same  thing  —  de- 
cided to  attack.    . 

He  gave  the  whispered  command :  "  To  horse  ! " 

They  fell  into  their  places.  They  crossed  themselves. — 
«#S  Bogom  ! — Away  I " 

''Huirarara-a-ah  !"  rang  through  the  forest,  and  the  sotnias 
or  Cossack  companies,  one  after  another,  as  though  poured  out 
of  a  sack,  flew,  with  lances  poised,  across  the  brook  against  the 
camp. 

One  desperate,  startled  yell  from  the  first  Frenchman  who 
saw  the  Cossacks,  and  all  in  the  camp,  suddenly  awakened 
from  their  dreams,  fled  undressed  in  all  directions,  abandoning 
their  artillery,  their  muskets,  and  their  horses. 

If  the  Cossacks  had  followed  the  French  without  heeding 
what  was  back  of  them  and  around  them,  they  would  have 
captured  Murat  and  his  whole  staff.  This  was  what  the  offi- 
cers wanted.  But  it  was  an  impossibility  to  make  the  Cos- 
sacks stir  when  once  they  had  begun  to  occupy  themselves 
with  the  booty  and  their  prisoners.  No  one  would  heed  the 
word  of  command. 

Fifteen  hundred  prisoners  were  captured,  thirty-eight  can- 
nons, flags,  and  —  what  was  more  important  than  all  for  the 
Cossacks  —  horses,  saddles,  blankets,  and  various  articles. 
They  must  needs  oversee  all  this,  secure  the  prisoners  and 
the  cannon,  divide  the  spoils,  shout,  and  even  quarrel  among 
themselves :  with  all  this  the  Cossacks  were  busying  them- 
selves. 

The  French,  finding  that  they  were  no  longer  pursued,  came 
to  their  senses,  formed  their  lines,  and  began  to  fire.  Orlof- 
Denisof  was  all  the  time  expecting  the  infantry  columns,  and 
refrained  from  further  offensive  action. 

Meantime,  according  to  the  "disposition"  by  which  die  erste 
Kolanne  marschirty  and  so  on,  the  infantry  forces  of  the  belated 
columns,  commanded  by  Benigsen  and  led  by  Toll,  had  set  out 
according  to  orders,  but,  as  always  happens,  had  come  out  some- 
where, but  Dot  at  the  place  where  they  ought  to  have  been. 


84  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

As  it  always  happens,  the  men  who  had  started  out  blithelj 
began  to  straggle.  Tokens  of  dissatisfaction  were  shown; 
there  was  the  consciousness  that  a  blunder  had  been  made; 
they  started  back  in  another  direction. 

Adjutants  and  generals  were  galloping  about  and  shoutings 
scolding,  and  quarrelling,  and  declaring  that  they  were  wrong, 
and  that  they  were  too  late,  and  trying  to  find  some  one  to 
reprimand,  and  so  on,  and  finally  they  all  waved  their  hands, 
and  marched  on  simply  for  the  purpose  of  going  somewhere. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  somewhere  !  " 

And  in  fact  they  went  somewhere,  but  some  of  them  went 
in  the  wrong  direction,  and  those  who  went  in  the  right  direc- 
tion arrived  so  late  that  they  did  no  good  in  coming,  but  sim- 
ply  became  targets  for  musket-shots  ! 

Toll,  who  in  this  battle  played  the  part  that  Weirother 
played  at  Austerlitz,  diligently  galloped  from  place  to  place, 
and  everywhere  found  everything  at  loose  ends.  For  in- 
stance, just  before  it  was  quite  daylight,  he  found  Bagovut*s 
corps  in  the  woods,  though  this  corps  should  have  been  with 
Orlof-Deuisof  long  before.  Exasperated  and  excited  bytbe 
failure  of  the  movement,  and  supposing  that  some  oue  must 
be  to  blame  for  this.  Toll  dashed  up  to  the  corps  commander 
and  began  sternly  berating  him,  declaring  that  he  ought  to  be 
shot  for  this. 

Bagovut  (an  old  general,  gallant  but  placid),  who  was  also 
exasperated  by  all  these  delays,  this  confusion,  and  by  contra- 
dictory orders,  fell  into  a  fury,  much  to  the  surprise  of  every 
one,  for  it  was  contrary  to  his  nature,  and  said  disagreeable 
things  to  Toll :  — 

^'  I  will  not  be  lectured  by  any  one !  I  and  my  men  can  die 
as  well,  as  bravely,  as  others  ! "  said  he,  and  he  moved  forwaid 
with  only  one  division. 

When  he  reached  the  field,  swept  by  the  French  fire,  tibe 
gallant  and  excited  Bagovut,  not  stopping  to  consider  whether 
(at  such  a  time  and  with  only  one  division)  his  participation 
in  the  action  would  be  advantageous  or  not,  marched  straight 
ahead  and  led  his  troops  under  the  fire.  Peril,  shot,  and  shell 
were  the  very  things  that  he  required  in  his  angry  mood. 
Almost  the  first  thing  a  bullet  killed  him ;  succeeding  ballets 
killed  many  of  his  men.  And  this  division  remained  for 
some  time  needlessly  under  fire. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  85 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

^iEANTiMS,  at  the  front  another  column  should  have  been 
attacking  the  French,  but  Kutuzof  was  present  with  this  col- 
umn. He  knew  perfectly  well  that  nothing  but  confusion 
would  result  from  this  battle,  which  was  undertaken  against 
his  will,  and  he  held  back  his  troops  as  much  as  he  could. 
He  did  not  stir. 

Xutuzof  rode  silently  on  his  gray  cob,  indolently  replying 
to  those  who  proposed  to  attack,  — 

"  All  of  you  are  very  ready  to  say  the  word  attack,  but  don't 
You  see  that  we  can't  make  complicated  manoeuvres  ?  "  said 
he  to  Miloradovitch,  who  asked  permission  to  move  forward. 

"  You  weren't  smart  enough  this  morning  to  take  Murat  : 
you  were  quite  too  late ;  now  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,"  he 
replied  to  another. 

When  the  report  was  brought  to  Kutuzof  that  there  were 
now  two  battalions  of  Poles  back  of  the  French,  where  before, 
according  to  the  report  of  the  Cossacks,  there  had  been  no 
troops,  he  gave  Yermolof  a  side  glance.  He  had  not  spoken 
to  him  since  the  day  before. 

"  This  is  the  way  they  ask  to  make  attacks ;  all  sorts  of 
plans  are  proposed,  and  when  you  come  to  it,  nothing  is 
ready,  and  the  enemy,  warned,  take  their  measures." 

Yermolof  screwed  up  his  eyes  and  slightly  smiled  as  he 
overheard  those  words.  He  understood  that  the  storm  had 
passed,  and  that  Kutuzof  would  content  himself  with  this 
innuendo.  "  He  is  entertaining  himself  at  my  expense,"  said 
Yermolof  in  a  low  tone,  touching  Rayevsky's  knee. 

Shortly  after  this,  Yermolof  approached  Kutuzof,  and  re- 
spectfully made  his  report :  — 

"  It  is  not  too  late  yet,  your  highness  :  the  enemy  have  not 
moved.  If  you  will  only  give  the  order  to  attack !  If  you 
don't,  the  guards  will  not  have  smelt  gunpowder  ! " 

Kutuzof  made  no  reply ;  but  when  he  was  informed  that 
Murat's  troops  were  in  retreat,  he  ordered  the  attack,  but  at 
eveiy  hundred  paces  he  halted  for  three-quarters  of  an  hoar. 

The  whole  battle  was  summed  up  in  what  Orlof-Denisof's 
Cossacks  did :  the  rest  of  the  troops  simply  lost  several  hun- 
dred men  absolutely  uselessly. 

As  a  consequence  of  this  battle,  Kutuzof  received  a  diamond 
order,  Benigsen^  also,  some  diamonds  and  a  hundred  thousand 


86  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

rabies;  the  others,  according  to  their  ranks,  also  received 
many  agreeable  tokens,  and  after  this  battle  some  further 
changes  were  made  in  the  staff. 

"  That  is  the  way  it  always  goes  with  us  —  everything  at 
cross-purposes,"  said  the  Russian  officers  and  generals,  after 
the  battle  of  Tarutino^  just  exactly  as  is  said  at  the  present 
day,  giving  to  understand  that  there  is  some  stupid  person 
responsible  for  this  blundering  way,  whereas  we  should  have 
done  it  in  quite  another  way. 

But  the  men  who  talk  that  way  either  know  not  what  they 
are  talking  about,  or  purposely  deceive  themselves. 

Any  battle  —  Tarutino,  Borodino,  Austerlitz  —  is  fought  in 
a  different  way  from  what  those  who  planned  for  it  suppose 
it  will  be.    That  is  the  essential  condition. 

An  infinite  number  of  uncontrollable  forces  —  for  never  is 
a  man  more  uncontrollable  than  in  a  battle,  where  it  is  a 
matter  of  life  or  death — and  an  infinite  number  of  these 
independent  forces  influence  the  direction  of  the  battle,  and 
this  direction  can  never  be  foreseen,  and  will  never  be  gov- 
erned by  the  direction  of  any  one  force  whatever. 

If  many  forces  act  in  different  directions  upon  any  particu- 
lar bodjr  at  the  same  time,  then  the  direction  in  which  this 
body  will  move  cannot  be  that  of  any  one  of  the  forces ;  but 
it  will  always  take  a  middle  direction  which  is  a  combina- 
tion of  these  forces  —  which  in  physics  is  called  the  diagonal 
of  the  parallelogram  of  forces. 

If  we  find  in  the  writings  of  the  historians,  and  especially 
of  the  French  historians,  that  they  make  wars  and  battles  con- 
form to  any  prescribed  plan,  then  the  only  conclusion  which 
we  can  draw  fi-om  this  is  that  their  descriptions  are  not  to  be 
relied  upon. 

The  battle  of  Tarutino  evidently  failed  of  attaining  the 
object  which  Toll  had  in  mind,  —  to  lead  the  troops  into  the 
battle  in  proper  order  according  to  the  "  disposition ;  ^'  or 
the  object  which  Count  Orlof  may  have  had  in  mind, — to  take 
Murat  prisoner;  or  that  which  Benigsen  and  many  others 
may  have  had,  —  of  destroying  the  whole  corps  at  a  single 
blow ;  or  the  object  of  the  officer  who  wished  to  fall  in  the 
battle  and  distinguish  himself,  or  that  of  the  Cossack  who 
was  desirous  of  getting  more  booty  than  he  got,  and  so  on. 

But  if  the  object  of  the  battle  was  what  actually  resulted, 
and  which,  at  that  time,  was  the  chief  desire  of  all  the  Rus- 
sians, —  the  driving  of  the  French  from  Russia  and  the 
destruction  of  their  army, — then  it  is  perfectly  clear  that  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  87 

battle  of  Tamtino,  precisely  in  consequence  of  its  absurdity, 
iiras  the  very  thing  that  was  necessary  at  that  period  of  the 
campaign. 

It  is  hard,  nay,  it  is  impossible,  to  imagine  anything  more 
favorable  as  the  outcome  of  that  battle  than  what  actually 
resulted  from  it.  With  the  very  slightest  effort,  in  spite  of 
the  most  extraordinary  confusion,  with  the  most  insignificant 
loss,  the  most  important  results  of  the  whole  campaign  were 
attained;  a  change  from  retreat  to  advance  was  made,  the 
weakness  of  the  French  was  manifested,  and  that  impulse  was 
communicated  to  the  Napoleonic  army  which  alone  was  needed 
to  make  them  begin  their  retreat. 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

Napoleon  enters  Moscow  after  the  brilliant  victory  de  la 
Moshnoa ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  a  victory,  since 
the  French  remain  masters  of  the  field  of  battle  ! 

The  [Russians  retreat  and  give  up  their  capital.  Moscow, 
stored  with  provisions,  arms,  ammunition,  and  infinite  riches, 
falls  into  the  hands  of  Napoleon. 

The  Russian  army,  twice  as  weak  as  the  French,  during  a 
whole  month  makes  not  a  single  effort  to  assume  the  offensive. 

Napoleon's  situation  was  most  brilliant.  Whether,  with 
doubly  superior  forces,  he  fell  upon  the  remains  of  the  Rus- 
sian army  and  exterminated  it ;  or  whether  he  offered  advan- 
tageous terms  of  peace,  or,  in  case  his  offer  were  rejected, 
should  make  a  threatening  movement  upon  Petersburg,  or 
even,  in  case  of  non-success,  he  should  return  to  Smolensk,  or 
to  Vilno,  or  whether  he  should  remain  in  Moscow  —  in  a  word, 
whether  he  should  retain  the  excellent  position  which  the 
French  army  held,  it  would  seem  that  no  extraordinary  genius 
was  demanded. 

To  do  this  was  necessary  only  to  take  the  simplest  and 
easiest  way:  not  to  allow  the  army  to  pillage,  to  prepare 
winter  clothing  (there  would  have  been  enough  in  Moscow  for 
the  whole  army),  and  to  make  systematic  collection  of  pro- 
visions, which,  according  to  the  French  historians,  were  abun- 
dant enough  to  supply  the  French  troops  for  half  a  year. 

Napoleon,  this  genius  of  geniuses,  who  had,  as  historians  as- 
sure us,  the  power  to  control  his  army,  did  nothing  of  the 
sort. 

He  not  only  did  nothing  of  the  sort,  but  on  the  contraiy  he 


88  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Used  Ms  power  to  select  out  of  all  possible  meastires  open  t0 
him  the  one  that  was  most  stupid  and  the  most  disastrous. 

Of  all  that  Napoleon  might  have  done,  —  to  winter  at  Mos- 
cow, to  go  to  Petersburg,  to  more  upon  Kizhni-NoTgorod,  to 
return  by  a  more  northerly  or  southerly  route,  following 
Kutuzof 's  example,  —  what  could  be  imagined  more  stupid  or 
more  disastrous  than  what  Napoleon  actually  did  ?  Which  was 
this :  — 

To  remain  in  Moscow  till  October,  allowing  his  soldiers  to 
pillage  the  city ;  and  then,  after  deliberating  whether  or  not 
to  leave  a  garrison  behind  him,  to  leave  Moscow,  to  approack 
Kutuzof,  not  to  give  battle,  to  move  to  the  right  as  far  as 
Malo-Yaroslavetz  again  without  seeking  an  opportunity  of 
making  a  route  of  his  own,  and,  instead  of  taking  the  course 
followed  by  Kutuzof,  to  retreat  toward  Mozhaisk  along  the 
devastated  Smolensk  highway.  A  plan  more  absurd  than 
this,  more  pernicious  to  the  army,  could  not  be  imagined,  as  is 
fully  proved  by  the  results. 

Let  the  ablest  masters  of  strategy,  granting  that  Napoleon^s 
design  was  to  destroy  his  army,  conceive  any  other  plan 
which  would  so  infallibly  and  so  independently  of  any  action 
on  the  part  of  the  Russian  army  have  so  completely  destroyed 
the  French  army  as  what  Napoleon  did. 

Napoleon,  with  all  his  genius,  did  this.  But  to  say  that 
Napoleon  destroyed  his  army  because  he  wished  to  destroy  it, 
or  because  he  was  very  stupid,  would  be  just  as  false  as  to  say 
that  Napoleon  led  his  troops  to  Moscow  because  he  wished  to 
do  so  and  because  he  was  a  man  of  great  intelligence  and 
genius. 

In  both  cases,  his  personal  action,  which  was  of  no  more 
consequence  than  the  personal  action  of  any  soldier,  only 
coincided  with  the  laws  by  which  phenomena  take  place. 

It  is  absolutely  false,  simply  because  the  consequences  did 
not  justify  Napoleon's  action,  for  historians  to  say  that  his 
powers  grew  weaker  at  Moscow. 

He  employed  all  his  intellect  and  all  his  power  to  do  the 
best  thing  possible  for  himself  and  his  army,  just  as  he  had 
always  done  before,  and  as  he  did  afterwards  in  1813.  Napo* 
leon's  activity  at  this  time  was  no  less  amazing  than  it  was  in 
Egypt,  in  Italy,  in  Austria,  and  in  Prussia. 

We  know  not  sufficiently  well  the  real  state  of  activitv  of 
Napoleon's  genius  in  Egypt,  where  forty  centuries  looked 
down  upon  his  greatness,  for  the  reason  that  all  his  great  ex- 
ploits there  were  described  exclusively  by  the  Freoich. 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  89 

We  cannot  rate  at  its  proper  value  his  genius  in  Austria  and 
in  Prussia,  for  with  regard  to  his  activity  there  we  must  draw 
our  information  from  French  and  German  sources;  but  the 
surrender  of  army  corps  without  striking  a  blow,  and  of  forts 
without  a  siege,  could  not  fail  to  incline  the  Germans  to  re- 
gard his  genius  as  the  only  explanation  of  the  victorious  cam- 
paign which  he  carried  on  in  Grermany. 

Buty  glory  to  God,  we  Russians  have  no  reason  for  acknowl- 
edging the  genius  of  Napoleon  in  order  to  hide  our  shame. 
We  paid  for  the  right  to  look  at  facts  simply  as  they  are,  and 
this  right  we  will  not  yield ! 

Napoleon's  activity  at  Moscow  was  as  astonishing  and  full 
of  genius  as  it  was  everywhere  else.  From  the  time  that  he 
entered  Moscow  until  he  left  it,  order  upon  order  and  plan 
upon  plan  emanated  from  him.  The  absence  of  the  inhabit- 
ants and  of  deputations,  even  the  burning  of  the  city,  dis- 
turbed him  not.  He  forgot  not  the  welfare  of  his  army,  or 
the  activity  of  the  enemy,  or  the  good  of  the  people  of  Russia, 
or  the  administration  of  a£fairs  at  Paris,  or  diplomatic  com- 
binations concerning  the  possible  conditions  of  peace. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

In  relation  to  military  matters,  Napoleon,  immediately  on 
entering  Moscow,  gives  strict  orders  to  Greneral  Sebastiani  to 
watch  the  movements  of  the  Russian  army ;  sends  troops  in 
various  directions,  and  orders  Murat  to  pursue  Kutuzof .  Then 
he  proceeds  diligently  to  fortify  the  Kreml.  Then  he  traces 
upon  the  whole  map  of  Russia  a  brilliant  plan  for  the  rest  of 
the  campaign. 

In  relation  to  diplomatic  matters  Napoleon  sends  for  the 
robbed  and  despoiled  Captain  Yakovlef,  who  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  away  from  Moscow,  and  gives  him  a  detailed 
exposition  of  all  his  political  views,  and  of  his  magnanimity, 
and  having  written  a  letter  to  the  Emperor  Alexander,  in  which 
he  counts  it  his  duty  to  inform  his  friend  and  brother  that 
Rostopchin  has  behaved  very  badly  at  Moscow,  he  sends  Cap- 
tain Yakovlef  with  it  to  Petersburg.  Having,  in  the  same 
way,  expressed  in  detail  his  views  and  his  magnanimity  be- 
fore Tutolmin,  he  sends  this  little  old  man  also  to  Petersburg 
to  enter  into  negotiations. 

In  relation  to  judicial  affairs.  Napoleon,  immediately  after 
the  conflagrations,  gives  orders  that  the  guilty  shall  be  found 


90  WAR  AND  PEAcn. 

and  executed;    and,  to  punish  the  malefactor  Rostopchin, 
orders  his  houses  to  be  set  on  lire; 

In  relation  to  administrative  affairs.  Napoleon  grants  a  con- 
stitution to  Moscow,  organizes  the  municipal  govemmenti  and 
published  the  following :  — 

INHABITANTS  OP  MOSCOW  I 

Your  miseries  are  great,  but  His  Majesty  ttie  Emperor  and  King  desires 
to  put  an  end  to  them. 

Terrible  examples  have  taught  you  how  he  punishes  disobedience  and 
crime.  Severe  measures  have  been  taken  to  put  an  end  to  disorder  and 
to  restore  general  security. 

A  paternal  administration,  composed  of  men  from  among  yourselves, 
will  constitute  your  manicipality,  or  city  government.  This  will  care  for 
you,  for  your  needs,  for  your  interests. 

The  members  thereof  will  be  distinguished  by  a  red  scarf,  which  thej 
will  wear  over  the  shoulder,  while  the  mayor*  will  wear,  in  addition  to  the 
scarf,  a  white  belt. 

But  when  not  on  duty  the  members  will  wear  simply  a  red  band 
around  the  left  arm. 

The  municipal  police  is  established  upon  its  former  organization,  and^ 
thanks  to  its  vigilance,  the  best  of  order  already  exists. 

The  government  has  named  two  commissioners-general  or  pdUtavk- 
meisters^  and  twenty  commissioners  or  tchdsinui  pHAafs  assigned  to  dif- 
ferent portions  of  the  city.  You  will  recognize  diem  by  the  white  band 
worn  around  the  left  arm. 

A  number  of  churches  of  different  denominations  are  open,  and  dlfina 
service  is  there  celebrated  without  hindrance. 

Your  fellow-citizens  are  daily  returning  to  their  dwellings,  and  orden 
have  been  given  that  they  shaU  find  the  aid  and  protection  due  to  their 
misfortune. 

Such  are  the  means  which  the  government  is  using  to  restore  order  and 
mitigate  your  position;  but  to  attain  this  end,  you  must  unite  your  efforts 
with  theirs,  you  must  forget,  if  possible,  the  misfortunes  that  you  have 
endured,  you  must  cherish  the  hope  of  a  less  cruel  destiny,  must  be  con- 
vinced that  an  inevitable  and  infamous  death  awaits  all  those  who  make 
any  assault  upon  your  persons  or  the  property  that  remains  to  you,  and 
you  must  not  doubt  that  they  will  be  guarded,  for  such  is  the  wUl  ol  the 
greatest  and  most  just  of  all  monarchs. 

Soldiers  and  citizens,  of  whatever  nation  you  maybe!  —  r^-establish 
public  confidence,  that  source  of  happiness  in  every  state,  Uve  like 
brethren,  mutually  aid  and  protect  one  another,  unite  to  oppose  all  crimi- 
nal manifestations,  obey  the  military  and  municipal  authorities,  and  sooa 
your  tears  will  cease  to  flow. 

In  relation  to  the  provisioning  of  the  army,  Kapoleon  gave 
orders  for  the  troops  to  take  turns  in  foraging  d  /41  ma- 
raude  through  the  city  to  procure  food,  that  thus  the  army 
might  be  secured  for  the  future. 

In  relation  to  religion,  Kapoleon  ordered  that  the  popes 

*  Grddskii  golovd,  head  of  the  city. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  91 

should  be  brought  back  —  ramener  les  popes  —  and  worship  be 
Te-established  in  the  churches. 

In  relation  to  trade  and  the  provisioning  of  the  army,  the 
following  was  posted  everywhere :  — 

PROCLAMATION. 

Tou,  x>eaceable  inhabitants  of  Moscow,  artisans  and  workmen  whom 
miafortunes  have  driven  from  this  city,  and  you,  dispersed  farmers,  who 
through  unfounded  terror  remain  concealed  in  the  fields,  —  listen ! 

Peace  reigns  in  this  capital,  and  order  is  re-established  within  it. 
Your  compatriots  are  boldly  leaving  their  retreats,  finding  that  they  are 
respected. 

All  violence  shown  to  them  or  their  property  Is  immediately  punished. 

H.  M.  the  Emperor  and  King  protects  them,  and  considers  none  among 
you  his  enemies  except  those  who  disobey  his  orders. 

He  desires  to  put  an  end  to  your  misfortunes,  and  restore  you  to  your 
homes  and  families. 

Respond  to  his  benevolent  intentions,  and  come  to  us  without  fear. 

Inhabitants! 

Return  with  confidence  to  your  dwellings;  you  will  soon  find  means  of 
satisfying  your  wants. 

Mechanics  and  laborious  artisans! 

Come  back  to  your  trades:  houses,  shops,  watchmen  await  you,  and 
for  your  labor  you  will  receive  the  wage  which  is  your  due! 

And  yon,  &ially,  peasants,  come  forth  from  the  forests,  where  vou 
have  been  hiding  in  fear;  return  boldly  to  your  cottages,  with  the  firm 
assurance  that  you  will  find  protection. 

Grain  shops  have  been  established  in  the  city,  where  the  peasants  may 
bring  all  their  surplus  provisions  and  the  products  of  the  soil. 

The  government  has  taken  the  following  measures  to  assure  the  free 
sale  of  these  products:  — 

1.  From  this  date,  peasants,  farmers,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the 
suburbs  of  Moscow,  may  without  danger  bring  their  products,  whatever 
they  may  be,  into  town,  to  the  two  markets  established  for  the  purpose  — 
in  Mokhovaya  Street,  and  in  the  Okhotnui  Riad. 

2.  These  products  will  be  purchased  of  them  at  such  prices  as  may  be 
agreed  upon  between  seller  and  buyer;  but  if  the  seller  cannot  obtain  the 
just  price  demanded,  he  is  free  to  take  his  goods  back  to  his  village,  and 
no  one  under  any  pretext  shall  prevent  him  from  doing  so. 

3.  Every  Sunday  and  Wednesday  are  legalized  as  *' chief  market 
days;"  therefore  sufficient  numbers  of  soldiers  will  be  placed,  Tuesdays 
and  Saturdays,  in  the  principal  thoroughfares  at  such  a  distance  from  the 
city  as  to  protect  the  provision  trains. 

4.  Similar  measures  will  be  taken  to  expedite  the  return  of  the 
peasants  to  their  villages  with  their  horses  and  teams. 

5.  Measures  will  he  taken  immediately  to  re-establish  the  ordinary 
markets. 

Inhabitants  of  the  city  and  the  villages,  and  you  workmen  and  arti- 
sans, to  whatever  nation  you  may  belong! 

We  urge  you  to  follow  the  paternal  wishes  of  H.  M.  the  Emperor  and 
King,  and  co-operate  with  him  for  the  general  welfare. 

Bring  to  his  feet  respect  and  confidence,  and  hesitate  not  to  imite 
with  us. 


92  WAR  AND  PEACB. 

To  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  troops  and  the  people,  reviews 
were  constantly  held  and  decorations  distributed.  The  em- 
peror rode  through  the  streets  on  horseback  and  consoled  the 
inhabitants,  and,  in  spite  of  all  his  devotion  to  state  matters, 
he  visited  the  theatres  established  by  his  orders. 

In  relation  to  charity,  that  best  virtue  of  crowned  heads, 
Kapoleon  also  did  all  that  could  be  expected  of  him. 

He  ordered  the  words  Maison  de  ma  mh'e  to  be  inscTihed 
upou  the  buildings  devoted  to  charity,  by  this  act  uniting  the 
sentiment  of  a  loving  son  with  the  grand  virtue  of  a  monaicL 

He  visited  the  Foundling  Asylum,*  and,  allowing  his  white 
hands  to  be  mouthed  by  the  orphajis  saved  by  him,  he  con- 
versed graciously  with  Tutolmin. 

Then,  according  to  Thiers's  eloquent  narrative,  he  ordered 
his  troops  to  be  paid  in  counterfeit  Russian  money  which  he 
had  manufactured  I 

'^  Exalting  the  employment  of  these  means  by  an  act  worthy 
of  him  and  of  the  French  armv,  he  commanded  to  give  aid  to 
those  who  had  suffered  from  tne  fires.  But  as  provisions  were 
too  precious  to  furnish  to  men  of  a  foreign  land,  and,  for  the 
most  pai-t,  enemies,  Napoleon  found  it  better  to  give  them 
money,  and  let  them  procure  provisions  outside,  and  he  ordered 
paper  rubles  to  be  distributed  among  them."  f 

In  relation  to  the  discipline  of  the  army,  he  constantly 
issued  orders  threatening  severe  punishments  for  all  iofrao- 
tions  of  the  rules  of  the  service,  and  to  stop  pillaging. 


CHAPTER  X. 

But,  strangely  enough,  all  these  arrangements,  measures, 
and  plans,  which  were  in  no  respect  inferior  to  those  which  he 
had  taken  under  similar  circumstances,  did  not  touch  the 
essence  of  the  matter,  but,  like  the  hands  of  a  clock  discon- 
nected with  the  mechanism  behind  the  dial,  moved  at  random 
and  aimlessly,  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  wheels. 

As  for  military  matters,  the  plan  for  the  campaign,  of 
which  Thiers  says,  '' Napoleon's  genius  never  imagined  any- 

•  Vottpitdtelnui  Dom, 

t  *'  Relevant  Pemploi  de  ces  moyefU  par  un  acte  digne  de  hiietde  ranmit 
francaiae,  ilJU  dietribuer  dee  eecours  auz  ineendiis.  Male  lee  vivree  itatU  tref 
pr^cleux  pour  itre  donn€e  a  dee  ^trungere,  la  plvpart  enmende^  Jfapokom 
ainia  mieux  leurfoumir  de  VargerU  afinqu*iU  ee/oumieeeni  au  dehcrg,  H  U 
leurJU  dietribtier  dee  roubUa  papiere."  —  Thxsv,  '*  HUtoite  du  oonMtet  d  de 
V  empire"  Tom.  xivi 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  98 

thing  more  profound,  more  skilful,  or  more  admirable/'  *  and 
which,  in  his  argument  with  M.  Fain,  he  proves  was  con- 
ceived, not  on  the  fourth  of  October,  but  on  the  fifteenth  of 
that  month,  —  this  plan,  full  of  genius  as  it  was,  was  not  and 
could  not  have  been  carried  out,  for  it  had  no  basis  whatever 
in  reality. 

The  fortifying  of  the  Kreml,  to  accomplish  which  it  was  ne^ 
cessary  to  destroy  the  moscjue,  la  mosquSe,  —  for  so  Napoleon 
called  the  church  of  Yasili  Blazhennuii  —  was  perfectly  un- 
necessary. 

The  placing  of  mines  under  the  Kreml  served  only  to  carry 
out  the  personal  desire  of  the  emperor,  who  wished,  on  leav- 
ing Moscow,  to  see  the  Elreml  blown  up, — in  other  words,  that 
the  floor  upon  which  the  child  has  hurt  himself  might  be 
beaten. 

The  pursuit  of  the  Russian  army,  which  so  engrossed  Na- 
poleon's attention,  presented  a  most  unheard-of  phenomenon. 
The  French  generals  lost  sight  of  the  Eussian  army,  number- 
ing not  less  than  sixty  thousand  men,  and,  according  to  Thiers,. 
it  was  only  through  Murat's  ability  —  his  genius,  one  might 
say  —  that  the  French  succeeded  in  discovering,  like  a  needle 
in  a  haystack,  the  Russian  army,  sixty  thousand  strong  I 

As  for  diplomatic  matters,  all  Napoleon's  declarations  of 
magnanimity  and  justice,  made  to  Yakovlef  and  to  Tutolmin,. 
who  was  chiefly  solicitous  aboiit  cloaks  and  teams,  proved 
without  effect. 

Alexander  did  not  receive  these  ambassadors,  and  did  not 
reply  to  their  letters. 

As  for  justice,  after  the  execution  of  the  supposed  incendi- 
aries, the  other  half  of  Moscow  was  burned  I 

As  for  administration,  the  establishment  of  a  municipality 
did  not  put  an  end  to  pillage,  and  was  of  service  only  to  the 
few  individuals  who  took  a  part  in  this  municipal  government, 
and,  under  the  pretext  of  establishing  order,  plundered  Mos- 
cow, or  saved  their  own  property  from  pillage. 

Ajb  for  religion,  the  thing  he  had  found  so  easy  to  arrange 
ia  Egypt,  by  visiting  a  mosque,  here  in  Moscow  produced  no 
results.  Two  or  three  priests,  found  in  Moscow,  were  com- 
pelled to  fulfil  the  emperor's  wishes;  but  a  French  soldier 
stnick  one  of  them  on  the  cheeks  while  conducting  divine 
sovice,  and  of  the  other  the  French  official  reported  as  fol- 
lows:— 

•**—que  m>n  g^rUe  n*avait  jamaU  rien  imaging deplxu  profondtde  plu^ 
Mabiie,  ei  de  plus  admirable,*^ 


94  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

*^  The  priest  whom  I  found  and  commanded  to  begin  onoe 
more  the  saying  of  mass,  cleaned  and  locked  the  ohuroh.  That 
same  night  they  went  again  and  smashed  the  doors  and  the 
locks,  tore  the  books  in  pieces,  and  committed  other  dii^ 
orders."  * 

As  for  the  re-establishment  of  trade,  the  proclamation  to 
laborious  artisans  and  to  all  peasants  met  with  no  response. 
There  were  no  laborious  artisans ;  while  the  peasants  seized 
the  commissioners  who  ventured  too  far  outside  the  city  with 
the  proclamation,  and  killed  them. 

As  for  amusing  the  people  and  the  troops  by  theatrical 
representations,  the  result  was  a  failure.  The  theatres  that 
were  established  in  the  Kreml  and  in  PosniakoFs  house  were 
immediately  closed  because  the  actors  and  actresses  weie 
robbed. 

Even  his  charities  did  not  bring  forth  the  anticipated 
results.  Counterfeit  and  genuine  assignats  were  so  abundant 
in  Moscow  that  they  were  alike  valueless.  The  French,  who 
were  laden  with  booty,  would  have  nothing  but  gold.  Not  only 
the  false  assignats  that  Napoleon  so  kindly  distributed  among 
the  unfortunates  were  worthless,  but  the  discount  on  silver 
was  greater  than  that  on  gold. 

But  the  most  striking  proof  of  the  inefficiency  of  all  these 
orders  was  Napoleon's  effort  to  put  an  end  to  pillage  and 
restore  discipline. 

Here  are  some  of  the  reports  made  by  the  commanding 
officers :  — 


« 


Pillage  continues  In  the  city  in  spite  of  the  order  that  it  shall  be 
stopped.  Order  is  not  yet  re-established,  and  there  is  not  a  merebaot 
engaged  in  legitimate  trade.  Pedlers  alone  venture  to  sell  anything,  and 
what  they  sellare  objects  pillaged." 

*'  A  part  of  my  district  continues  to  be  pillaged  by  soldiers  of  the 
Third  Corps,  who,  not  content  with  taking  from  the  wretched  citisens 
hiding  in  the  cellars  the  little  that  they  have,  are  even  brutal  enough  to 
strike  them  with  their  swords,  as  I  myself  saw  in  many  instances.'*  t 

'*  There  is  nothing  new;  the  soldiers  still  continue  theft  and  piUage< 
,'October9.)'*  X 

*  **  Le  pritre  que  j*avaU  dicouvert  et  invito  a  reeommeneera  dire  la  mem 
a  netioy€  eiferm4  ViglUe,  Cette  miit  on  est  venu  de  nouveau  enf oncer  let 
partes,  ea$$er  les  ead^nas,  dichirer  let  livres  et  commettre  d'autres  d^mfrdre^" 

1  "  La  partie  de  mon  arrondissement  oonh'ntie  h  itre  en  proi«  an  piikHft  det 
Boldats  du  3  Corps,  qui,  non  coyitents  d^arracher  aux  mcUheureux  r^/vgi^ 
dans  des  souterrains  le  peu  qui  leur  reste,  ont  mSme  la  ferociU  de  les  blesser 
h  coups  de  sabre,  commefen  ai  vu  plusieurs  ezempUs.*^ 

t  '*  Ricn  de  nouveau  outre  que  les  soldais  «e  permettenf  de  W)(er  f<  de  piSar. 
{Le  9  Octo6r«.)" 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  95 

**  Theft  and  pillage  oontmne.  There  is  a  band  of  robbers  in  our  dis- 
trict who  onght  to  be  pat  down  by  strong  measures.     (October  11.) "  * 

*'  The  emperor  is  greatly  displeased  that,  in  spite  of  his  strict  orders  to 
restrain  pillage,  detachments  of  marauders  from  the  guard  are  continually 
entering  the  Kreml.  ...  In  the  Old  Guard  disorder  and  pillage  were 
renewed  yesterday,  last  night,  and  to-day  more  vigorously  if  possible  tlian 
ever.  The  emx)eror  sees  with  sorrow  that  his  chosen  soldiers,  detailed  to 
defend  his  own  person,  who  ought  to  set  an  example  of  subordination, 
carry  disol)edience  so  far  as  to  despoil  cellars  and  warehouses  stocked 
with  stores  for  the  army.  Others  have  fallen  so  low  that  they  have 
refused  to  obey  the  watchmen  and  sentinels,  and  have  reviled  and  beaten 
them." 

"  The  grand  marshal  of  the  palace  complains  bitterly,"  wrote  the  gov- 
ernor, ''that,  notwithstanding  his  reiterated  commands,  the  soldiers 
continue  to  perform  the  offices  of  nature  in  all  the  courts,  and  even  under 
the  windows  of  the  emperor."  t 

This  army,  like  a  herd  let  out  in  disorder,  and  trampling 
nnder  its  feet  the  fodder  that  would  have  saved  it  from  star- 
vation and  death,  was  each  day  of  its  delay  in  Moscow  nearer 
its  disorganization  and  its  destruction* 

But  it  did  not  stir. 

It  started  in  flight  only  when  panic  fear  suddenly  seized 
it  at  the  capture  of  the  provision  train  on  the  Smolensk  road, 
and  at  the  battle  of  Tarutino. 

This  same  news  of  the  battle  of  Tarutino,  unexpectedly  re- 
ceived by  Napoleon  during  a  review,  inspired  in  him,  Thiers 
tells  us,  the  desire  to  punish  the  Russians,  and  he  gave  the 
order  to  retreat,  which  the  whole  army  demanded. 

On  leaving  Moscow,  the  men  of  this  army  loaded  themselves 
with  all  the  booty  they  could  get  together. 

Napoleon  also  had  his  own  tresor  to  take  with  him.  Seeing 
the  vehicles  encumbering  the  army,  Napoleon,  as  Thiers  says, 
was  horror-struck.  But,  with  all  his  experience  in  war,  he 
did  not  order  the  superfluous  wagons  to  be  destroyed,  as  he 
had  ordered  in  regard  to  his  marshals'  when  they  were  ap- 
proaching Moscow.  He  glanced  at  the  calashes  and  coaches 
in  which  the  soldiers  were  travelling,  and  said  that  it  was 
very  good  —  that  these  vehicles  would  be  useful  for  carrying 
provisions,  the  sick,  and  the  wounded. 

The  situation  of  the  whole  army  was  like  that  of  a  wounded 
animal  feeling  death  to  be  near  and  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

To  study  the  artful  manoeuvres  and  the  purposes  of  Napo- 

•  ♦*  Le  vol  et  le  pUlage  continuent.  II  y  a  une  hande  de  voleurs  dans  notrs 
dUirict  qu'U  faiU /aire  arrilerpar  de  fortes  gardes.    (Le  11  Octohre.)** 

t  **  Le  grand  mar^chal  du  palais  se  plaint  vivement  que  malgr€  les  defenses 
retteries  les  soldats  continuent  a /aire  leurs  besoins  dans  toutea  les  cotirs,  et 
mihnejusque  sous  les/enitres  de  Vempereur,'* 


96  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

leon  and  Ms  axmy,  from  the  time  he  entered  Moscow  to  the 
destruction  of  this  army,  is  like  watching  the  convidsions  and 
the  death  struggles  of  an  animal  mortally  wounded.  Often 
the  wounded  animal,  hearing  a  noise,  runs  directly  into  the 
hunter's  fire,  turns  this  way  and  that  way,  and  hastens  its 
own  end. 

Thus  acted  Napoleon,  under  the  pressure  of  his  army. 

The  uoise  of  the  battle  of  Tarutmo  alarmed  the  beast,  and 
it  threw  itself  forward  directly  into  the  fire,  ran  toward  the 
hunter,  turned  back  again,  and,  like  every  wild  beast,  sud- 
denly fled  by  the  most  dangerous,  the  most  disadvantageous, 
but  the  best  known  road  —  its  former  trail. 

Napoleon,  whom  we  imagine  to  have  been  the  director  of 
all  these  movements,  just  as  the  figure-head  upon  the  prow  of 
a  ship  is  supposed  by  the  savage  to  be  the  power  that  moves 
the  ship,  —  Napoleon,  throughout  the  whole  of  his  activity, 
was  like  a  child  seated  in  a  carriage  clasping  the  straps  that 
hang  on  the  inside,  and  imagining  that  he  makes  it  go. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  October,  early  in  the  morning,  Pierre 
stepped  out  of  the  balag&n,  or  prison-hut,  and  then,  taming 
bacK,  stood  in  the  doorway,  playing  with  the  long-bodied, 
bandy-legged,  little  pink  puppy,  which  was  gambolling  around 
him. 

This  puppy  had  made  her  home  in  the  balag&n,  sleeping 
next  Karatayef ;  but  sometimes  she  made  excursions  out  into 
the  city,  from  which  she  would  always  return  again.  She 
had  evidently  never  belonged  to  any  one,  and  now  no  one  was 
her  master,  and  she  had  no  name.  The  French  called  her 
Azor;  the  wit  of  the  company  called  her  Femme-g^Qka,  or 
Jenny  Daw ;  Karatayef  and  the  others  called  her  Semi  or 
Gray  ;  sometimes  Vislui  —  the  Hanger-on. 

The  fact  that  she  belonged  to  no  one  and  had  no  name  or  breed 
and  no  definite  color  seemed  in  no  wise  to  trouble  the  little 
pink  dog.  She  held  her  furry  tail  like  a  plume,  boldly  and 
gallantly ;  the  crooked  bow  legs  served  her  so  well  that  often, 
as  though  disdaining  to  use  all  four  of  them,  she  would  lift 
gracefully  one  of  the  hind-legs,  and  run  with  great  agility  and 
adroitness  on  three.  Everything  that  came  along  was  for  her 
an  object  of  satisfaQtion.     Now  grunting  with  delight  she 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  97 

would  roll  on  her  back,  now  she  wonld  warm  herself  in  the 
sun  with  a  thoughtful  and  significant  expression,  now  she 
would  gambol  and  play  with  a  chip  or  a  straw. 

Pierre^s  costume  now  consisted  of  a  torn  and  dirty  shirt,  — 
the  only  remains  of  his  former  dress,  —  soldiers'  trousers,  for 
the  sake  of  greater  warmth  tied  with  string  around  the  ankles 
by  Karatayef  s  advice,  a  kaftan,  and  his  peasant's  cap. 

Physically,  during  this  time  Pierre  had  greatly  changed. 
He  no  longer  seemed  portly,  although  he  still  retained  that 
appearance  of  rotundity  and  strength  which  in  their  nature 
are  hereditary.  His  beard  and  mustache  had  grown,  and  cov- 
ered the  lower  part  of  his  face.  His  long  hair,  all  in  a  tangle 
on  his  head  and  full  of  lice,  fell  in  tangled  locks  from  under 
his  cap.  The  expression  of  his  eyes  was  firm,  steadfast,  calm, 
and  full  of  an  alertness  which  h'ad  never  before  been  charac- 
teristic of  him.  His  old-time  indolence,  manifested  even  in 
his  eyes,  had  now  given  place  to  an  energetic  spirit  that  was 
ready  for  activity  and  resistance. 

His  feet  were  bare. 

Pierre  looked  now  at  the  field  along  which,  that  morning, 
teams  and  mounted'men  were  moving,  now  far  off  across  the 
river,  now  at  the  puppy  which  was  pretending  that  she  was 
going  to  bite  him  in  real  earnest,  and  now  at  his  bare  feet, 
which,  for  the  sport  of  the  thing,  he  was  placing  in  various 
attitudes,  wagging  his  dirty,  thick  toes.  And  every  time  that 
he  looked  at  his  bare  feet,  a  smile  of  lively  satisfaction  illu'- 
mined  bip  face.  The  sight  of  those  bare  feet  reminded  him  of 
all  that  he  had  been  through  and  had  learned  to  understand  in 
that  time,  and  this  recollection  was  agreeable  to  him. 

The  weather  for  several  days  had  become  mild  and  bright, 
with  light  frosts  in  the  morning  —  the  so-called  Bdbye  lieto  — 
Indian  summer. 

In  the  sun,  the  air  felt  warm ;  and  this  warmth,  together 
with  the  invigorating  freshness  of  the  morning  frosts,  which 
left  its  influence  in  the  air,  was  very  pleasant.  Over  every- 
thing, objects  remote  and  objects  near  at  hand,  lay  that  magi- 
cal crystalline  gleam  which  is  seen  only  at  this  time  of  the 
autumn.  In  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  Vorobyevui 
Crorui — the  Sparrow  Hills  —  with  a  village,  a  church,  and  a 
great  white  house.  And  the  leafless  trees  and  the  sand  and 
the  rocks  and  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  the  green  belfry  of  the 
church,  and  the  angles  of  the  distant  white  house,  —  every- 
thing stood  out  with  unnatural  distinctness,  with  all  its  deU- 
oacy  of  outline,  in  the  transparent  atmosphere. 

VOL.  4.  — 7. 


98  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Kear  at  haad  were  the  well-known  ruins  of  a  noble  mansion 
half  burned^  occupied  by  the  French,  with  its  lilac  bushes 
still  dark  green,  which  had  once  adorned  the  park  along  by 
the  fence.  And  even  this  house,  ruined  and  befouled,  which 
in  gloomy  weather  would  have  been  repulsive  from  its  dis- 
order, now,  in  the  bright,  immovable  light,  seemed  like  some- 
thing tranquilly  beautiful. 

A  French  corporal,  in  undress  uniform,  in  his  night-cap,  with 
a  short  pipe  between  his  teeth,  came  from  behind  the  comer 
of  the  balagdn,  and,  tipping  Pierre  a  friendly  wink,  joined 
liim. 

^^Qtcel  soleilf  hein  !  Monsieur  Kirill,'' — for  that  was  what  all 
the  French  called  Pierre,  —  "on  dirait  le  printemps — you'd 
think  it  was  springtime," 

And  the  corporal  leaned  up  against  the  door-post  and  offered 
Pierre  his  pipe,  although  Pierre  always  declined  it  just  as 
surely  as  he  was  always  sure  to  offer  it. 

"  Si  Von  marchaU  par  un  temps  comme  cduirla  —  If  we 
should  start  in  such  weather  as  this  "  —  he  began. 

Pierre  asked  what  the  news  was  in  regard  to  a  retreat,  and 
the  corporal  told  him  that  almost  all  the*  troops  were  begin- 
ning to  move,  and  that  the  order  in  regard  to  the  prisonera 
was  to  be  issued  that  day. 

In  the  balagan  in  which  Pierre  was  confined,  a  soldier  named 
Sokolof  was  sick  unto  death,  and  Pierre  told  the  corporal  that 
something  ought  to  be  done  about  this  soldier. 

The  corporal  replied  that  Pierre  might  be  easy  on  that 
score,  that  there  were  permanent  and  movable  hospitals,  and 
that  the  sick  would  be  cared  for,  and  that  the  authorities  had 
provided  for  all  emergencies. 

^' And  besides,  Monsieur  Kirill,  you  have  only  to  say  a  single 
word  to  the  captain,  you  know.  Oh,  he  is  a — he  never  for- 
gets anything !  Tell  the  captain  when  he  makes  his  tour  of 
inspection,  and  he  will  do  anything  for  you."  — 

The  captain  of  whom  the  corporal  was  speaking  had  often 
talked  with  Pierre  and  showed  him  all  manner  of  conde- 
scension. — 

"  ^  Do  you  see,  St.  Thomas,'  says  he  to  me  the  other  day, 
'Kirill  is  a  man  of  education  who  speaks  French;  he  is  a 
Bussian  seigneur  who  has  been  unfortunate,  but  he's  a  man ! 
And  he  knows  what — If  he  asks  for  anything,'  says  he,  'let 
him  tell  me ;  I  couldn't  refuse  him.  When  one  has  been 
studying,  you  see,  you  like  education  and  the  right  kind  of^ 
people,'    It's  for  your  sake  I  tell  you  this,  Monsieur  Kirill. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  99 

In  that  affair  the  other  day,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  it  might 
have  come  out  pretty  bad  I"  * 

And  after  chatting  a  little  while  longer  the  corporal  went 
off. 

The  "affair"  which  the  corporal  mentioned  as  having  taken 
])lace  a  few  days  before  was  a  squabble  between  the  prisoners 
and  the  French  in  which  Pierre  had  taken  it  upon  him  to  act 
as  peacemaker. 

Several  of  the  prisoners  had  been  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion between  Pierre  and  the  corporal,  and  they  immediately 
began  to  ask  what  had  been  said.  While  Pierre  was  telling 
his  comrades  what  the  corporal  had  said  about  the  retreat  of 
the  Prench,  a  lean,  sallow,  and  ragged  French  soldier  made 
his  appearance  in  the  door  of  the  balagan.  With  a  quick, 
timid  gesture  he  addressed  himself  to  Pierre,  raising  his  fingers 
to  his  forehead  as  a  salute,  and  asked  him  if  there  were  a 
soldier  in  that  balag&n  named  Platoche,  who  had  been  given  a 
shirt  to  make. 

The  week  before  the  French  had  received  leather  and  linen, 
and  had  distributed  them  among  the  Russian  prisoners  to 
make  boots  and  shirts. 

"All  ready,  all  ready,  my  dear,"  said  Platon  Karatayef, 
coming  forth  with  a  carefully  folded  shirt. 

Karatayef,  owing  to  the  warmth  of  the  weather,  and  for 
convenience  of  working,  wore  only  his  trousers  and  a  torn 
shirt  as  black  as  earth.  His  hair,  after  the  fashion  of  master 
workmen,  was  tied  up  with  a  bast  string,  and  his  round  face 
seemed  rounder  and  more  good-natured  than  ever. 

"'Agreement's  own  brother  to  business.'  I  promised  it 
for  Friday,  and  here  it  is  I "  said  Platon,  smiling,  and  unfold- 
ing the  shirt  which  he  had  made. 

The  Frenchman  glanced  round  uneasily,  and,  as  though  con- 
quering a  doubt,  he  quickly  stripped  off  his  uniform,  and  put 
on  the  shirt.  The  Frenchman  had  no  shirt  on  under  nis 
uniform,  but  his  bare,  yellow,  lean  body  was  clad  in  nothing 
but  a  long,  greasy,  silk  brocade  waistcoat. 

*  **Et  intU,  M.  Kirillf  vous  n'avex  qu'h  dire  un  mot  au  capitaine,  voiin 
$avez,  oh!  cesivn — qui  n'otiblie  jamais  rien,  Dites  au  capitaine  quawl 
%1/era  «i  toumiey  ilfera  tout  pour  vov8.  —  *Voi»'tUt  St.  ThomaSf'  qu*il  me 
disait  Vautre  jour,  *KirH  c'est  vn  homme  qui  a  de  Vinstructiorif  qui  parte 
francais;  <fest  un  seigneur  ruste,  quia  eu  dee  malheurs,  mais  c'est  un  homme. 
Et  it  s*y  entend  le  —s*il  demande  quclque  chose ,  qnHl  me  dise,  it  n*y  a  pas 
de  refus.  Quand  on  a  fait  ses  Hndes,  voyez-vous,  on  aims  Vinstruction  et  hs 
gens  eomme  il  faui, *  Crest  pour  vous  que  je  dis  cela,  M.  KiriU  I  Dans  Vaffaire 
de  Vautrejour  si  ce  n^dtoit  grdce  a  vous,  ga  auraitjini  mal*"* 


100  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

The  Frencliman  was  evidently  afraid  that  the  prisonenirlio 
were  staring  at  him  would  make  sport  of  Mm,  and  he  hastily 
thrust  his  head  into  the  shirt.  Not  one  of  the  prisoners  said 
a  word. 

'^  There,  it  was  time/'  exclaimed  Platon,  pulling  down  the 
shirt.  The  Frenchman,  getting  his  head  and  arms  through, 
without  lifting  his  eyes,  inspected  the  fit  of  the  shirt  and 
Scrutinized  the  sewing. 

'^  You  see,  my  dear,  this  is  not  a  tailor's  shop,  and  I  hadn't 
suitable  tools ;  and  the  saying  is,  '  You  can't  kill  even  a  loose 
without  a  tool,' "  said  Platon,  with  a  round  smile,  and  taking 
evident  delight  in  his  handiwork. 

"  C^esi  hlen,  <^est  bien,  merci!  But  yoii  Ought  to  have  some 
of  the  cloth  left  over,"  said  the  Frenchman. 

"  It  will  set  on  you  better  when  you  get  it  fitted  to  your 
body,"  said  Karatayef,  continuing  to  delight  in  his  production. 
"  It  will  suit  you  nicely  and  be  very  comfortable." 

'^  Merely  merci,  mon  vieitx,  —  le  reste,^*  insisted  the  Frenchman, 
smiling ;  and,  getting  out  an  assignat,  he  gave  it  to  Karatayef 
^^viaisle  reste,^' 

Pierre  saw  that  Platon  had  no  wish  to  understand  what  the 
Frenchman  said,  and,  without  interfering,  he  looked  at  them. 
Karatayef  thanked  him  for  the  money,  and  continued  to 
admire  his  work.  The  Frenchman  was  bound  to  have  the 
pieces  that  were  left  over,  and  begged  Pierre  to  translate  what 
he  said. 

^^What  does  he  want  of  the  pieces?"  asked  Karataye£ 
"  They  would  come  in  handy  as  leg-wrappers.  Well,  then,  God 
go  with  him  —  Bog  s  nim!^^  and  Karatayef,  his  face  suddenly 
changing  to  an  expression  of  deep  depression,  took  out  from 
his  breast  a  bundle  of  rags,  and  handed  them  to  the  French- 
man without  looking  at  him.  '^  £kh-ma  I "  exclaimed  Karata- 
yef,  and  he  started  back  into  the  hut. 

The  Frenchman  looked  at  the  cloth,  deliberated  a  moment, 
gave  Pierre  a  questioning  look,  and,  as  though  Pierre's  look 
said  something  to  him,  — 

" FlatochCf  dites  done!  Platoche,  Platocke/^^  cried  the 
Frenchman,  suddenly  flushing,  and  speaking  in  a  piping  voice! 
"  Gardez  pour  vous  —  keep  it  I "  said  he,  giving  him  the  raga^ 
and,  turning  on  his  heel,  went  off. 

"  Grood-by,"  said  Karatayef,  nodding  his  head.  "They  say 
they're  heathens,  but  that  one  has  a  soul.  It  used  to  be  a  say- 
ing in  old  times,  '  Sweaty  hand's  lavish,  dry  hand  close.'  That 
man  was  naked;  but  he  gave  all  the  same."    Karatayef  thought* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  101 

fnllj  smiling  and  looking  at  the  rags^  remained  silent  for 
some  time. 

''But  they'll  oome  handy  as  leg-wrappeis,  my  friend/'  said 
he,  and  letomed  to  the  balag&n. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

PoTTB  weeks  had  passed  since  Pierre  was  made  prisoner. 
Although  the  French  had  proposed  to  transfer  him  from  the 
privates'  balag&u  to  the  officers',  he  preferred  to  remain  in  the 
one  where  he  had  been  placed  on  the  first  day. 

In  Moscow  plundered  and  burned,  Pierre  experienced  almost 
the  utmost  privations  which  it  is  in  the  power  of  man  to 
endure ;  but  owing  to  his  vigorous  constitution  and  health,  — 
a  blessing  which  he  had  never  realized  till  then,  —  and  espe- 
cially owing  to  the  fact  that  these  privations  had  come  on  him 
so  imperceptibly  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  when  they 
began,  he  not  only  bore  them  easily  but  even  cheerfully. 

And  it  was  at  this  very  time  that  he  began  to  feel  that 
calmness  and  self-satisfaction  which  he  had  before  vainly 
striven  to  attain.  He  had  been  long  seeking  in  various  direc- 
tions for  this  composure  and  self-agreement,  that  quality 
which  had  amazed  him  so  in  the  soldiers  at  the  battle  of 
Borodino :  he  had  sought  it  in  philanthropy,  in  Free-Masonry, 
in  the  diversions  of  fashionable  life,  in  wine,  in  the  heroic 
effort  of  selfnsacrifice,  in  his  romantic  love  for  Natasha.  He 
had  sought  it  in  the  path  of  thought,  and  all  these  efforts  and 
experiments  had  disappointed  him. 

And  now  without  any  effort  or  thought  he  had  discovered 
this  calmness  and  self-contentment  only  by  the  horror  of 
death,  by  privations,  and  by  what  he  had  found  in  Karatayef. 

Those  terrible  moments  which  he  had  passed  through  at  the 
time  of  the  executions  had,  as  it  were,  cleared  forever  from 
his  imagination  and  his  recollection  those  anxious  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  had  formerly  seemed  to  him  of  consequence. 
He  no  longer  thought  about  Russia,  or  the  war,  or  politics,  or 
Napoleon.  It  was  evident  to  him  that  all  this  concerned  him 
not,  that  he  was  not  called  upon,  and  therefore  could  not  judge 
about  all  this. 

"  No  love  is  lost 
'Twixt  Russia  and  frost,"  » 

•  RossiidalUtu^ 
Soyuzxi  ni^tu. 
A  variant  of  the  popular  saw^  nun  i  lUtu—Soyiizu  nUtu.  ~~  "  Winter  and 
summer  have  no  alHanoe." 


102  WAR  AND  PEAC^. 

he  would  say,  quoting  one  of  Karatayef  s  proTerbs^  and  tliese 
words  strangely,  calmed  him. 

His  scheme  of  killing  Napoleon  seemed  to  him  now  vaomr 
prehensible  and  even  absurd,  and  so  also  his  calculations  con- 
cerning the  cabalistic  number  and  the  Beast  of  the  Apocalypse. 
His  indignation  against  his  wife,  and  his  anxiety  that  his 
name  should  not  be  disgraced,  seemed  to  him  now  not  only 
insignificant,  but  even  ludicrous.  What  difference  did  it  make 
to  him  whether  or  not  this  woman  led  the  life  that  best 
pleased  her,  or  where?  Whose  business  was  it  and  what 
difference  did  it  make  to  him  whether  it  were  known  or 
not  known  to  the  French  that  their  prisoner  was  Coant 
Bezukhoi. 

He  now  frequently  recalled  his  conversation  with  Prince 
Andrei  and  fully  agreed  with  him,  except  that  he  understood 
Prince  Andrei's  words  in  a  slightly  different  way. 

Prince  Andrei  thought  and  declared  that  happiness  is 
merely  negative,  but  he  said  this  with  a  shade  of  bitterness 
and  irony.  It  seemed  as  if  in  saying  this  he  had  expressed 
the  corresponding  thought,  —  that  all  our  aspirations  for  real, 
positive  happiness  are  given  to  us  merely  to  torment  us,  with- 
out ever  being  satisfied. 

But  Pierre,  without  any  mental  reservation,  acknowledged 
the  correctness  of  this.  The  absence  of  pain,  the  grati&ar 
tion  of  desires,  and  consequently  the  free  choice  of  occapor 
tionS)  in  other  words,  the  manner  of  life,  seemed  now  to 
Pierre  man's  indubitable  and  highest  happiness. 

Here  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  Pierre  appreciated  the 
pleasure  of  eating  when  he  was  hungry,  of  drinking  when  he 
was  thirsty,  of  sleeping  when  he  was  sleepy,  of  warmth  when 
he  was  cold,  of  converse  with  his  fellow-men  when  he  felt 
like  talking  and  hearing  a  human  voice.  The  gratification  of 
desires,  —  good  food,  cleanliness,  independence, — now  that  he 
was  deprived  of  them  all,  seemed  to  Pierre  perfect  happiness; 
and  the  choice  of  occupation,  —  that  is  life,  —  now  wnen  this 
choice  was  so  limited,  seemed  to  him  such  an  easy  matter 
that  he  forgot  that  the  superfluity  of  the  comforts  of  lif? 
destroyed  all  the  happiness  of  gratifying  the  desires,  while 
great  freedom  in  choice  of  occupations,  that  freedom  which  in 
his  case  was  given  him  by  his  culture,  his  wealth,  his  position 
in  society,  that  such  freedom  is  exactly  what  makes  a  choice 
of  occupations  hopelessly  difficult,  and  destroys  the  veiy 
desire  and  possibility  of  occupation. 

All  Pierre's  thoughts  of  the  future  were  directed  toward 


WAR  AND  PBACn.  163 

the  time  when  he  should  be  free.  But  nevertheless,  after- 
wards, and  all  his  life  long,  Pierre  thought  and  spoke  with 
enthusiasm  of  that  month  of  imprisonment,  of  those  strong 
and  pleasurable  sensations  which  would  never  return  again, 
and  above  all  of  that  utter  spiritual  peace,  of  that  perfect 
inward  freedom,  which  he  had  experienced  only  at  that  time. 

When  on  the  first  day  of  his  imprisonment  he  arose  early 
in  the  morning  and  went  out  at  daybreak  from  the  balagan 
and  saw  the  cupolas,  dim  and  dark  at  first,  the  crosses  on  the 
Kovo-Dievitchy  monasteiy,  saw  the  frosty  dew  on  the  dusty 
grass,  saw  the  tops  of  the  Sparrow  Hills,  and  the  winding 
woody  banks  of  the  river  vanishing  in  the  purple  distance, 
when  he  felt  the  contact  of  the  fresh,  cool  air,  and  heard  the 
cawing  of  the  daws  flying  from  Moscow  across  the  field,  and 
when  afterwards  suddenly  flashed  forth  the  light  from  the 
east,  and  the  disk  of  the  sun  arose  solemnly  above  the  cloud 
and  the  cupolas  and  the  crosses,  and  the  dew  and  the  dis- 
tance and  the  river  all  were  bathed  in  gladsome  light,  then 
Pierre  felt  a  new  sense  of  joy  and  vital  vigor  such  as  he  had 
never  before  experienced. 

And  this  feeling  not  only  did  not  once  leave  him  during  all 
the  time  of  his  imprisonment,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  grew 
more  and  more,  according  as  the  difficulties  of  his  position 
increased. 

This  feeling  of  readiness  for  anything,  of  mond  elevation, 
was  still  more  enhanced  in  Pierre  by  that  lofty  recognition 
which  immediately  on  his  incarceration  in  the  balag&n  he 
began  to  enjoy  among  his  companions. 

Pierre,  by  his  knowledge  of  languages,  by  that  respect 
which  was  shown  him  by  the  French,  by  the  simplicity  with 
which  he  gave  anything  that  was  asked  of  him,  — he  received 
three  rubles  a  week,  the  same  as  the  officers, — by  the  strength 
which  he  manifested  before  the  Soldiers  by  driving  in  the 
pegs  in  the  wall  of  the  balag&n,  by  the  sweetness  of  disposi- 
tion which  he  showed  in  his  treatment  of  his  companions,  by 
his  power,  whicji  they  could  not  understand,  of  sitting  motion- 
less, thinking,  seemed  to  the  soldiers  a  somewhat  mysterious 
and  sux)erior  being. 

Those  very  characteristics  of  his  which  had  been,  if  not 
injurious,  at  least  a  hinderance,  in  that  society  where  he  had 
moved  before,  —  his  strength,  his  scorn  for  the  amenities  of 
life,  his  fits  of  abstraction,  his  simplicity,  —  here,  among  these 
people,  gave  him  almost  the  position  of  a  hero.  And  Pierre 
felt  that  this  view  imposed  responsibilities  upon  him. 


104  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

Thb  French  armies  started  to  retreat  on  the  night  of  the 
eighteenth  of  October.  Kitchens  and  balag&ns  were  dis- 
mantled ;  wagons  were  loaded)  and  the  troops  and  trains  set 
forth. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  marching  trim,  in 
shakos,  with  muskets,  knapsacks,  and  huge  bundles,  thej 
stood  in  front  of  the  balagans,  and  a  lively  interchange  of 
French  talk,  interspersed  with  oaths,  rolled  along  the  whole 
line. 

In  the  balag&n  all  were  ready,  clothed,  belted,  shod,  and 
only  awaiting  the  word  of  command  to  start. 

The  sick  soldier  Sokdlof,  pale  and  thin,  with  livid  circles 
under  his  eves,  was  the  only  one  unshod  and  unclad ;  and  he 
lay  in  his  place,  \ud  his  eyes,  bulging  from  his  very  leanness, 
looked  questioningly  at  his  comrades,  who  paid  no  heed  to 
him  or  his  low  and  regular  groans.  Evidently  it  was  not  so 
much  his  sufferings  —  he  was  ill  with  dysentery  —  as  it  was 
the  fear  and  grief  at  being  left  alone  that  caused  him  to 
groan. 

Pierre,  with  his  feet  shod  in  slippers  fabricated  for  him  fay 
Karatayef  out  of  remnants  of  goatskin  which  a  Frenchman 
had  brought  him  to  make  into  inner  soles  for  his  boots,  and 
belted  with  a  rope,  came  to  the  sick  man  and  squatted  down 
beside  him  on  his  heels. 

''  Now,  see  here,  Sok61of,  they're  not  absolutely  all  going 
away.  They're  going  to  have  a  hospital  here.  l£aybe  yoo.'U 
be  better  off  than  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Pierre. 

<<  Oh,  Lord,  oh !  The  death  of  me  I  Oh,  Lord ! "  groaned 
the  soldier,  louder  than  ever. 

<'  There,  I'll  go  directly  and  ask  them,"  said  Pierre,  and, 
getting  up,  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  balagin. 

Just  as  Pierre  reached  the  door,  the  very  corporal  who^  the 
day  before,  had  offered  Pierre  his  pipe,  appeared  at  the  oat- 
side  with  two  soldiers.  The  corporal  and  the  soldiers  also 
were  in  marching  trim,  with  knapsacks,  and  wearing  shakos 
with  chin-straps  on,  which  gave  a  new  appearance  to  their 
well-known  faces.  The  corporal  approached  the  door  for  the 
purpose  of  locking  it,  according  to  the  order  of  the  aiitiboritie& 
Before  letting  out  the  prisoners  they  had  to  call  the  rolL 

<' Corporal,  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  sick  manf— 


WAIt  AND  PEA  as.  106 

Pierre  began  to  say ;  but  at  the  instant  that  he  said  this,  the 
donbt  arose  in  his  mind  whether  this  was  the  corporal  whom 
he  had  known,  or  an  entirely  different  man :  the  corporal  was 
so  unlike  himself  at  that  instant.  Moreover,  at  the  instant 
that  Pierre  spoke,  on  two  sided  the  rolling  of  drums  was 
suddenly  heard. 

The  corporal  scowled  at  Pierre's  words^  and,  uttering  a 
meaningless  oath,  he  clapped  the  door  to. 

In  the  balagan  there  was  semi-darkness ;  on  two  sides  the 
sharp  rattle  of  the  drums  drowned  the  sick  man's  groans. 

**  Here  it  is  !  — ■■  here  it  is  again  I "  said  Pierre  to  himself, 
and  an  involuntary  chill  ran  down  his  back. 

In  the  changed  face  of  the  corporal,  in  the  sounds  of  his 
voice,  in  the  exciting  and  deafening  rattle  of  the  drums, 
Pierre  recognized  that  mysterious,  unsympathetic  power 
which  compels  men  against  their  wills  to  murder  their  kind, 
that  power  the  working  of  which  he  had  seen  during  the 
executions. 

To  fear  this  power,  to  try  to  escape  it,  to  address  with 
petitions  or  with  reproaches  the  men  who  served  as  its  instru- 
ments, was  idle. 

Pierre  now  realized  this.  It  was  necessary  to  wait  and 
have  patience. 

Pierre  did  not  go  back  to  the  sick  man,  or  even  look  in  his 
direction.  Silent,  scowling,  he  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
balagan. 

When  the  doors  of  the  balag&n  were  thrown  open,  and  the 
prisoners,  crowding  against  each  other,  came  nocking  out, 
Pierre  threw  himself  in  front  of  them  and  went  to  the  very 
captain  who,  according  to  the  corporal's  account,  was  ready  to 
do  anything  for  him. 

This  captain  was  in  marching  trim,  and  from  his  cold  face 
looked  forth  that  same  '^  it "  which  Pierre  had  recognized  in 
the  corporal's  words  and  in  the  rattle  of  the  drums. 

"  jFUez,  fiUz  —  On  with  you  ! "  commanded  the  captain, 
frowning  sternly,  as  he  looked  at  the  prisoners  crowding  past 
him.  Pierre  knew  beforehand  that  his  effort  would,  be 
wasted,  but  still  he  went  up  to  him. 

"  JSh  bieny  qu'est-ee-qu'il y  a?  —  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked 
the  officer  coldly,  scanning  Pierre  as  though  he  did  not  recog- 
nize him. 

Pierre  told  him  about  the  wounded. 

"  He  can  walk,  the  devil  take  him ! "  replied  the  captain. 
^Filezj  fiUzP^  he  went  on  saying,  not  looking  at  Pierre. 


lOS  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  No,  but  he  is  dying,"  began  Pierre. 

"  Go  to  the ! "  cried  the  captain,  scowling  wrathfully. 

Drarnrdordardarhrdamrdam  went  the  rattle  of  the  drama. 
And  Pierre  realized  that  this  mysterious  force  was  already  in 
full  possession  of  these  men,  and  that  to  say  anything  now 
was  useless. 

The  officers  among  the  prisoners  were  separated  from  the 
privates  and  ordered  to  go  forward.  The  officers,  including 
Pierre,  numbered  thirty,  the  privates  three  hundred. 

The  officers  who  were  taken  out  of  the  other  prison-bala- 
g&ns  were  otherwise  and  far  better  dressed  than  Pierre,  and 
they  looked  at  him  and  his  foot-gear  with  distrust  and  even 
repulsion. 

Not  far  from  Pierre  marched  a  stout  major  in  a  fine  Kazan 
khalat,  belted  with  a  towel,  with  a  puffy,  sallow,  cross  face, 
who  evidently  enjoyed  general  distinction  among  his  fellow- 
prisoners.  He  kept  one  hand  holding  his  tobacco-poueh  in 
his  bosom ;  in  the  other  he  clutched  his  pipe.  This  major, 
puffing  and  breathing  hard,  growled  and  scolded  at  every- 
body because  it  seemed  to  him  they  were  pushing  him,  and 
were  in  a  hurry,  when  there  was  no  sense  in  being  in  a  hurry, 
and  were  wondering  at  everything  wheti  there  was  nothing  to 
wonder  at. 

Another  officer,  a  little  lean  man,  was  chattering  with 
every  one,  expressing  his  suppositions  as  to  where  they  were 
to  be  taken  now,  and  how  far  they  would  succeed  in  moving 
that  da^. 

A  chinovnik,  in  felt  boots  and  wearing  the  uniform  of  the 
commissariat  department,  ran  from  one  side  to  another  and 
gazed  at  the  burned  city,  loudly  communicating  his  specular 
tions  in  regard  to  the  buildings  burned,  or  whether  it  was 
this  or  that  part  of  Moscow  where  they  were. 

A  third  officer,  of  Polish  origin,  judging  by  his  accent, 
disputed  with  the  commissariat  chinovnik,  arguing  that  he 
was  mistaken  in  his  identification  of  the  different  parts  of 
Moscow.  ^ 

"  What  are  you  disputing  about  ? "  angrily  asked  the 
major.  "  Whether  Nikola  or  Vlas,  *tis  all  one ;  can't  you  see 
'tis  all  burnt,  and  that's  the  end  of  it?  .  .  .  What  are  you 
pushing  so  for?  isn't  there  room  enough?"  he  excliunied, 
turning  wrathfully  on  the  one  next  to  him,  who  did  not  even 
touch  him. 

"Al!  al!  al!  what  have  they  done!"  was  heard  on  all 
sides  as  the  prisoners  gazed  at  the  ruins  wrought  by  the 
conflagration. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  107 

''The  ward  across  the  river*  and  Zubovo  and  even  in  the 

Kreml ! " 

'*  Look !  half  of  the  city's  gone  ! " 

''  Yes,  and  I  told  you  that  the  ward  across  the  river  was 
burnt,  and  there !  you  see,  it  is  so  ! " 

''Well,  now  you  know  it's  burnt,  and  what's  the  use  of 
talking  about  it  ?  "  grumbled  the  major. 

As  they  passed  through  Kham6vniki,t  one  of  the  few 
unscathed  quarters  of  Moscow,  and  went  by  a  church,  the 
whole  throng  of  prisoners  suddenly  swerved  to  one  side,  and 
exclamations  of  horror  and  disgust  were  heard:-* 

"  Oh,  the  scoundrels ! " 

"  Aren't  they  heathens  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  a  c<»rp6e,  it's  a  corpse  !  *' 

"  They've  smeared  his  face  with  something." 

Pierre  also  moved  toward  the  church,  where  the  object 
that  had  called  forth  the  exclamations  was,  and  he  vaguely 
discerned  something  leaning  up  against  the  walls  of  the 
church. 

From  the  words  of  his  comrades  who  had  better  eyesight 
than  he,  he  made  out  that  this  object  was  a  man's  dead  body, 
placed  in  a  standing  posture  by  the  fence,  and  with  its  face 
smeared  with  lamp-black. 

'<  Marchez  I  ScLcre  nom  f  Filez  /  .  ,  .  trente  mille  diables  !  " 
shouted  the  soldiers  of  the  guard ;  and  the  French  soldiers, 
with  fierce  objurgations  and  abuse,  applied  their  sabres  to 
drive  on  the  throng  of  the  prisoners,  who  had  stopped  to  gaze 
at  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Ok  the  streets  that  crossed  Khamovniki,  the  prisoners 
marched  along  with  their  convoy  and  the  wagons  and  teams 
that  belonged  to  the  soldiers  composing  it  and  followed 
behind  them ;  but  when  they  reached  a  storehouse  of  provis- 
ions, they  found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendous 
detachment  of  artillery,  moving  in  close  order,  which  had  got 
mixed  up  with  a  number  of  private  conveyances. 

On  the  bridge  itself  a  hdt  was  called,  and  they  all  waited 
for  those  in  the  van  to  move  on.    From  the  bridge  the  prison- 

•  The  Zamotkvorietchye. 

t  The  Weaven'.  Count  Tolstoi's  present  Moscow  residence  is  in  Kha- 
in<$Tniki. 


108  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

era  oould  see  before  them  and  behind  them  endless  lines  of 
moving  vehicles. 

At  the  right,  where  the  Kaluga  road  bends  away  past 
Neskutchnui,  stretched  endless  files  of  troops  and  trains,  dis- 
appearing in  the  distance.  These  were  the  troops  belonging 
to  Beauharnais's  corps,  which  had  left  the  city  before  the  others. 

Behind,  along  the  Kdberezhnaya  quai  and  across  the  Kimen- 
nui  Most  or  Stone  Bridge,  stretched  the  troops  and  trains  of 
Ney. 

Davoust's  troops,  in  whose  charge  the  prisoners  were,  had 
crossed  the  Kruimsky  Brod,  or  Crimean  Ford  Bridge,  and 
already  some  of  the  divisions  were  debouching  into  Kaluga 
Street.  But  the  teams  stretched  out  so  endlessly  that  the 
last  ones  belonging  to  Beauhamais's  division  had  not  yet  leffc 
Moscow  to  enter  Kaluga  Street,  while  the  head  of  Nay's 
troops  had  already  left  Bolshaya  Orduinka. 

After  the  prisoners  had  crossed  the  Crimean  Ford  Bridge, 
they  moved  on  some  little  distance,  and  were  halted,  and  then 
moved  on  again,  while  from  all  sides  equipages  and  men  were 
blocked  together  more  and  more.  After  marching  more  than 
an  hour,  accomplishing  those  few  hundred  steps  which  sepa- 
rated the  bridge  from  Kaluga  Street,  and  reaching  the  square 
where  Kaluga  Street  and  the  Trans-Moskva  Streets  meet,  the 
prisoners,  closely  squeezed  into  one  group,  were  hsdted  again 
and  kept  standing  for  some  hours  at  the  crossway. 

In  every  direction  was  heard  the  incessant  roar  of  carriages 
like  the  tumult  of  the  sea,  and  trampling  of  feet  and  incessant 
shouts  and  curses.  Pierre  stood  crushed  up  against  the  wall 
of  a  house  that  had  been  exposed  to  the  names,  and  listened 
to  this  uproar,  which  blended  in  his  imagination  with  the 
rattle  of  the  drum. 

Several  of  the  officers  in  the  group  of  prisoners,  in  order  to 
get  a  better  v^ew,  climbed  up  on  the  wall  of  the  house  next 
which  Pierre  was  standing. 

"  What  crowds  of  people  !  oh,  what  crowds ! "  —  "  They're 
even  riding  on  the  guns !  See  the  furs ! "  they  exdaimedL 
"  Oh !  the  carrion-eaters  I  what  thieves ! "  —  "  Look  yonder,  on 
that  telyega ! "  —  "  Do  you  see  that,  they've  got  an  ikon,  by 
God ! " — 

"Those  must  be  Germans."  —  "And  our  muzhiks,  by 
God ! " — 

"  Akh  I  the  scoundrels  ! "  —  "  See  how  they're  loaded  down, 
much  as  they  can  do  to  get  along  1  And  {here'$  pne  ^t  % 
drozhskjr  —  they  stole  even  thftt  I "  — 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  109 

''  See !  he's  sitting  on  the  tranks !  Ye  saints ! "  —  '^  Theie 
they're  having  a  fight"  — 

*'  See  I  he  hit  him  in  the  snout,  right  in  the  snout ! " 

^*  At  this  rate  they  won't  get  through  till  night ! "  •*— 

'^  Look !  Just  look !  Those  must  be  Napoleon's !  See 
what  fine  horses !    With  monogram  and  crown ! "  — 

^'  That  was  a  fine  house !"  —  "  See,  he's  dropped  a  bag  and 
didn't  notice  it ! "  — 

"  There !  they're  fighting  again ! "  — 

'^ There's  a  woman  with  a  baby!  Not  so  bad-looking 
either ! "  — 

"  See !  There's  no  end  to  it.  Russian  wenches  I  there's  the 
wenches  for  you,  by  God ! " — 

"  They're  having  an  easy  time  in  that  carriage  there,  hey  ! " 

Again  the  wave  of  general  curiosity,  just  as  had  been  the 
ease  at  the  church  at  Khamovniki,  drove  all  the  prisoners  into 
the  street;  and  Pierre,  thanks  to  his  stature,  could,  over  the 
Leads  of  the  others,  see  what  had  so  awakened  the  curiosity  of 
the  prisoners :  in  three  calashes,  jammed  in  among  some  artil- 
lery caissons,  rode  several  women,  sitting  close  together, 
adorned  with  bright  colors,  painted,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of 
their  sharp  voices. 

From  the  moment  that  Pierre  recognized  the  re-appearance 
of  that  mysterious  power,  nothing  seemed  to  him  strange  or 
terrible;  neither  the  corpse  smeared  with  lamp-black  for  a 
joke,  nor  these  women  hastening  no  one  knew  where,  nor  the 
conflagration  that  had  destroyed  Moscow.  All  that  he  now 
saw  produced  scarcely  anv  impression  upon  him  —  as  though 
his  soul,  preparing  for  a  nard  struggle,  refused  to  submit  to 
any  impressions  that  might  render  it  weaker. 

The  teams  with  the  women  drove  past.  Again  behind  them 
stretched  on  telyegas,  soldiers,  baggage  wagons,  soldiers, 
powder-trains,  carriages,  soldiers,  caissons,  soldiers,  and  here 
and  there  women. 

Pierre  could  not  distinguish  faces,  but  he  could  make  out 
the  general  movement  of  the  masses. 

All  these  people  and  these  horses  seemed  to  be  driven  forth 
by  some  invisible  force.  All  of  them,  during  the  course  of  the 
hour  that  Pierre  spent  in  watching  them,  came  pouring  forth 
from  different  streets  with  one  and  the  same  wish,  to  get  along 
as  rapidly  as  possible ;  all  of  them  were  alike  apt  to  interfere 
with  each  other,  to  quarrel,  even  to  come  to  blows.  White 
teeth  were  displayed,  brows  scowled,  oaths  and  curses  inter- 
mingled, and  all  faces  bore  one  and  that  same  youthfully 


no  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

resolute  and  cruelly  cold  expression  which,  that  morning,  had 
struck  Pierre  in  the  corporal's  face  at  the  sound  of  the 
drum. 

Some  time  before  nightfall  the  chef  of  the  convoy  mastered 
his  command,  and  with  shouts  and  disputes  marched  them  in 
amongst  the  teams,  and  the  prisoners,  guarded  on  every  side, 
debouched  into  the  Kaluga  road. 

They  proceeded  very  rapidly,  without  stopping  to  rest,  and 
only  halted  at  sunset.  The  teams  ran  into  each  other,  and  the 
men  prepared  for  their  night  encampment.  All  seemed  angiy 
and  dissatisfied.  It  was  long  before  the  curses  and  shoots 
and  blows  ceased  on  all  sides.  A  private  carriage,  that  bad 
been  following  the  prisoners'  guard,  came  up  against  one  of  the 
wagons  belonging  to  the  same,  and  the  pole  ran  into  it 
Several  soldiers  ran  up  from  various  sides ;  some  struck  the 
heads  of  the  horses  that  drew  the  private  carriage,  and  tried 
to  turn  them  aside ;  others  squabbled  among  themselves,  and 
Pierre  saw  a  German  severely  wounded  in  the  head  with  a 
short  sabre. 

It  seemed  as  if  all  these  people,  now  that  they  found  them- 
selves in  the  open  country  in  tne  chill  twilight  of  an  autumn 
evening,  experienced  one  and  the  same  feeling  of  disagreeable 
re-action  which  had  come  on  after  the  haste  and  excitement 
that  had  occupied  them  all  during  the  march.  They  halted 
all  as  though  they  realized  that  it  was  inevitable  that  they 
should  still  move  forward  somewhere,  and  that  in  this  march 
there  would  be  much  that  was  stem  and  hard. 

During  this  halt,  the  soldiers  in  charge  of  the  prisoners 
treated  them  far  worse  than  they  had  during  the  march.  At 
this  halt  horse-flesh  was  for  the  first  time  served  out  to  the 
prisoners. 

From  officers  down  to  humblest  soldiers,  all  seemed  alike  to 
feel,  as  it  were,  a  personal  sense  of  anger  against  each  one  of 
the  prisoners,  all  the  more  noticeable  from  the  imexpected 
change  from  their  former  friendliness. 

This  ill  will  grew  more  and  more  pronounced,  when,  at  call- 
ing the  roll  of  the  prisoners,  it  transpired  that  during  the 
bustle  attendant  upon  leaving  Moscow  a  Russian  soldier, 
feigning  to  be  ill  with  colic,  had  escaped. 

Pierre  saw  a  Frenchman  strike  a  Eussian  soldier  for  having 
strayed  away  from  the  road  too  far ;  and  he  heard  the  captain, 
his  friend,  reprunand  a  non-commissioned  ofiioer  for  the 
escape  of  the  Kussian  soldier^  and  threaten  him  with  couit- 
martial. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  Ill 

At  the  corporal's  excuse  that  the  soldier  was  ill,  and  could 
not  march,  the  officer  replied  that  it  was  commanded  to  shoot 
those  who  had  to  be  left. 

Pierre  felt  that  that  fateful  power  which  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  him  during  the  executions,  aud  which  had  been  in 
abeyance  during  the  time  of  his  imprisonment,  now  once 
more  ruled  his  existence. 

It  was  terrible  to  him ;  but  he  felt  that  in  proportion  to  the 
efforts  made  by  this  fateful  force  to  crush  him,  in  his  own 
sold  waxed  and  strengthened  the  force  of  life  that  was  inde- 
pendent of  it. 

Pierre  made  his  supper  of  rye-meal  porridge  and  horse-flesh, 
and  chatted  with  his  comrades. 

Neither  Pierre  nor  any  of  his  companions  said  a  word  of  what 
they  had  seen  in  Moscow,  or  about  the  cruelty  of  the  French, 
or  about  the  order  to  have  stragglers  shot,  which  had  been 
explained  to  them :  all  of  them  were  especially  cheerful  and 
lively,  as  though  to  counteract  the  wretchedness  of  their  posi- 
tion. They  called  up  their  personal  recollections,  and  the 
comical  incidents  which  they  had  seen  during  the  march,  and 
avoided  all  mention  of  their  actual  position. 

The  sun  had  long  ago  set;  the  bright  stars  were  every- 
where glittering  in  the  sky;  along  the  horizon  spread  the 
ruddy  glow  of  the  rising  full  moon  like  the  glare  of  a  conflag- 
ration, and  soon  the  huge  red  globe  hung  swaying  wonder- 
fully in  the  grayish  mists.  It  grew  light.  The  evening  was 
over,  but  the  night  had  not  fairly  begun. 

Pierre  left  his  new  comrades,  and,  stepping  among  the  watch- 
fires,  started  to  cross  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  where  he 
had  been  told  the  privates  of  the  prisoner  party  were  en- 
camped. He  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  them.  But  a  sen- 
tinel halted  him  on  the  road  and  ordered  him  back. 

Pierre  returned,  but  not  to  the  watch-fire,  to  his  companions, 
but  to  an  unharnessed  wagon  where  there  was  no  one.  Doub- 
ling up  his  legs  and  dropping  his  head,  he  sat  down  on  the  cold 
ground  by  the  wagon-wheel,  and  remained  there  long  motion- 
less, thinking. 

More  than  an  hour  passed  in  that  way.  No  one  disturbed 
him. 

Suddenly  he  burst  out  into  a  loud  and  burly  peal  of  jovial 
laughter,  so  loud  that  men  gathered  round  from  various  direc- 
tions in  amazement,  to  see  what  caused  this  strange  and  soli- 
tary fit  of  laughter. 

^*  Ha  1  ha  I  ha ! ''  roared  Pierre^  and  he  went  on  talking 


112  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

aloud  to  himself.  ^'The  soldier  would  not  let  ne  ptBflL  I 
was  caught,  I  was  shut  up.  They  still  keep  me  as  toeir  piis- 
oner.  Who  am  I?  I?  I?  —  my  immortal  soul!  Ha!  ka! 
ha ! "  and  he  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks^ 

Some  one  got  up  and  came  over  to  see  what  this  strai^e,  In^ 
man  found  to  laugh  at  all  alone  by  himself.  Pierre  ceased  te 
laugh,  got  up,  went  off  to  some  distance  from  t^e  iaqoisitife 
man,  and  glanced  around  him. 

The  huge,  endless  bivouac,  which  shortly  before  had  beee 
noisy  with  the  crackling  of  camp-fires  and  the  voices  of  men, 
was  now  silent  x  the  ruddy  fires  were  dying  down  and  paling. 
High  in  the  bright  sky  stood  the  full  moon.  Forest  and  fidd, 
before  invisible  beyond  the  confines  of  the  bivoaac,  oould 
be  seen  stretching  far  away.  And  still  farther  beyond 
forests  and  fields  the  eye  followed  the  bright,  quivering,  aUni* 
ing,  infinite  distance. 

Pierre  gazed  up  into  the  sky,  into  the  depths  of  the  maieh* 
ing  host  of  twinkling  stars. 

<' And  all  that  is  mine,  and  all  that  is  in  me,  and  all  that  is 
me,"  thought  Pierre.  ''And  they  took  all  that  and  abut  it  in 
a  hut  made  of  boards  ! " 

He  smiled,  and  went  back  to  his  comrades,  and  lay  doim  to 
sleep. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Toward  the  middle  of  October,  a  messenger  caoie  to 
Kutuzof  with  still  another  letter  from  Napoleon,  and  a  pro- 
posal for  peace.  It  was  deceitfully  dated  from  Moscow,  since 
at  that  time  Napoleon  was  not  far  in  advance  of  Kutnsof  on 
the  old  Kaluga  highway. 

Kutuzof  replied  to  this  letter  exactly  as  he  had  replied  to 
the  first  one  with  which  Lauriston  had  been  sent :  he  dedaied 
that  there  could  he  no  question  of  peace. 

Shortly  after  this,  word  was  received  from  Doiokho^  who 
was  in  command  of  a  band  of  "  partisans  "  operating  at  tko 
left  of  Tanitiuo,  that  the  enemy  had  appeared  in  Fominekoye, 
that  these  troops  consisted  of  Broussier's  division,  and  that 
this  division,  being  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  army,  mi^ 
be  easily  destroyed. 

Soldiers  and  officers  again  demanded  offensive  operatioiia 
The  staff  generals,  animated  by  their  remembrance  of  the 
victory  at  Tarutino,  brought  all  their  influence  to  bear 
Kutuzof  to  grant  Doi*okhof 's  proposed. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.,  118 

Kutnzof  considered  it  unnecessary  to  make  any  attack.  A 
middle  coorse  was  adopted :  a  small  detachment  was  sent  to 
Fominskoye,  charged  to  attack  Broussier. 

By  an  odd  coincidence,  this  operation  —  most  difficult  and 
inost  important,  as  it  turned  out,  in  its  consequences  —  was 
intrusted  to  Dokhturof — that  same  modest  little  Dokhturof 
whom  no  one  ever  thought  of  describing  for  us  as  concocting 
plans  for  engagements,  flying  at  the  head  of  regiments,  scat- 
tering crosses  on  the  batteries,  and  so  on ;  who  was  considered 
and  counted  irresolute  and  lacking  in  penetration,  but  never- 
theless that  same  Dokhturof  whom,  during  all  the  wars  be- 
tween the  Russians  and  the  French,  from  Austerlitz  until 
1813,  we  find  always  in  command  where  there  was  anything 
difficult  to  do. 

At  Austerlitz,  he  stays  until  the  last  on  the  dike  of  Augest, 
re-forming  the  regiments,  saving  what  he  can,  when  all  are 
fleeing  and  perishing,  and  not  one  general  is  left  in  the  rear. 

Though  ill  with  fever,  he  goes  to  Smolensk  with  twenty 
thousand  men  to  defend  the  city  against  the  whole  army  of 
Napoleon.  At  Smolensk,  he  had  just  caught  a  wink  of  sleep 
at  the  Malakhof  gates,  during  a  paroxysm  of  his  fever,  when 
he  is  awakened  by  the  cannonade  of  the  city,  and  Smolensk 
holds  out  the  whole  day. 

In  the  battle  of  Borodino,  when  Bagration  is  struck  down, 
and  nine  men  in  every  ten  from  among  the  troops  of  our  left 
flank  are  killed,  and  all  the  force  of  the  French  artillery  fire 
is  concentrated  in  that  direction,  no  one  else  but  Dokhturof^ 
irresolute  and  lacking  in  penetration,  is  sent  there,  and  Kutu- 
zof  makes  haste  to  retrieve  the  blunder  which  he  had  made  in 
sending  some  one  else  there.  And  the  little,  mild  Dokhturof 
goes  there,  and  Borodino  becomes  the  brightest  glory  of  the 
Euasian  arms.  And  many  heroes  have  been  celebrated  by  us 
in  verse  and  prose,  but  of  Dokhturof  scarcely  a  word  ! 

Again,  Dokhturof  is  sent  to  Fominskoye  and  from  there  to 
Malui  Yaroslavetz,  to  the  place  where  the  last  battle  with  the 
French  took  place,  and  where  evidently  the  destruction  of  the 
French  began  ;  and  again  many  heroes  and  geniuses  have  been 
celebrated  by  us  at  that  period  in  the  campaign,  but  of  Dokh- 
turof never  a  word,  or  almost  nothing,  or  half-heartedly.  This 
silence  concerning  Dokhturof  more  palpably  than  aught  else 
proves  his  merit. 

Naturally,  for  a  man  who  understands  not  the  working  of  a 
machine,  it  seems,  on  first  seeing  it  in  motion,  that  the  most 
important  part  of  it  is  the  shaving  which  accidentally  got  into 

TOL.4.— 8. 


114  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

it,  and,  while  interfering  with  its  movement,  makes  a  bozaing 
noise.  The  man,  not  knowing  the  virtues  of  the  machine,  can- 
not comprehend  that  not  this  shaving  vitiating  and  deranging 
the  works,  but  that  little  distributing  cog-wheel  which  tuna 
noiselessly,  is  the  most  essential  part  of  the  machine. 

On  the  twentj'Second  of  October,  the  same  day  on  which 
Dokhturof  traversed  the  half  of  the  road  toward  Fominskoye, 
and  had  halted  in  the  village  of  Aristovo,  preparing  him^ 
accurately  to  carry  out  the  orders  that  had  been  given  him, 
the  whole  French  army,  in  its  spasmodic  motion  moving  down 
as  far  as  Murat's  position,  as  though  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
battle,  suddenly,  without  any  reason,  swerved  to  the  left  to 
the  new  Kaluga  highway,  and  moved  toward  Fominskoye^ 
where  shortly  before  only  Broussier  had  been. 

Dokhturof,  at  this  time,  had  under  his  command^  with  the 
exception  of  Dorokhof's  men,  only  the  two  small  divisions  of 
Figner  and  Seslavin. 

On  the  afternoon  of  October  twenty-third,  Seslavin  came  to 
the  commander  at  Aristovo  with  a  French  guardsman,  who 
had  been  taken  prisoner.  The  prisoner  said  that  the  troops 
which  had  that  day  occupied  Fominskoye  consisted  of  the 
vanguard  of  the  main  army,  that  Kapoleon  was  there,  that 
the  whole  army  had  left  Moscow  on  the  seventeenth. 

That  same  evening  a  domestic  serf,  who  had  come  from 
Borovsko,  declared  that  he  had  seen  a  tremendous  host  enter- 
ing the  town. 

The  Cossacks  of  Dorokhof  s  division  brought  word  that  thej 
had  seen  the  French  guard  marching  along  the  road  to 
Borovsko. 

From  all  these  rumors  it  was  evident  that  at  that  plaiee 
where  they  expected  to  find  a  single  division  was  now  the 
whole  army  of  the  French,  which  had  marched  out  of  Moscow 
in  an  unexpected  route  —  along  the  old  Kaluga  highway. 

Dokhturof  was  loath  to  make  any  demonstration,  since  it 
was  not  now  at  all  clear  to  him  what  it  was  his  duty  to  da 
He  had  been  commanded  to  attack  Fominskoye. 

But  where  before  Broussier  had  been  alone  in  Fominskoye, 
now  there  was  the  whole  French  army. 

Yermolof  wanted  to  act  on  his  own  judgment,  but  Dokhturof 
insisted  that  it  was  necessary  to  have  orders  from  his  serene 
highness.  It  was  determined  to  send  a  messenger  back  to 
headquarters. 

For  this  duty  was  chosen  a  highly  intelligent  o£Scer,  BcJ- 
khovitinof,  who,  in  addition  to  the  written  report^  was  to  give 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  115 

a  verbal  report  of  the  whole  matter.  At  midnight  Bolkhoviti- 
nof,  having  received  the  envelope  and  the  verbal  message, 
galloped  off,  accompanied  by  a  Cossack,  with  extra  horses,  to 
headquarters. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

It  was  a  dark,  warm,  aatnmn  night.  There  had  been  a 
steady  rain  for  four  days.  After  changing  horses  twice,  and 
riding  thirty  versts  in  an  hour  and  a  half  over  the  muddy, 
sticky  road,  Bolkhovitinof  reached  Letashevko  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Dismounting  in  front  of  an  izba,  on  the 
wattled  fence  of  which  was  the  sign,  "  Glavnui  Shtap,'-'  or 
'^  Headquarters,"  and  throwing  the  bridle  to  his  Cossack,  he 
went  into  the  dark  entry. 

"  The  general  on  duty,  instantly !  Very  important ! "  he 
exclaimed  to  some  one,  who  had  been  snoring  in  the  darkness 
of  the  entry  and  started  up. 

"  He  was  very  unwell  last  evening ;  he  hasn't  slept  for  two 
nights,"  whispered  a  denshchik's  voice,  apologetically.  '*  Bet- 
ter wake  the  captain  first." 

"Very  important  —  from  Greneral  Dokhturof,"  said  Bol- 
khovitinof, entering  the  door  which  was  held  open  for  him. 
The  denshchik  led  the  way,  and  tried  to  awaken  some  one. 

"  Your  nobility  I  your  nobility  !  —  A  courier  I " 

"  What,  what  is  it  ?  From  whom  ?  "  exclaimed  some  one's 
sleepy  voice. 

"  From  Dokhturof  and  from  Aleksei  Petrovitch.  Napoleon 
is  at  Fominskoye,"  said  Bolkhovitinof,  not  being  able  to  make 
out,  by  reason  of  the  darkness,  who  it  was  that  was  question- 
ing him,  but  judging  by  the  sound  of  the  voice  that  it  was  not 
Konovnitsuiu. 

The  man  who  had  been  aroused  yawned  and  stretched  him- 
self. 

"  I  don't  like  to  wake  him,"  said  he,  fumbling  about  for 
something.     "  He's  very  sick.    Maybe  it's  a  rumor." 

"Here  is  the  despatch,"  said  Bolkhovitinof.  "I  was 
ordered  to  hand  it  instantly  to  the  general  on  duty." 

"  Wait,  I  will  strike  a  light.  Where  are  you,  you  scamp, 
always  asleep ! "  he  cried,  addressing  the  denshchik. 

This  was  Shcherbmin,  Konovnitsuin's  adjutant.  "  I  have 
found  it,  I  have  found  it,"  he  added. 

The  denshchik  kindled  a  light    Shcherb£nin   had   been 


lie  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

searching  for  the  candlestick.    ^'Akh!  the  wvetdied  biai- 
ness  ! "  he  cried,  with  disgust. 

By  the  candle-light  Bolkhovitinof  saw  Shcherbinin's  youtli- 
f ul  face,  and  in  the  opposite  corner  a  man  still  sound  asle^ 
This  was  Konovnitsuin. 

When  the  tinder  flared  up  first  with  blue  and  then  with 
ruddy  flame,  Shcherbmin  lit  the  tallow  candle,  from  which  the 
cockroaches  that  had  been  feasting  on  it  dropped  to  the 
ground,  and  stared  at  the  messenger. 

Bolkhovitinof  was  all  mud,  and  in  wiping  his  face  on  his 
sleeve  he  smeared  it  all  over  him. 

<^  Who  brought  the  news  ?  "  asked  Shcherb(nin,  taking  the 
envelope. 

"  The  news  is  trustworthy,"  replied  Bolkhovitinof.  "  The 
prisoners  and  the  Cossack  and  the  scouts  are  all  unanimous  in 
saying  the  same  thing." 

"We  can't  help  it  —  must  wake  him,"  said  ShcberlMniii, 
getting  up  and  going  over  to  the  man  asleep  in  a  nightcap,  and 
covered  with  a  cloak. 

«  Piotr  Petrovitch  I "  he  called. 

Konovnitsuin  did  not  stir. 

"  Headquarters  ! "  he  cried,  with  a  smile,  knowing  that  that 
would  assuredly  waken  him.  And,  in  point  of  fact,  the  bead 
in  the  nightcap  was  immediately  lifted.  In  Konovnitsuin's 
handsome,  resolute  face,  with  the  cheeks  inflamed  with  fever, 
there  remained  for  an  instant  the  expression  of  the  visions  of 
sleep,  far  enough  removed  from  the  reality ;  but  suddenly  he 
shivered ;  his  face  assumed  its  ordinarily  calm  and  resolute 
expression. 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  it  ?  From  whom  ?  "  he  asked,  not 
hastily,  but  without  unnecessary  delay,  blinking  his  eyes  at  the 
light. 

On  hearing  the  officer's  report,  Konovnitsuin  broke  the  seal 
and  read  the  letters.  He  had  hardly  finished  reading  them 
before  he  set  his  feet  in  woollen  stockings  down  on  the  earth 
floor,  and  began  to  put  on  his  shoes.  Then  he  took  off  his 
cap,  and,  running  the  comb  through  the  locks  on  his  templeSr 
he  put  on  his  forage  cap. 

"  Did  you  come  quickly  ?  Let  us  go  to  his  serene  high- 
ness." 

Konovnitsuin  immediately  realized  that  this  news  was  of 
the  greatest  impoitance,  and  that  it  brooked  no  delay.  He 
did  not  take  into  consideration,  or  even  ask  himself,  whether 
it  were  good  news  or  bad  news.     This  did  not  interest  him. 


WAR  ANb  PEACE.  117 

He  looked  on  the  whole  business  of  war  not  with  his  intellect 
nor  with  his  reason,  but  with  something  else.  His  soul  had  a 
deep  but  unexpressed  conviction  that  aJl  would  be  well ;  but 
the  confessioii  or  expression  of  this  faith  that  was  in  him 
s^med  to  him  entirely  unnecessaiy :  he  had  only  to  do  his 
duty.    And  his  duty  he  did,  giving  to  it  all  his  powers. 

Fiotr  Petroritch  Konomitsuin,  just  like  Dokhturof,  seeni* 
iiigly  out  of  mere  formality,  had  his  name  inscribed  on  the  list 
of  the  so-called  heroes  of  1812,  —  the  Barclays,  the  Rayev- 
ttkys,  the  Termolofs,  the  Platofs,  the  Miloradovitches ;  just 
like  Dokhturof,  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  man  of  very 
limited  capacity  and  talent;  and  again,  like  Dokhturof^ 
Konovnitsuin  never  made  plans  of  battles,  but  he  was  always 
found  where  the  greatest  difficulties  were  to  be  met.  Ever 
since  his  appointment  as  general  on  duty  he  had  slept  with  an 
open  door,  insisting  that  he  should  be  awakened  whenever  a 
courier  should  come ;  in  battle  he  was  always  under  fire,  so 
that  Kutuzof  chided  him  for  exposing  himself  recklessly,  and 
for  that  reason  dreaded  to  send  him  into  service ;  and  thus 
again,  like  Dokhturof,  he  was  one  of  these  invisible  springs 
which,  without  fuss  or  racket,  constitute  the  most  essential 
part  of  the  machine. 

On  coming  out  from  the  izba  into  the  damp,  dark  night, 
Konovnitsuin  scowled,  partly  because  his  headache  had  grown 
worse,  and  partly  from  the  disagreeable  thought  that  occurred 
to  him,  that  now,  at  this  news,  would  be  aroused  all  that  nest 
of  influential  men  connected  with  the  staff,  and  especially  Be- 
nigsen,  who  since  Tarutino  had  been  at  swords'  points  with 
Kutuzof.  How  they  would  propose,  discuss,  give  orders,  in- 
terfere! And  this  presentiment  was  disagreeable  to  him, 
although  he  knew  that  it  was  inevitable. 

In  point  of  fact.  Toll,  to  whom  he  went  to  communicate  this 
news,  immediately  began  to  lay  down  his  ideas  for  the  benefit 
of  the  general  who  shared  his  lodgings  with  him  ;  and  Kono- 
vnitsuin, after  listening  in  silence  until  he  was  tired,  reminded 
him  that  they  ought  to  go  to  his  serene  highness's. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Kutuzof,  like  all  old  people,  slept  little  at  night.  In  the 
daytime  he  frequently  dozed  at  unexpected  times,  but  at  night) 
throwing  himself,  still  dressed^  down  on  his  couch,  he  would 
lie  awake  and  think. 


118  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Thus  it  was  at  this  time.  He  was  lying  on  his  bed,  leanii^ 
his  heavy,  big,  scarred  head  on  his  fat  hand,  and  thinking,  his 
one  eye  staring  out  into  the  darkness.  Since  Beuigaen,  who 
was  in  correspondence  with  the  sovereign,  and  had  more  influ- 
ence with  the  staff  than  any  one  else,  had  kept  out  of  his  way, 
Kutuzof  was  more  at  ease  in  reference  to  his  being  urged  again 
to  let  the  troops  take  part  in  useless  offensive  movements.  The 
lesson  of  the  battle  of  Tarutino  and  of  the  day  before  it,  ever 
memorable  to  Kutu2of,  must  have  its  effect,  he  thought. 

''  They  must  understand  that  it  can  only  be  a  losing  game 
with  us  to  act  on  the  offensive.  Patience  and  Tirn^  they  are 
my  warrior-heroes,"  said  Kutuzof  to  himself. 

He  knew  that  it  was  not  best  to  pluck  the  apple  while  it 
was  green.  It  would  fall  of  itself  when  it  got  ripe ;  but  if  yon 
pluck  it  green,  then  it  spoils  the  apple  and  the  tree,  and  sets 
your  teeth  on  edge  as  well. 

Like  an  experienced  huntsman,  he  knew  that  the  wild  beast 
was  wounded, — wounded  as  only  the  whole  force  of  Kussit 
could  wound ;  but  whether  the  wound  was  mortal  or  not  was  as 
yet  an  undecided  question. 

Now,  by  the  sending  of  Lauriston  and  Berthemi,  and  by  the 
reports  of  the  guerillas,  Kutuzof  was  almost  certain  that  the 
wound  was  mortal. 

But  proofs  were  still  requisite :  it  was  necessary  to  wail 

"  They  want  to  rush  forward  and  see  how  they  have  killed 
him.  Wait,  and  you'll  see.  Always  '  manoeuvres,'  always 
*  offensive  movements ! ' "  he  said  to  himself.  "  What  for  ?  So 
as  to  gain  distinction.  One  would  think  there  was  somethinf 
jolly  in  this  fighting.  They  are  just  like  children,  from  whom 
you  can't  expect  reason,  for  the  whole  business  lies  in  the  face 
that  they  all  want  to  prove  how  well  they  can  fight.  But  that 
is  not  the  case  now.  And  what  fine  manoeuvres  they  are 
always  proposing  to  me !  It  seems  to  them  that  when  they 
have  devised  two  or  three  chances  "  — he  was  thinking  about  the 
general  plan  sent  from  Petersburg  —  ''they  have  exhausted 
the  list,  but  there's  no  end  to  them." 

The  vexed  question  whether  the  Wild  Beast  was  mortaDy 
wounded  or  not  at  Borodino  had  been  for  more  than  a  monlh 
suspended  over  Kutuzof  s  head. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  French  had  taken  possession  of  Mo5> 
cow  5  on  the  other,  Kutuzof  undoubtedly  felt  in  his  whole  being 
that  that  terrible  blow,  in  the  dealing  of  which  had  been  con- 
centrated the  force  of  the  united  Russian  people,  must  have 
been  mortal. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  119 

But,  in  any  case,  proofs  were  required,  and  he  had  been 
waiting  for  them  for  more  than  a  month ;  and  in  proportion  as 
time  slipped  away,  the  more  impatient  he  became. 

As  he  lay  on  his  couch  during  these  sleepless  nights  of  his, 
he  did  the  same  thing  that  the  younger  element  among  his 
generals  did,  —  the  very  thing  for  which  he  reproached  them. 
He  thought  out  all  possible  contingencies,  just  as  the  younger 
generals  did,  but  with  this  difference  only,  that  he  placed  no 
dependence  on  these  prognostications,  and  that  he  saw  them, 
not  in  twos  or  threes,  but  in  thousands. 

The  more  he  thought  about  them,  the  more  abundantly  they 
arose  before  him.  He  imagined  every  kind  of  motion  that  the 
Napoleonic  army  might  make,  whether  as  a  whole  or  in  parts ; 
against  Petersburg,  against  himself,  against  his  flank.  There 
was  one  contingency  that  he  imagined,  and  this  he  dreaded  more 
than  any  other,  which  was  that  Napoleon  might  turn  against 
him  his  own  weapon,  —  that  he  might  settle  down  in  Moscow 
and  wait  for  him. 

Kutuzof  even  imagined  Napoleon's  army  marching  back  to 
Meduin  and  Yukhnof,  but  the  one  thing  that  he  could  not  have 
foreseen  was  the  very  thing  that  happened,  that  senseless^ 
cautious  doubling  to  and  fro  of  Napoleon^s  army  during  the  first 
eleven  days  after  it  left  Moscow ;  that  indecision  which  ren-' 
dered  possible  what  Kutuzof  had  not  till  then  dared  even  to 
think  about — namely,  the  absolute  destruction  of  the  French^ 

Dorokhof s  report  about  Broussier's  division,  the  informa- 
tion imparted  by  the  '^  partisans  "  in  regard  to  the  distresses  of 
Napoleon's  army,  the  rumors  of  preparation  for  evacuating 
Moscow,  all  taken  together,  confirmed  the  presumption  that 
the  French  army  was  worsted  and  was  preparing  to  flee.  But 
these  presumptions  only  appealed  to  the  younger  men,  not  to 
Kutuzof. 

He,  with  his  sixty  years'  experience,  knew  how  much  de- 
pendence was  to  be  put  upon  hearsay,  knew  how  prone  men 
who  wished  anything  were  to  group  all  the  indications  in 
such  a  way  as  to  conform  with  their  desire,  and  he  knew  how 
in  such  a  case  as  this  they  are  glad  to  drop  out  of  sight  any- 
thing that  might  seem  opposed  to  it. 

And  the  more  Kutuzof  desired  this  the  lem  he  permitted 
himself  to  put  any  trust  in  it»  This  question  engaged  all  the 
energies  of  his  mind.  Everything  else  was  for  him  merely 
the  ordinary  business  of  life.  And  such  subordinate  business 
of  life  included  his  conversation  with  his  staff  oflicers,  his 
letters  to  Madame  Stahl  *  which  he  wrote  from  TarutinO|  th6 

•  Mme.  de  Stael  7 


120  WA&  AITD  PEACS. 

reading  of  novelsythe  granting  of  lewaids,  his  cotrespond- 
ence  with  Petersburg,  and  the  like. 

But  the  destruction  of  the  French,  which  he  had  been  the 
only  One  to  foresee,  was  the  only  real  desire  of  his  souL 

On  the  night  of  the  twenty-third  of  October,  he  was  Iring 
down,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  and  was  thinking  aoont 
this. 

There  was  a  commotion  in  the  next  room,  and  steps  wete 
heard :  it  was  Toll,  Konovnitsuin,  and  Bolkhovitinof. 

''El!  who  is  there?  Come  in,  come  in!  What  news?'* 
cried  the  field-marshal  to  them. 

While  the  servant  was  lighting  a  candle^  Toll  told  the  gist 
of  the  news. 

"  Who  brought  it  ?  "  asked  Kutuzof,  his  face  amazing  ToQ, 
when  the  light  was  made,  by  its  cold  sternness. 

''  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,  your  serene  highness." 

«  Bring  him  in,  bring  him  in." 

Kutuzof  sat  down,  stretching  out  one  leg  on  the  bed,  and 
resting  his  huge  paunch  on  the  other,  which  he  doubled  up. 
He  blinked  his  sound  eye,  in  order  to  get  a  better  sight  of  t& 
messenger,  as  though  he  expected  in  his  features  to  read  the 
answer  to  what  was  occupying  him. 

'<  Gro  on,  tell  us  about  it,  friend,"  said  he  to  Bolkhovitinof 
in  his  low,  senile  voice,  gathering  together  over  his  chest  his 
shirt,  which  had  fallen  open.  ''Gome  here^  come  nearer. 
What  is  this  bit  of  news  you  have  brought  me?  What! 
Napoleon  left  Moscow  ?    And  his  army  too  ?    Ha  ?  " 

Bolkhovitinof  gave  him  a  detailed  account,  from  the  veiy 
beginning,  of  all  that  had  been  committed  to  him. 

"  SpesJc  faster,  faster ;  don't  torment  my  very  soul,"  Kato- 
zof  said,  interrupting  him. 

Bolkhovitinof  told  the  whole  story  and  then  remained 
silent,  awaiting  orders. 

Toll  began  to  make  some  remark,  but  Kutuzof  interrupted 
him.  He  wished  to  say  something,  but  suddenly  his  face 
wrinkled  and  frowned.  Waving  his  hand  to  Toll,  he  walked 
across  the  room,  to  the  "  red  comer  "  of  the  izbiy  where  the 
holy  pictures  were  ranged  black  against  the  wall. 

"  Lord,  my  Oreator !    Thou  hast  heard  our  prayer/'  said  he 
in  a  trembling  voice,  folding  his  hands.    "  Saviour  of  BussisI 
I  thank  thee,  0  Lord." 
And  he  burst  into  tears. 


WAR  AND  PS  ACE.  121 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

From  tbe  time  that  this  news  came  until  the  end  of  thd 
eampaign,  all  Kntozof  s  activity  is  confined  to  exercising  his 
power,' shrewdness,  and  persuasion  to  prevent  his  troops  from 
useless  attacks,  manoBnvres,  and  encounters  with  an  enemy 
already  doomed. 

DoUiturof  goes  to  Malo-Taroslavetz ;  but  Rutuzof  dawdles 
along  with  his  whole  army,  and  gives  orders  for  the  evacua- 
tion of  Kaluga,  retreat  behind  that  town  seeming  to  him 
perfectly  practicable. 

Eutuzof  falls  back ;  but  the  enemy,  not  waiting  for  his 
retreat,  takes  to  flight  in  the  opposite  direction. 

The  historians  of  Napoleon  describe  for  us  his  clever 
manoeuvres  at  Tarutino  and  Malo-Yaroslavetz,  and  make 
hypotheses  as  to  what  would  have  happened  if  Napoleon  had 
sncceeded  in  entering  the  rich  southern  provinces. 

But,  not  to  mention  the  fact  that  nothing  prevented  Napo- 
leon from  entering  these  southern  provinces,  since  the  Russian 
army  gave  him  a  free  road,  the  historians  forget  that  nothing 
could  have  saved  the  French  army,  for  it  already  carried 
within  itself  the  inevitable  elements  of  its  own  destruction. 

How  could  an  army  which  had  found  an  abundance  of  pro- 
visions at  Moscow,  and,  instead  of  keeping  them,  had  tram- 
pled them  under  its  feet,  an  army  which,  on  arriving  at 
Smolensk,  had,  instead  of  gathering  stores,  given  itself  up  to 
pillage,  —  how  could  this  army  have  saved  itself  in  the  prov- 
ince of  Kaluga,  inhabited  as  it  was  by  a  Russian  population 
similar  to  that  of  Moscow,  and  where  fire  had  the  same 
property  of  burning  up  whatever  was  set  on  fire  ? 

This  army  could  nowhere  have  retrieved  itself.  After 
Borodino  and  the  pillage  of  Moscow  it  henceforth  bore  in 
itself  the  chemical  conditions  of  decomposition. 

The  men  of  this,  which  was  once  an  army,  ran,  like  their 
leaders,  knowing  not  whither,  having  (Napoleon  and  every 
soldier)  but  one  desire,  to  escape  as  soon  as  possible  fi-om 
this  situation,  which  they  all,  though  vaguely,  realized  was 
inextricable. 

This  was  the  only  reason  that  at  Malo-Yaroslavetz,  when 
Napoleon's  generals  pretended  to  hold  a  council,  and  various 
opinions  were  offered,  the  last  opinion  of  all.  General  Mou- 
ton's,  who,  being  a  simple-minded  soldier,  spoke   what  all 


122  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

thought,  that  they  must  get  away  as  quickly  as  possible, 
closed  all  mouths ;  and  no  one,  not  even  Napoleon,  could  say 
anything  against  a  truth  recognized  by  all. 

But  though  all  knew  that  they  must  depart,  there  still 
remained  the  shame  of  confessing  that  they  must  take  to 
flight.  Some  external  impulse  was  needed  to  overcome  this 
shame.  And  the  impulse  came  at  the  proper  time.  >^  It  was 
what  the  French  called  "the  emperor's  ambush.''  * 

Early  the  next  morning,  after  the  council,  Napoleon,  pre- 
tending that  he  was  going  to  inspect  his  troops  and  examine 
the  field  of  battle,  past  and  to  come,  rode  to  the  centre  of  his 
lines,  accompanied  by  his  suite  of  marshals  and  by  his  guaid. 

Some  Cossacks,  prowling  about  in  search  of  plunder,  stum- 
bled upon  the  emperor,  and  almost  made  him  prisoner. 

If  the  Cossacks  failed  this  time  to  capture  Napoleon,  it  was 
because  he  was  saved  by  the  very  thing  that  proved  the 
destruction  of  the  French :  love  of  booty,  which  on  this  occa- 
sion, as  at  Tarutino,  led  the  Cossacks  to  neglect  men,  and 
think  only  of  pillage.  They  paid  no  attention  to  the  emperor, 
but  flung  themselves  on  the  spoils,  and  Napoleon  succeeded 
in  escaping. 

When  the  "children  of  the  Don"  —  Us  enfans  du  Don-- 
were  able  to  lay  hold  on  the  emperor  himself  in  the  midst  of 
his  army,  it  became  clear  that  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done  but  beat  a  retreat  by  the  shortest  known  road. 

Napoleon,  with  the  rotund  abdomen  of  his  forty  years,  no 
longer  felt  his  former  agility  and  courage,  and  accepted  the 
omen.  Under  the  influence  of  the  fright  given  him  by  the 
Cossacks,  he  immediately  sided  with  Mouton,  and,  as  the  his- 
torians say,  gave  the  order  to  retreat  along  the  road  to  Smolensk 

The  fact  that  Napoleon  agreed  with  Mouton  and  that  the 
French  troops  retreated  does  not  prove  that  Napoleon  o^ 
dered  the  movement,  but  that  the  forces  which  were  acting 
upon  the  army  to  push  it  in  the  direction  of  Mozhaisk  had 
simultaneously  exerted  their  influence  upon  Napoleon  himself. 


CHAPTER  XIX- 

When  a  man  undertakes  any  movement  he  has  always  an 
object  in  view.  If  he  has  a  journey  of  a  thousand  versts 
before  him  he  must  expect  something  good  at  the  end  of 
those  thousand  versts.  He  must  anticipate  a  promised  land, 
in  order  to  have  strength  enough  to  cover  the  distance. 

•  Le  hourra  de  VEfnpereur, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  12S 

When  the  French  invaded  Knssia  their  promiaed  land  was 
Moscow ;  when  they  began  their  retreat  it  was  their  natiTe 
land.  But  their  native  land  was  far,  far  away ;  and  when  a 
man  starts  out  on  a  journey  of  a  thousand  versts,  he  must 
surely  forget  the  end  in  view,  and  say  to  himself,  *'  To-day,  I 
will  go  forty  versts,  and  there  I  shall  find  rest  and  lodging ; " 
and  during  this  first  stage  of  his  journey  this  resting-place 
becomes  for  the  time  being  his  ultimate  destination^  and  he 
concentrates  upon  it  all  his  hopes  and  desires. 

Aspirations  which  are  found  in  any  isolated  man  are  always 
intensified  in  a  body  of  men. 

To  the  French,  returning  over  the  old  Smolensk  highway, 
the  final  end  in  view — the  return  to  the  fatherland — was  too 
far  off;  and  the  immediate  goal  toward  which  all  their  desires 
and  hopes,  magnified  to  enormous  proportions  in  the  whole 
foody  of  men,  were  directed,  was  Smolensk. 

It  was  not  because  they  expected  to  find  in  Smolensk 
many  provisions  or  fresh  troops,  or  because  they  had  been 
told  any  such  thing;  on  the  contrary,  all  the  generals  of  the 
army,  and  Napoleon  as  well,  knew  that  there  was  very  little 
to  be  found  at  Smolensk,  —  but  because  this  was  the  only 
thing  that  could  give  the  soldiers  the  power  to  march  and  to 
endure  the  privations  of  the  moment,  that  those  who  knew 
the  truth  and  those  who  knew  it  not,  alike  deceiving  them- 
selves, struggled  toward  Smolensk  as  their  promised  land. 

Once  on  the  high-road,  the  French  hurried  toward  this  ficti- 
tious destination,  with  a  remarkable  energy  and  unprecedented 
velocity. 

Besides  the  general  yearning  for  a  single  object,  on  which 
the  whole  body  of  the  French  army  was  united  and  which 
imparted  a  certain  additional  energy,  there  was  still  another 
cause  uniting  them.  This  cause  was  found  in  their  aggre- 
gation. 

This  enormous  multitude,  as  if  obedient  to  the  physical  law 
of  attraction,  drew  to  itself  all  isolated  atoms  of  men.  These 
hundred  thousand  men  moved  on  in  a  compact  mass  like  a 
whole  empire ! 

Each  man  among  them  wished  for  but  one  thing  —  to  fall 
into  captivity,  and  so  to  be  delivered  from  all  their  horrors  and 
sufferings.  But,  on  the  one  hand,  the  power  of  the  common 
impulse  toward  their  goal,  Smolensk,  carried  each  one  in  the 
same  direction. 

On  the  other  hand  it  was  impossible  for  an  entire  corps  to 
surrender  to  a  single  company,  and,  although  the  French  took 


124  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

adTantage  of  every  eonvenient  occasion  to  separate  from  tlieb 
fellows,  and  at  eren  the  slightest  pretext  surrendered  to  the 
Russians,  these  pretexts  did  not  always  offer. 

The  great  numbers  of  them  and  their  hard,  rapid  maich 
deprived  them  of  these  possibilities,  and  made  it  not  only  dii- 
fioult,  but  impossible,  for  the  Russians  to  arrest  this  moTC> 
ment  in  which  was  concentrated  the  entire  energy  of  sudi& 
mass  of  the  French. 

The  mechanical  disruption  of  the  body  could  not  hasten, 
beyond  a  certain  limit,  the  process  of  decomposition  in 
progress. 

It  is  impossible  to  melt  a  snowball  in  an  instant.  There 
exists  a  certain  limit  of  time  before  which  no  power  of  best 
can  melt  the  snow.  On  the  contrary,  the  greater  the  heat  the 
more  solidified  is  the  snow  which  remains. 

With  the  exception  of  Kutuzof,  none  of  the  Russian  gen- 
erals understood  this.  When  the  retreat  of  the  French  arm? 
took  the  definite  shape  of  flight  along  the  Smolensk  road, 
they  began  to  realize  the  truth  of  wlui^t  Konovnitsuin  had 
foreseen  on  the  night  of  October  23u 

All  the  superior  generals  of  the  army  wished  to  distingaiak 
themselves,  to  cut  the  French  off,  to  take  them  prisoners,  to 
set  upon  them ;  and  all  demanded  offensive  operations. 

Kutuzof  alone  employed  all  his  powers  —  the  powers  of 
any  commanding  general  are  very  small — to  resist  offeDsive 
operations. 

He  could  not  say  what  we  can  say  to-day  —  why  fight 
battles,  why  dispute  the  road,  why  lose  your  own  men,  and 
why  inhumanly  Kill  unfortunate  wretches?  why  do  all  this, 
when  from  Moscow  to  Viazma,  without  any  combat  whatever, 
a  third  of  this  army  has  disappeared  ?  but  drawing  from 
his  wisdom  what  they  might  have  understood,  he  told  thea 
about  *'  the  golden  bridge ; "  *  and  they  mocked  him,  slan- 
dered him,  and  hurled  themselves  upon  the  dying  Beast  to 
rend  it  and  cut  it  in  pieces. 

At  Viazma,  Yermolof,  Miloradoviteh,  Platof,  and  otheis, 
finding  themselves  near  the  French,  could  not  restrain  them- 
selves from  cutting  off  and  destroying  two  French  army  corps. 
Kutuzof  they  derided  by  sending  him  a  sheet  of  blank  paper 
in  an  envelope,  instead  of  a  report  of  their  undertaking. 

And  in  spite  of  all  Kutuzof  s  efforts  to  restrain  our  troops, 
the  troops  assailed  the  French,  and  endeavored  to  dispute 

*  **  Let  them  cross  the  golden  bridge ; "  that  is,  "  Gire  them  etety  duoee 
of  Belf-destruction." 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  125 

their  way.  Begiments  of  infantry,  we  are  told,  with  music 
and  drums,  bol^y  advanced  to  the  attack,  and  killed  and  lost 
thousands  of  men. 

But  they  could  not  cut  off  the  fugitives,  or  exterminate 
the  enemy.  And  the  French  army,  drawing  its  ranks  more 
closely  together,  because  of  the  danger,  aad  regularly  melting 
away,  advanced  along  this  —  its  fatal  road  to  Smolensk. 


PART    THIRD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  battle  of  Borodino,  with  the  successive  occupation  of 
Moscow  and  the  flight  of  the  French  army  without  further 
battles,  is  one  of  the  most  instructive  events  of  history. 

All  historians  agree  that  the  external  activity  of  states  and 
peoples,  in  their  mutual  collisions,  is  expressed  by  war^  that 
immediately  after  great  or  petty  military  successes  the  polid- 
cal  power  of  states  and  nations  is  increased  or  diminished. 

Strange  as  it  seems  in  reading  history  to  find  that  such  and 
such  a  king  or  emperor,  on  quarrelling  with  other  emperors  or 
kings,  gets  his  troops  together,  attacks  the  enemy's  army, 
wins  the  victory,  kills  three  thousand,  five  thousand,  ten  thou- 
sand men,  and  in  consequence  of  this  vanquishes  a  whole 
state  and  a  whole  population  of  millions  of  men ;  hard  as  it 
is  to  understand  why  the  defeat  of  an  army  —  the  loss  of  a 
hundredth  part  of  all  a  nation's  forces  —  should  compel  the 
submission  of  the  entire  nation,  yet  all  the,  facts  of  histofy, 
so  far  as  it  is  known  to  us,  confirm  the  justice  of  the  assertion 
that  the  greater  or  less  success  of  the  army  of  any  nation  at 
war  with  another  is  the  cause,  or  at  least  the  essential  indica- 
tion, of  the  increase  or  decrease  of  the  power  of  those  nations. 

When  an  army  has  won  a  victoiy,  instantly  the  "rights"  of 
the  victorious  nation  are  increased  to  the  detriment  of  the 
vanquished.  When  an  army  has  suffered  defeat,  immediately 
the  nation  is  deprived  of  "  rights "  in  proportion  to  the 
defeat ;  and  when  the  army  has  been  completely  defeated,  the 
nation  is  completely  vanquished. 

This  has  been  the  case,  according  to  history,  &om  the  most 
ancient  to  the  most  recent  times.  All  of  Napoleon's  wan 
serve  to  confirm  this  truth. 

In  proportion  as  the  Austrian  troops  were  defeated,  Austria 
lost  its  "  rights,"  while  the  rights  and  powers  of  France  were 
magnified. 

The  victories  of  the  French  at  Jena  and  Austerlitz  destroyed 
the  independence  of  Prussia. 

120 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  127 

But  suddenly  in  1812  the  "battle  of  the  Moskva"  was  won 
by  the  French,  Moscow  was  captured;  and  yet,  though  no  more 
littles  were  fought,  Russia  ceased  not  to  exist,  while  this 
army  of  six  hundred  thousand  men  did  cease  to  exist,  and 
subsequently  the  France  of  Napoleon. 

To  force  facts  to  fit  the  rules  of  history,  to  say  that  the 
battle-field  of  Borodino  was  won  by  the  Russians,  or  that, 
after  the  occupation  of  Moscow,  battles  were  fought  that  ex- 
terminated Napoleon's  army,  —  is  impossible. 

After  the  victory  of  the  French  at  Borodino,  not  only  was 
there  no  general  battle,  but  no  battle  of  any  importance ;  and 
yet  the  French  anny  ceased  to  exist. 

What  does  this  fact  signify  ? 

If  such  a  thing  had  occurred  in  the  history  of  China,  we 
might  say  that  it  was  not  a  historical  event — the  favorite  loop- 
hole of  historians  when  facts  do  not  fit  theories ;  if  it  were 
a  question  of  a  conflict  of  short  duration  in  which  small  forces 
took  part,  we  might  declare  the  event  an  exception  to  the 
general  rule. 

But  this  event  took  place  under  the  eyes  of  our  fathers,  for 
whom  the  question  of  the  life  or  death  of  their  country  was 
decided,  and  this  war  was  the  most  momentous  of  all  known 
wars. 

That  period  in  the  campaign  of  1812,  from  the  battle  of 
Borodino  to  the  retreat  of  the  French,  proved  not  only  that  a 
battle  won  is  not  always  a  cause  of  conquest,  but  also  that  it 
may  not  be  even  a  sign  of  conquest ;  proved  that  the  force 
which  decides  the  destinj  of  nations  consists  not  in  con- 
querors, or  even  in  armies  and  battles,  but  in  something 
different. 

The  French  historians,  describing  the  condition  of  the 
troops  before  the  evacuation  of  Moscow,  assure  us  that  every- 
thing was  in  good  order  in  the  "  Grand  Army,"  excepting  the 
cavalry,  the  artillery,  and  the  wagon-trains ;  forage  being  also 
lacking  for  the  horses  and  cattle.  There  was  no  help  for  this 
evil,  for  the  muzhiks  of  the  region  around  burned  their  hay, 
and  would  not  let  the  French  have  it. 

The  victory  won  by  the  French  did  not  bring  the  usual 
results,  because  of  the  muzhiks  Karp  and  Vlas,  who,  after  the 
departure  of  the  French,  went  to  Moscow  with  carts  to  plun- 
der the  city,  and  who  personally,  as  a  rule,  manifested  no 
heroic  sentiments ;  and  yet  the  whole  innumerable  throng  of 
similar  muzhiks  refused  to  carry  hay  to  Moscow  in  spite 
of  the  money  offered  to  them,  but  burned  it. 


128  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Let  us  imagine  two  men  engaged  in  a  duel  with  swoids  u- 
cording  to  all  the  rules  of  the  art  of  fencing.  For  a  consider- 
able time  the  parrying  has  continued ;  then  suddenly  one  of  the 
contestants,  feeling  that  he  has  been  wounded,  realizing  that 
the  affair  is  no  joke,  but  that  his  life  depends  upon  it,  thiovi 
aside  his  sword,  and,  seizing  the  first  club  that  comes  to  band, 
begins  to  wield  it. 

Now  let  us  imagine  that  this  man,  who  so  wisely  employs 
the  best  and  simplest  method  for  attaining  his  object,  is  at 
the  same  time  imbued  with  the  traditions  of  chivalry,  and, 
wishing  to  conceal  the  truth,  shoidd  insist  upon  it  uiai  he 
was  victorious  over  the  sword  according  to  the  rules  of  the 
art  of  fencing.  It  can  be  imagined  what  confusion  and  lack 
of  clearness  would  arise  from  such  a  story. 

The  duellist  who  demands  an  encounter  according  to  the 
rules  of  the  art  is  the  French ;  his  enemy,  who  throws  avaj 
his  sword  and  takes  up  a  club,  is  the  Bussians ;  those  who 
try  to  explain  everything  according  to  the  rules  of  fencing 
are  the  historians  who  have  described  these  events. 

From  the  time  of  the  burning  of  Smolensk  began  a  form 
of  war  which  does  not  belong  to  any  of  the  former  traditions 
of  war. 

The  burnings  of  towns  and  villages,  battles  followed  by 
retreats,  the  blow  at  Borodino  and  the  retreat,  the  burning  of 
Moscow,  the  hunting  down  of  marauders,  the  intercepting  of 
provision-trains,  the  "partisan"  warfare, — all  this  was  con- 
trary to  the  rules. 

Napoleon  felt  this ;  and  from  the  very  time  when  he  stood 
in  Moscow,  in  the  regular  position  of  fencing,  and  discoveied 
that  the  hand  of  his  opponent  held  a  club  over  him  instead  of 
a  sword,  he  did  not  cease  to  complain  to  Kutuzof  and  the 
Emperor  Alexander  that  the  war  was  conducted  contrary  to 
all  rules  —  as  if  there  were  rules  for  the  killing  of  men! 

But,  in  spite  of  all  the  complaints  of  the  French  about  tbe 
breaking  of  rules,  in  spite  of  tne  fact  that  the  Bussians  highest 
in  position  were  ashamed  of  fighting  with  the  cudgel,  and 
desired  to  stand  in  a  position  where,  according  to  all  the  roles, 
they  could  fight,  —  en  qnarfe,  en  tierce,  and  make  the  clever 
thrust,  en  prime,  and  so  on,  —  the  club  of  the  popular  war  was 
lifted  in  all  its  threatening  and  majestic  power,  and,  caring 
nothing  for  good  taste  and  rules,  with  stupid  simplicity  but 
sound  judgment,  not  making  distinctions,  it  was  lifted,  and 
fell  and  pounded  tjie  French  \ii\ti\  tUe  whple  arQi^  of  iuvarfei^ 
perished, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  129 

And  honor  be  to  that  people  who  did  not  as  the  French  did 
in  1813;  who  saluted  the  enemy  according  to  all  the  rules  of 
the  art,  and,  reversing  their  swords,  politely  and  gracefully 
handed  them  to  their  magnanimous  conqueror.  Honor  be  to 
that  people  who  in  the  moment  of  trial,  not  asking  how  others 
had  acted  in  conformity  to  rules  in  similar  circumstances, 
simply  and  quickly  seized  the  first  club  at  hand,  and  wielded 
it  until  the  feeling  of  anger  and  vengeance  in  their  hearts 
gave  way  to  contempt  and  pity ! 


CHAPTER  11. 

One  of  the  most  obvious  and  advantageous  infractions  of 
the  so-called  rules  of  war  is  the  action  of  isolated  individ- 
uals against  troops  crowded  together  into  a  mass. 

This  sort  of  activity  is  always  seen  in  wars  which  assume 
a  popular  character.  This  form  of  warfare  consists  in  this, 
that,  instead  of  one  compact  body  meeting  another  compact 
body,  men  disperse,  attack  separately,  and  instantly  retire 
when  threatened  by  superior  forces,  and  then  re-appear  at  the 
first  favorable  opportunity. 

Thus  did  the  Guerillas  in  Spain,  thus  did  the  mountaineers 
in  the  Caucasus,  thus  did  the  Russians  in  1812. 

Warfare  of  this  sort  is  called  "partisan"  or  guerilla 
warfare,  and  when  it  is  thus  named  its  meaning  is  ex- 
plained. 

This  sort  of  warfare,  however,  not  only  fails  to  come  under 
any  rules,  but  is  opposed  directly  to  a  well-known  and  infal- 
lible law  of  tactics.  This  law  demands  that  the  assailant 
shall  concentrate  his  troops  so  as  to  be,  at  the  moment  of 
combat,  stronger  than  his  enemy. 

Partisan  warfare  (always  successful,  as  history  proves)  is 
directly  opposed  to  that  law. 

This  contradiction  arises  from  the  fact  that  military  science 
takes  the  strength  of  armies  to  be  identical  with  their  num- 
bers. Military  science  says:  The  more  troops,  the  greater 
the  strength.  Great  battalions  are  always  right:  Les  gros 
bataillons  ant  toujours  raison.  In  making  this  assertion,  mili- 
tary science  is  like  the  science  of  mechanics,  which,  consider- 
ing the  momenta  of  moving  bodies  only  in  relation  to  their 
masses,  affirms  that  these  forces  will  be  equal  or  unequal  as 
their  masses  are  equal  or  unequal 


130  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Momentum  (the  quantity  of  movement)  is  the  product  of 
the  mass  into  the  velocity. 

In  war  the  momentum  of  troops  is  likewise  the  product  of 
the  mass  multiplied  by  some  unlmowu  quantity^  x. 

Military  science,  seeing  in  history  an  infinite  collection 
of  examples,  that  the  mass  of  armies  does  not  coincide  with 
the  strength,  and  that  small  detachments  have  conqueied 
large  ones,  confusedly  recognizes  the  existence  of  this  un- 
known factor,  and  tries  to  discover  it  now  in  geometrical  ooin- 
binations,  now  in  differences  of  armament,  now,  and  this 
most  generally,  in  the  genius  of  the  commanders. 

But  the  values  given  to  all  these  factors  do  not  suffice  to 
account  for  the  results  in  accordance  with  historical  facts. 

Meantime  it  is  sufficient  for  us  to  rid  ourselves  of  the  false 
idea,  invented  for  the  pleasure  of  heroes,  that  in  the  effect  of 
the  arrangements  made  by  the  commanders  in  time  of  war,  we 
shall  find  this  unknown  x. 

This  X  is  the  spirit  of  the  army ;  in  other  words,  the  more 
or  less  intense  desire  of  all  the  men  composing  the  army  to 
fight  and  expose  themselves  to  perils,  independently  of  tbe 
question  whether  they  are  under  the  command  of  men  of 
genius  or  otherwise,  whether  they  fight  in  three  or  two  ranks, 
whether  they  are  armed  with  clubs,  or  with  guns  deliveiiiig 
thirty  shots  a  minute. 

Men  who  have  the  most  intense  desire  to  fight  always  pot 
themselves  in  the  most  advantageous  position  for  fighting. 

The  spirit  of  the  army  is  the  factor,  multiplied  by  the  mass, 
which  gives  the  product,  power.  To  determine  and  express 
the  meaning  of  the  spirit  of  the  army  —  that  unknown  factor 
— is  the  problem  of  science. 

The  problem  is  possible  only  when  we  cease  to  put  arbi- 
trarily, in  place  of  this  unknown  x,  the  conditions  under  whidi 
the  momentum  is  produced,  such  as  the  dispositions  of  the 
commander,  the  armament,  and  so  on,  and  disregarding  them 
as  the  significant  factor,  realize  this  unknown  quantity  in  all 
its  integration  as  the  more  or  less  active  desire  animating  the 
men  to  fight  and  confront  danger. 

Only  then  when  we  express  known  historical  facts  by  means 
of  equations  can  we,  by  a  comparison  of  the  relative  value  of 
this  unknown  factor,  determine  the  unknown  factor. 

Ten  men,  battalions,  or  divisions,  fighting  with  fifteen  men, 
battalions,  or  divisions,  conquer  the  fifteen,  that  is,  kUl  thea 
or  take  them  all  prisoners  without  exception,  themselves 
losing  only  four.    On  one  side  fifteen  have  been  extermioated. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  131 

on  the  other  four.    In  reality  the  four  were  equal  to  the 
fifteen,  and  consequently 

4x=zl5y; 

consequently 

05 ;  y  ==  16 ;  4. 

This  equation  does  not  give  the  value  of  the  unknown  fac- 
tor, but  it  expresses  the  relations  between  the  two  unknown 
factors,  and,  by  putting  into  the  form  of  similar  equations 
historical  units  taken  separately,  — battles,  campaigns,  periods 
of  war,  —  a  series  of  numbers  will  be  obtained  in  which  laws 
must  exist  and  may  be  discovered. 

The  rule  of  tactics  commanding  troops  to  act  in  masses 
during  an  attack,  and  separately  in  a  retreat,  is  an  uncon- 
scious expression  of  the  truth  that  the  strength  of  troops 
depends  upon  their  spirit.  Better  discipline  is  required  to 
lead  men  into  fire  than  to  induce  them  to  defend  themselves 
against  assailants,  and  is  obtained  exclusively  by  movements 
in  masses. 

But  this  rule,  which  takes  no  account  of  the  spirit  of  the 
troops,  coDStantly  proves  fallacious  and  particularly  opposed 
to  the  reality,  when  there  is  an  increased  or  diminished  spii'it 
among  the  troops  —  in  all  popular  wars. 

The  French,  in  retreating  in  1812,  though  they  should,  ac- 
cording to  tactics,  have  defended  themselves  separately,  drew 
into  closer  masses,  because  the  spirit  of  the  troops  had  fallen 
so  low  that  the  army  could  be  maintained  only  by  holding  the 
men  in  mass. 

The  Russians,  on  the  contrary,  ought,  according  to  tactics, 
to  have  attacked  in  mass;  but  in  fact  they  scattered  their 
forces,  because  the  spirit  of  their  troops  had  risen  so  high 
that  isolated  men  attacked  the  French  without  waiting  for 
orders,  and  had  no  need  of  constraint  to  induce  them  to  expose 
themselves  to  fatigues  and  perils. 


CHAPTER   in. 

Thb  so-called  partisan  or  guerilla  war*  began  with  the 
arrival  of  the  French  at  Smolensk. 

Before  this  guerilla  warfare  was  officially  recognized  by  our 
government,  thousands  of  the  hostile  army  —  mauraders  leftr 

*  Partizdnskaya  voind. 


132  WAR  AND  PEACSi 

behind)  and  foraging  parties  —  had  been  exterminated  by  Cc* 
sacks  and  ihUzhiks,  Who  killed  these  men  as  instiikctively  u 
dogs  wottj  to  death  a  mad  dog  that  has  run  astray. 

Denis  DavUidof,  with  his  keen  Russian  scent,  was  the  first 
to  Understand  the  siguificailce  of  this  terrible  cudgel,  which, 
without  regard  to  the,  rules  of  military  science,  annihilated 
the  French,  and  to  him  belongs  the  glory  of  taking  the  first 
step  toward  formulating  this  sort  of  warfare. 

On  the  fifth  of  September,  Davuidof's  first  partisan  squad 
was  organized ;  and  after  the  exainple  of  his,  others  were  or- 
ganized. The  longer  the  campaign  continued^  the  greatei 
becaitie  the  number  of  these  bands. 

The  partisans  demolished  the  "  Grand  Army  '*  in  detadh 
tnentSi  They  trampled  down  the  fallen  leaves  which  came  oS 
f rotn  the  dried  tree  —  the  French  army  —  and  now  and  agaiil 
shook  the  ttee  itself » 

In  October  when  the  French  were  on  theiif  way  back  to 
Smolensk,  there  were  hundreds  of  these  bands,  of  Taeioos 
sizes  and  characters.  There  were  bands  which  had  all  thfi 
appurtenances  of  a  regular  army — infantry,  artillery,  stftf 
officers  -^  and  many  of  the  comforts  of  life :  others  eonsistod 
solely  of  Cossacks,  cavalry ;  there  were  others  of  insignifioant 
size,  gathered  at  haphazard,  infantry  and  cavalry  mixed ;  then 
were  those  composed  of  muzhiks,  and  those  organized  by  land- 
owners, and  others  that  owned  no  allegiance  to  any  eoni- 
mander. 

A  diachdk  or  sacristan  was  the  leader  of  one  band,  whiob, 
in  the  course  of  a  month,  took  several  hundred  prisoners :  and 
there  was  the  wife  of  a  village  st&rost-a,  named  Vasilisa,  who 
killed  hundreds  of  the  French. 

The  early  days  of  November  saw  the  greatest  deyelo{Maeiii 
of  this  partisan  warfare.  The  firat  period  of  this  kind  of  mr 
—  during  which  the  "partisans"  themselves  were  amagfd  at 
their  own  audacity,  were  afraid  every  moment  of  being  mm- 
prised  and  surrounded  by  the  French,  and  kept  hid  in  tlie 
forests,  not  unsaddling,  and  scarcely  venturing  to  diamoont 
from  their  horses,  expecting  to  be  pursued  at  any  moment^ 
was  past. 

By  this  time  this  kind  of  warfare  had  taken  definite  form; 
it  had  become  clear  to  all  what  they  could  do  and  what  tbej 
could  not  do  in  grappling  with  the  French. 

The  leaders  of  bands,  who  had  regular  staffs,  and  followed 
rules,  kept  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  French,  and  were 
chary  of  undertaking  certain  things,  which  they  regarded  aa 


WAR  AND  P^ACB.  188 

impossible*  t^etty  partisans  who  had  been  engaged  for  some 
time  in  the  business,  and  had  gained  a  close  acquaintance 
with  the  French,  considered  feasible  what  the  leaders  of  the 
large  bands  would  not  dare  even  to  think  of. 

Cossacks  and  mil^hiks  who  slipped  easily  in  and  out  among 
the  French  reckoned  that  everything  was  possible. 

On  the  fourth  of  November,  Denisof,  who  was  one  of  these 
partisan  leaders,  found  himself,  with  his  band,  in  the  very 
brunt  of  partisan  excitement.  Since  morning,  he  and  his  band 
bad  been  on  the  march.  All  day  long,  keeping  under  shelter 
of  the  forest  that  skirted  the  highway,  he  had  been  following 
a  large  French  convoy  of  cavalry  baggage  and  Russian 
prisoners,  isolated  from  the  other  troops,  and  under  a  power- 
nil  escort,  on  its  way  to  Smolensky  as  was  known  from  scouts 
and  prisoners. 

The  existence  of  this  train  was  known,  not  only  to  Denisof 
and  Dolokhof  —  who  was  also  a  partisan  leader  with  a  small 
band,  and  was  advancing  close  by  —  but  to  the  nachalniks  of 
several  large  bands,  with  their  staffs, — all  knew  about  this 
train,  and,  as  Denisof  expressed  it,  "were  whetting  their 
teeth  for  it." 

Two  of  these  large  bands,  one  commanded  by  a  Polyak,  the 
otber  by  a  German,  almost  simultaneously  sent  to  Denisof 
to  join  forces,  each  inviting  him  to  help  them  attack  the 
"  transport." 

"No,  thank  you,  bwother,  I  shave  my  own  whiskers,"  said 
Denisof,  as  he  read  their  letters ;  and  he  replied  to  the  Ger- 
man that,  in  spite  of  the  heartfelt  desire  which  he  had  of 
serving  under  the  command  of  such  a  valiant  and  distin- 
guished general,  he  should  have  to  deprive  himself  of  that 
pleasure,  because  he  had  already  joined  the  command  of  the 
Kolish  general. 

And  to  the  Polish  general  he  wrote  the  same  thing,  assur- 
ing him  that  he  had  already  joined  the  command  of  the 
Grerman. 

Having  thus  disposed  of  these  matters,  Denisof  made  his 
plans  without  reference  to  these  high  officials,  to  join  in  com- 
pany with  Dolokhof,  and  attack  and  capture  this  train,  with 
the  small  force  at  their  command. 

The  "  transport "  was  proceeding,  on  the  fourth  of  Novem- 
ber, from  the  village  of  Mikulino  to  the  village  of  Shamshevo. 
On  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road  between  the  two  villages  ran 
a  dense  forest,  in  places  approaching  the  road,  in  places  reced- 
ing from  the  road  a  verst  and  more. 


184 


WAR  AND  PEACE. 


It  ^as  under  the  cover  of  this  forest,  now  hiding  in  its 
depths,  now  approaching  its  edge,  that  Denisof  had  been  ad- 
yancing  all  day  long,  with  his  band  not  once  losing  the  French 
from  sight. 

In  the  morning,  pot  far  from  Mikulino,  where  the  forest 
came  nearest  to  the  road,  the  Cossacks  of  DenisoFs  band  had 
seized  two  of  the  French  wagons,  loaded  with  cavalry  saddles, 
which  had  got  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  made  off  with  them  into 
the  forest 

From  that  time  until  evening,  the  band,  without  attacking, 
followed  the  French  in  all  their  movements. 

It  was  necessary  to  allow  them,  without  being  alarmed,  to 
reach  Shamshevo  in  safety  ;  there  Denisof  would  unite  with 
Dolokhof,  who  was  to  come  for  a  consultation,  that  evening,  to 
a  designated  spot  in  the  forest,  about  a  verst  from  Shamshevo, 
and  at  daybreak  they  would  fall  upon  them  from  two  sides  at 
once  quite  unexpectedly  —  "  like  snow  on  the  head,"  as  the 
saying  goes  —  and  defeat  and  capture  the  whole  host  at  one 
fell  blow. 

Two  versts  in  the  rear  of  Mikulino,  where  the  forest  ap- 
proached the  road,  six  Cossacks  were  to  be  left,  who  were  to 
report  instantly  in  case  new  columns  of  the  French  showed 
up. 

In  front  of  Shamshevo,  Dolokhof  was  to  scour  the  road  so 
as  to  know  at  what  distance  other  French  troops  might  be. 

The  "transport"  mustered  fifteen  hundred  men.  Denisof 
had  two  hundred,  and  Dolokhof  might  have  as  many.  Bat 
the  preponderance  of  numbers  did  not  deter  Denisof.  The 
only  thing  that  he  cared  now  to  know  was  what  sort  of  men 
composed  these  troops,  and,  with  this  end  in  view,  Denisof 
wanted  to  capture  a  tongue  ;  that  is,  a  man  from  the  enemy's 
ranks.  In  the  morning,  when  they  fell  upon  the  two  wagons, 
the  affair  was  accomplished  with  such  celerity  that  all  the 
French  in  charge  of  the  two  wagons  had  been  killed,  and  the 
only  one  taken  alive  was  a  drummer  boy  who  had  remained 
behind,  and  was  incapable  of  giving  any  decided  information 
about  the  kind  of  men  that  formed  the  column. 

To  make  a  second  descent,  Denisof  considered,  would  be  at 
the  risk  of  arousing  the  whole  column,  and  therefore  he  sent 
forward  to  Shamshevo  the  muzhik  Tikhon  Shcherbatof,  one 
of  his  band,  to  pick  up,  if  possible,  one  of  the  French  quarter- 
masters who  would  be  likely  to  be  there  in  advance. 


AR  AND  PEACE.  186 


CHAPTER  IV, 

It  was  a  mild^  rainy,  autumn  day.  The  sky  and  the  earth 
blended  in  the  same  hue,  like  that  of  turbid  water.  At  one 
moment  it  was  precipitated  in  the  form  of  fog ;  at  the  next, 
suddenly  round,  slanting  drops  of  rain  would  falL 

Denisof,  in  his  burka  or  felt  cloak,  and  p&pakh  or  Cossack 
cw,  from  which  the  water  Was  streaming,  was  jriding  along  on 
a  lean  thoroughbred  with  tightened  girths*  Like  his  horse^ 
he  kept  his  head  bent  and  ears  alert,  and^  scowling  at  the 
slanting  rain,  peered  anxiously  ahead.  His  face  was  some» 
what  thinner  than  of  yore,  and  with  its  growth  of  thick^  short 
black  beard,  looked  fierce. 

Abreast  of  Denisof,  also  in  burka  and  pdpakh,  on  a  plump^ 
coarse-limbed  Don  pony,  rode  a  Oossaok  esaul.^  Denisofs 
ally. 

A  third,  the  Esaul  Lovaiski,  likewise  in  burka  and  p&pakh^ 
was  a  long'limbed,  light-complexioned  man,  as  flat  as  a  plank, 
with  narrow,  bright  eyes  and  a  calmly  self-confident  expres- 
sion both  of  face  and  pose.  Although  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  wherein  consisted  the  individuality  of  horse  and  rider, 
still  at  a  glance  first  at  the  esaul  and  then  at  Denisof,  it  was 
evident  that  Denisof  was  wet  and  uncomfortable,  that  Denisof 
was  a  man  who  merely  rode  his  horse ;  while  on  looking  at  the 
esaul,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  as  comfortable  and  confident 
as  ever,  and  that  he  was  not  a  man  who  merely  rode  the 
horse,  but  a  man  who  was  one  being  with  his  horse,  and  thus 
possessed  of  double  strength. 

A  short  distance  ahead  of  them  walked  their  guide,  a  little 
peasant  in  a  gray  kaftan  and  a  white  cap,  wet  to  the  skin. 

A  little  behind  them,  on  a  lean,  slender  Kirgiz  pony  with  a 
huge  tail  and  mane  and  with  mouth  bloody  and  torn,  rode  a 
young  officer  in  a  blue  French  capote. 

Next  him  rode  a  hussar,  who  had  taken  up  behind  him,  on 
his  horse's  crupper,  a  lad  in  a  torn  French  uniform  and  blue 
cap.  This  lad  clung  to  the  hussar  with  hands  red  with  cold, 
and  rubbed  his  bare  feet  together  to  warm  them,  and  gazed 
around  him  in  amazement  with  uplifted  brows.  This  was  the 
French  drummer  boy  whom  they  had  taken  prisoner  that 
morning. 

*  Etaul  at  the  present  time  is  the  Cossack  title  corresponding  to  captain 
of  a  Mfttyo  or  hundred ;  aottUk  (centurion)  was  the  former  term. 


m  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

Behind  theni}  three  and  four  deep)  stretched  the  line  of  hn^ 
sars  along  the  narrow,  winding,  and  well-worn  forest  path; 
then  came  Cossacks,  some  in  burkaS;  some  in  French  capotefl, 
some  with  cavalry  housings  thrown  oyer  their  heads.  Their 
horses,  whether  roan  or  bay,  seemed  all  black  as  coal  in  the 
rain  which  was  streaming  from  them. 

The  horses^  necks  seemed  strangely  slender  from  their  soaked 
manes.  Fi-om  the  horses  arose  a  steam.  The  clothes  and 
the  saddles  nnd  the  bridles, — ever3rthing  was  wet,  slippeiji  and 
limp,  just  like  the  ground  and  the  fallen  leaves  which  oovered 
the  path.  The  men  sat  with  scowling  faces,  trying  not  to 
move,  so  as  to  wann  the  water  that  had  trickled  down  their 
backs  and  not  to  allow  any  fresh  invasion  of  cold  water  to 
get  under  their  saddles,  on  their  knees,  or  down  their  neeka. 

In  the  midst  of  the  long  train  of  Cossacks  the  two  wagons 
drawn  by  French  and  Cossack  horses  (the  latter  harnessed  in 
with  their  saddles  on^  rattled  over  the  stumps  and  rooto 
and  splashed  through  tne  ruts  full  of  water. 

Denisofs  horse,  avoiding  a  puddle  which  covered  the  roady 
sprang  to  one  side  and  struck  nis  knee  against  a  tree. 

'^  Oh,  the  devil ! "  cried  Denisof  wrathfnlly,  and,  showing 
his  teeth,  he  gave  the  horse  three  blows  with  the  whip,  spat- 
tering himself  and  his  comrades  with  mud.  Denisof  was  not 
in  good  spirits,  owing  to  the  rain  and  his  hunger, — he  had 
eaten  nothing  since  morning,  —  and  principally  because  noth- 
ing had  been  heard  from  Dolokhof,  and  because  the  man  sent 
to  capture  "  the  tongue"  had  not  returned. 

*'  We  sha'n't  be  likely  to  find  another  chance  like  tody's  to 
stwike  the  twansport  twain.  To  attack  them  alone  is  too 
liuich  of  a  wisk;  and  to  wait  till  another  day — some  of 
those  big  bands  of  partisans  will  be  sure  to  snatch  it  away 
from  under  our  very  noses,"  said  Denisof,  who  kept  his  eyes 
constantly  toward  the  front,  thinking  that  he  might  see  the 
expected  messenger  from  Dolokhof. 

On  coming  out  into  a  vista  where  there  was  a  clear  view 
extending  to  some  distance  toward  the  right,  Denisof  reined 
in. 

*^  Some  one's  coming,"  said  he. 

The  esaul  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  1^  Denisol 

"There  are  two  of  them — an  officer  and  Coesaek.  Only 
you  don't  pre-suppose  that  it  is  the  sub-lieutenant  himsell^ 
do  you  ?  "  said  the  esaul,  who  liked  to  bring  in  words  that 
were  not  in  use  among  the  Cossacks. 

The  riders  who  were  coming  down  upon  them  were  kst 


WAR  AND  PBACB.  18T 

fH>in  sight,  and  after  a  little  while  re-appeared  again.  The 
officer,  with  dishevelled  hair,  wet  to  the  skin,  and  with  his 
trousers  worked  up  above  his  very  knees,  came  riding  in  ad- 
vance at  a  weary  gallop,  urging  his  horse  with  his  whip. 
Behind  him,  standing  up  in  his  stirrups,  trotted  his  Cossack. 
This  officer,  a  very  young  lad,  with  a  broad,  rosy  face  and 
alert,  mischief-loving  eyes^  galloped  up  to  Denisof  and  handed 
him  a  wet  envelope. 

'^  From  the  general,"  said  the  officer*  '<  Excuse  it  not  being 
perfectly  dry." 

Denisof  frowning,  took  the  envelope  aiid  started  to  break 
the  seal. 

''Now  they  all  said  it  was  dangerous  —  dangerous,"  said 
the  young  officer,  turning  to  the  esaul  while  Denisof  was 
reading  the  letter.  '^  However,  Komdrof  —  he  pointed  to  the 
Cossack  —  Kom&rof  *  and  I  made  all  our  plans.  We  each  had 
two  pist  —  But  who  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  breaking  off  in  the 
middle  of  the  word  on  catching  sight  of  the  French  drummer 
boy.  *' A  prisoner?  Have  you  had  a  fight?  May  I  speak 
with  him  ?  " 

"Wostof !  Petya!"  cried  Denisof,  at  that  instant  having 
run  through  the  letter  that  had  been  given  him.  ''Why 
didn't  you  say  who  you  were  ?  "  and  Denisof,  with  a  smile, 
turning  round^  gave  the  young  officer  his  hand. 

This  young  officer  was  Petya  Bostof ! 

All  the  way  Petya  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  how  he 
should  behave  toward  Denisof  as  became  a  f ull-fiedged  officer, 
and  not  give  a  hint  of  their  former  acquaintance. 

But  as  soon  as  Denisof  smiled  on  him,  Petya  immediately 
became  radiant,  flushed  with  delight,  and  forgot  the  formality 
which  he  had  stored  up  against  the  occasion,  and  began  to 
tell  him  how  he  had  gallop^  past  the  French,  and  how  glad 
he  was  that  such  a  commission  had  been  intrusted  to  him, 
and  how  he  had  been  in  the  battle  near  Viazma,  where  a  cer- 
tain hussar  greatly  distinguished  himself. 

"  Well,  I'm  wight  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Denisof,  interrupt- 
ing him,  and  then  his  face  assumed  again  its  anxious  expres- 
sion. ^  Mikhail  Feoklttuitch,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  esaul, 
(<  you  see  this  is  from  the  German  again.  He  insists  on  our 
joining  him." 

And  Denisof  proceeded  to  explain  to  the  esaul  that  the 
oontents  of  the  letter  just  received  consisted  in  a  reiterated 
request  from  the  German  general  to  unite  with  him  in  an 

*  Name  deriyed  from  Komdr,  a  moaqiiito. 


188  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

attack  on  the  transport  train.  <*  If  we  don't  get  at  it  to- 
mowow,  he  will  certainly  take  it  away  from  under  our  vewy 
noseS)"  he  said  in  conclusion. 

While  Denisof  was  talking  with  the  esaul,  Petya,  abashed 
by  Denisof  s  chilling  tone,  and  supposing  that  the  reason  lor 
it  might  be  the  state  of  his  trousers,  strore  to  poll  them 
down  under  shelter  of  his  cloak,  so  that  no  one  would  notiee 
him,  and  did  his  best  to  assume  as  military  an  aspect  tt 
possible. 

"  Will  there  be  any  order  from  your  excellency  ? "  •  he 
asked  of  Denisof,  raising  his  hand  to  his  visor,  and  again 
returning  to  the  little  comedy  of  general  and  aide  for  which 
he  had  rehearsed  himself  —  <'  Or  should  I  remain  with  your 
excellency  ?  " 

"  Orders  ?  "  repeated  Denisof  thoughtfully.  "  Can  you 
Wemain  till  to-mowow  ?  " 

<'Akh!  please  let  me.  —  May  I  stay  with  you?"  cried 
Petya. 

"  I  suppose  your  orders  from  the  genewal  were  to  wetuni 
immediately  —  weren't  they  ?  "  asked  Denisof. 

Petya  reddened. 

''  He  said  nothing  at  all  about  it;  I  think  I  can,"  he  replied 
somewhat  doubtfully. 

'^  Well,  all  wight ! "  said  Denisof.  And,  turning  to  his  sub- 
ordinates, he  made  various  arrangements  for  the  party  to  make 
their  way  to  the  place  of  rendezvous  at  the  watch-house  in 
the  forest  that  had  been  agreed  upon,  and  for  the  officer  on 
the  Rirgiz  horse  —  this  officer  performed  the  duties  of 
adjutant — to  ride  off  in  search  of  Dolokhof,  and  find  whether 
he  would  come  that  evening  or  not. 

Denisof  himself  determined  to  ride  down  with  the  esaul 
and  Petya  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  nearest  to  Shamshevo  to 
reconnoitre  the  position  of  the  French,  and  find  the  best  plaoe 
for  making  their  attack  on  the  following  day. 

<'  And  now,  gwaybeard,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  muzhik  who 
was  serving  as  their  guide,  ''take  us  to  Shamshevo." 
Denisof,  Petya,  and  the  esaul,  accompanied  by  a  few  Cos- 
sacks and  the  hussar  who  had  charge  of  the  prisoner,  rode 
off  to  the  left,  through  the  ravine,  toward  the  edge  of  the 
forest. 

*  Vui9okoblag<iTiSdiyt,  high  weU-bom-] 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  189 


CHAPTER  V. 

It  had  ceased  to  rain ;  there  was  merely  a  drizzling  mist^ 
and  the  drops  of  water  fell  from  the  branches  of  the  trees. 

Denisof,  the  esaul,  and  Petya  rode  silently  behind  the 
muzhik,  who,  lightly  and  noiselessly  plodding  along  in  his 
bast  lapti  over  the  roots  and  wet  leaves,  led  them  to  tilie  edge 
of  the  wood. 

On  reaching  the  crest  of  a  slope,  the  muzhik  paused,  gave 
a  swift  glance,  and  strode  toward  where  the  wall  of  trees 
was  thinner.  Under  a  great  oak  which  had  not  yet  shed 
its  leaves  he  paused,  and  mysteriously  beckoned  with  his 
hand. 

Denisof  and  Petya  rode  up  to  him.  From  the  place  where 
the  muzhik  was  standing,  the  French  could  be  seen. '  Imme- 
diately back  of  the  forest,  occupying  the  lower  half  of  the 
slope,  spread  a  field  of  spring  corn.  At  the  right,  beyond  a 
steep  ravine,  could  be  seen  a  small  village  and  the  manor 
house  *  with  dilapidated  roofs.  In  this  hamlet,  and  around 
the  mansion  house,  and  over  the  whole  hillside  and  in  the 
garden,  around  the  well  and  the  pond,  and  along  the  whole 
road  up  from  the  bridge  to  the  village,  which  was  not  more 
than  quite  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  throngs  of  men  could  be  seen 
in  the  rolling  mist.  Distinctly  could  be  heard  their  non- 
Russian  cries  to  the  horses  that  were  dragging  the  teams  up 
the  hill,  and  their  calls  to  each  other. 

"Bring  the  prisoner  here,"  said  Denisof  in  a  low  tone,  not 
taking  his  eyes  from  the  French. 

A  Cossack  dismounted,  helped  the  lad  down,  and  came  with 
him  to  Denisof.  Denisof,  pointing  to  the  French,  asked  what 
troops  such  and  such  divisions  were.  The  little  drummer, 
stuffing  his  benumbed  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  lifting  his 
brows,  gazed  at  Denisof  in  aifright,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
evident  anxiety  to  tell  all  that  he  knew,  got  confused  in  his 
replies,  and  merely  said  yes  to  all  that  Denisof  asked  him. 
Denisof,  scowling,  turned  from  him,  and  addressed  the  esaul, 
to  whom  he  communicated  his  impressions. 

Petya,  moving  his  head  with  quick  gestures,  looked  now  at 
the  little  drummer  boy,  now  at  Denisof,  and  from  him  to  the 
esaul,  then  at  the  French  in  the  village,  and  did  his  best  not 
to  miss  anything  of  importance  that  was  going  on, 


140  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  Whether  I>olokhof  come  or  do  not  come,  we  must  make 
the  attempt  —  hey?"  said  Denisof,  his  eyes  flashing  with 
animation. 

"  An  excellent  place/'  replied  the  esauL 

''We'll  attack  the  infantry  on  the  low  land  —  the  swaBop^" 
pursued  Denisof.  "  They'll  escape  into  the  garden.  You  ud 
the  Cossacks  will  set  on  them  from  that  side.''  Denisol 
pointed  to  the  woods  beyond  the  village.  "  And  I  from  thi% 
with  my  hussars.    And  when  a  gun  is  fired"  — 

''  You  won't  be  able  to  cross  the  ravine  —  there's  a  quagmire," 
said  the  esaul.  ''The  horses  would  be  mired  —  you'll  have  to 
strike  farther  to  the  left."  — 

While  they  were  thus  talking  in  an  undertone,  there  tang 
out  below  them,  in  the  hollow  where  the  pond  was,  a  sin^ 
shot ;  a  white  puff  of  smoke  rolled  away,  then  another,  aad 
they  heard  friendly,  as  it  were  jolly,  shouts  from  hundreds  of 
the  French  on  the  hillside. 

At  the  first  instant  both  Denisof  and  the  esaul  drew  back. 
They  were  so  near  that  it  seemed  to  them  that  they  were 
what  had  occasioned  those  shots  and  shouts. 

But  the  shots  and  shouts  had  no  reference  to  them.  Below 
them  across  the  swamp  a  man  in  something  red  was  running. 
It  was  evidently  at  this  man  that  the  French  had  shot,  and 
were  shouting. 

"  Ha !  that's  our  Tikhon,"  said  the  esauL 

"  So  it  is,  so  it  is." 

"  Oh !  the  wascal ! "  exclaimed  Denisof. 

"  He'll  escape  'em ! "  said  the  esaul,  blinking  his  eyes. 

The  man  whom  they  called  Tikhon  ran  down  to  uie  creek, 
plunged  into  it,  spattering  the  water  in  every  direction,  and, 
disappearing  for  a  moment,  he  crawled  out  on  all-fours,  and, 
black  with  water,  dashed  off  once  more. 

The  French  who  had  started  in  pursuit  paused. 

"  Cleverly  done  !  "  exclaimed  the  esaul. 

"What  a  beast ! "  snarled  Denisof,  with  the  same  expression 
of  vexation  as  before.  "  And  what  has  he  been  up  to  all  this 
time  ?  " 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Petya. 

"  Our  plastun*    We  sent  him  to  catch  '  a  tongue.'  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Petya,  at  Denisof  s  first  word,  nodding  his 
head  as  though  he  understood,  although  really  the  answer  was 
perfectly  enigmatical. 

*  Pla9tun  (plastoon),  the  name  of  a  sharpshooter  who  lies  in  ambnahi  or 
^  yoou^  amon^  the  BlaoH-Sea  CossfMkii. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  141 

Tikhon  Shoherbatui  *  was  one  of  the  most  useful  men  of  the 
iMUnd.    He  was  a  muzhik  from  Pokiovskoye  —  near  Gzhatya. 

When  Denisofy  toward  the  beginning  of  his  enterprise, 
reached  Pokrovskoje,  and,  according  to  his  usual  custom,  sum- 
moned the  starosta,  or  village  elder,  and  asked  him  what  news 
they  had  about  the  French,  the  stdrosta  had  replied,  as  all 
stdrostas  always  reply,  as  though  called  to  account  for  some 
mischief,  that  they  had  not  seen  or  heard  anything. 

But  when  Denisof  explained  to  him  that  his  aim  was  to  beat 
the  French,  then  the  st&rosta  told  him  that  ^^  miroders  "  had 
only  just  been  there,  but  that  only  one  man  in  their  village, 
Tishka  Shcherbatui,  troubled  himself  about  such  things. 

Denisof  ordered  Tikhon  to  be  summoned,  and,  after  prais- 
ing him  for  his  activity,  he  spoke  to  him,  in  the  starosta's 
presence,  a  few  words  about  their  fidelity  to  the  tsar  and  the 
mtherland,  and  that  hatred  toward  the  French  which  the  sons 
of  the  fatherland  were  in  duty  boimd  to  manifest. 

^'  We  haven't  done  any  harm  to  the  French,'*  said  Tikhon, 
evidently  confused  by  this  speech  of  DenisoFs.  ^'  We  only 
amused  ourselves,  as  you  might  say,  with  the  boys.  We 
killed  a  £ew  dozen  of  the  miroders,  that  was  all;  but  we 
haven't  done  'em  any  harm." 

On  the  next  day  when  Denisof,  who  had  entirely  forgotten 
about  this  muzhiK,  was  starting  away  from  Pokrovskoye,  he 
was  informed  that  Tikhon  had  joined  the  band,  and  asked 
permission  to  stay.    Denisof  gave  orders  to  keep  him. 

Tikhon,  who  at  first  was  given  the  '<  black  work  "  of  making 
eanfp-fires,  fetching  water,  carrying  horses,  quickly  displayed 
great  willingness  and  aptitude  for  partisan  warfare.  He 
would  go  out  at  night  after  booty,  and  every  time  he  would 
return  with  French  clothes  and  arms,  but  when  it  was  enjomed 
upon  him  he  would  even  bring  in  prisoners. 

Denisof  then  relieved  Tikhon  from  drudgery,  began  to  take 
him  with  him  in  his  raids,  and  enrolled  him  among  the  Cos- 
sacks. 

Tikhon  was  not  fond  of  riding  horseback,  and  always  trav- 
elled on  foot,  but  he  never  let  the  cavalry  get  ahead  of  him. 
His  weapons  consisted  of  a  musket,  which  he  carried  out  of 
sport,  a  lance,  and  a  hatchet,  which  he  used  as  a  wolf  uses  its 
teeth,  with  equal  facility  eliciting  a  flea  out  of  his  hair  or 
crunching  stout  bones.  Tikhon,  with  absolute  certainty,  would 
split  a  brain  with  his  hatchet  at  any  distance,  and,  taking  it  by 
tpe  bi|t,  be  yrpy^^  cut  out  dainty  ornaments,  or  parve  spoons, 

f  7lie  ||ap-toothe4* 


142  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

In  Denisors  band  Tikhon  enjoyed  an  exclnsiye  and  exeep- 
tional  position.  When  there  was  need  of  doing  anything  espe- 
cially difficult  and  obnoxious,  —  to  put  a  shoulder  to  a  team 
stucK  in  the  mud,  or  to  pull  a  horse  from  the  bog  bj  the  tail, 
or  act  as  knacker,  or  make  his  wslj  into  the  very  midst  of  the 
French,  or  travel  fifty  versts  a  day,  — all  laughed  and  gave  it 
to  Tikhon  to  do. 

"  What  harm  will  it  do  him,  the  devil  ?  He's  tough  as  a 
horse  I  "  they  would  say  of  him. 

One  time  a  Frenchman,  whom  Tikhon  had  taken  prisoner, 
fired  his  pistol  at  him,  and  wounded  him  in  the  seat.  This 
wound,  which  Tikhon  treated  with  nothing  but  vodka,  taken 
internally  and  externally,  was  the  object  of  the  merriest  jokes 
in  the  whole  division,  and  Tikhon  put  up  with  them  with  a 
very  good  grace. 

"  Well,  brother,  how's  it  coming  on  ?  Does  it  double  you 
up  ? ''  the  Cossacks  would  ask  mockingly ;  and  Tikhon,  en- 
tering into  the  fun  of  the  thing,  would  make  up  a  face,  and, 
pretending  to  be  angry  with  the  French,  he  would  abase  the 
French  with  the  most  absurd  objurgations.  The  onlv  impres- 
sion that  the  affair  miide  on  Tiknon  was  that,  after  his  wound, 
he  was  chary  of  bringing  in  prisoners. 

Tikhon  was  the  most  useful  and  the  bravest  man  in  the 
band.  Ko  one  was  quicker  than  he  was  in  discovering  the 
chances  of  a  raid ;  no  one  had  conquered  and  killed  more  of 
the  French ;  and,  in  consequence  of  this,  he  was  the  bufifoon 
of  the  whole  band,  and  he  willingly  accommodated  himself 
to  this  standing. 

Tikhon  had  now  been  sent  by  Denisof  that  very  evening  to 
Shamshevo  to  capture  '<a  tongue."  But  either  because  he 
had  not  been  satisfied  with  one  single  Frenchman,  or  because 
he  had  slept  that  night,  during  daylight  he  had  crept  among 
the  bushes  in  the  very  midst  of  tne  French,  and,  as  Denisof 
had  seen  from  the  brow  of  the  ravine,  had  been  discovered  by 
them. 

CHAPTER  VL 

After  talking  with  the  esaul  for  some  little  time  longer 
about  the  morrow's  raid,  which  Denisof,  it  seemed,  having  got 
a  view  of  the  French  near  at  hand,  was  fully  disposed  to 
make,  he  turned  his  horse  and  rode  back. 

"  Well,  bwother,  now  we'll  go  and  dwy  ourselves,"  said  be 
to  Petya. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  148 

As  they  approached  the  forest  watch-house,  Denisof  reined 
in,  and  gazed  into  the  woods.  Along  the  forest,  between  the 
trees,  came,  at  a  great  swinging  gait,  a  loug-legged,  long- 
armed  man,  in  a  kurta,  or  roundabout,  bast  boots,  a  Kazan 
cap,  with  a  musket  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  hatchet  in  his 
belt.  On  catching  sight  of  Denisof,  this  man  hastily  threw 
something  into  the  thicket,  and,  removing  his  wet  cap,  with 
its  pendent  brim,  he  approached  his  leader. 

This  was  Tikhon. 

His  face,  pitted  with  smallpox,  and  covered  with  wrinkles, 
and  his  little,  narrow  eyes,  fairly  beamed  with  self-satisfied 
jollity.  He  lifted  his  head  high,  and,  as  though  trying  to 
refrain  from  laughing,  looked  at  Denisof. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  this  time  ?  "  asked  Denisof. 

"  Where  have  I  been  ?  I  went  after  the  French,"  replied 
Tikhon,  boldly  and  hastily,  in  a  hoarse  but  melodious  bass. 

"  Why  did  you  keep  out  of  sight  all  day  ?  Donkey  I  Well, 
why  didn't  you  bring  him  ?  " 

*'  I  brought  what  I  brought,"  said  Tikhon. 

<'  Where  is  he  ?  " 

'*  Well,  I  got  him,  in  the  first  place,  before  sunrise,"  pur- 
sued Tikhon,  setting  his  legs,  high-wrapped  in  lapti,  wide 
ax>art.  "  And  I  lugged  him  into  the  woods.  But  I  see  he's 
no  good.  I  thinks  to  myself,  *  I'll  try  it  again ;  111  have  better 
luck  with  another.' " 

"  Oh,  you  wascal  I  —  what  a  man  he  is  ! "  exclaimed  Den- 
isof, turning  to  the  esaul.     "  Why  didn't  you  bwing  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why  didn't  I  bring  him ! "  exclaimed  Tikhon  angrily. 
—  "  No  good  !    Don't  I  know  what  kind  you  want  ?  " 

«  What  a  beast !  —  Well  ?  " 

"I  went  after  another  one,"  resumed  Tikhon.  "I  crept  this 
way  into  the  woods,  lying  flat !"  —  Tikhon  here  unexpectedly 
ana  abruptly  threw  himself  on  his  belly,  watching  their  faces 
while  he  did  so.  "  Suddenly  one  shows  up,"  he  went  on  to 
say  ;  "  I  collar  him  —  this  way."  Tikhon  swiftly,  lithely 
leaped  to  his  feet.  " '  Come  along,'  says  I  to  the  colonel. 
What  a  racket  he  made !  And  there  were  four  of  'em  I  They 
sprang  on  me  with  their  little  swords.  And  I  at  'em  in  this 
way  with  my  hatchet :  '  What's  the  matter  with  you !  Christ 
be  with  you  ! '  says  I,"  cried  Tikhon,  waving  his  arms  and  put- 
ting on  a  frightful  scowl,  swelling  his  chest. 

"  Yes,  we  just  saw  from  the  hill  what  a  tussle  you  had  with 
'em,  and  how  you  went  through  the  swamp  1 "  exclaimed  the 
esaul,  squinting  up  his  glistening  eyes. 


144  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Petya  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  laugh,  bat  he  ftaw  tlial  aJl 
the  others  kept  perfectly  sober.  He  swiftly  ran  his  eyes  from 
Tikhon's  face  to  the  esaul's  and  Denisof  s,  not  understaiiding 
what  this  all  meant. 

"  Cease  playing  the  fool ! "  cried  Denisof,  angrily  eoughii^. 
"Why  didn't  you  bwing  in  the  first  one ?  " 

Tikhon  began  to  scratch  his  back  with  one  hand  and  Ins 
head  with  the  other,  and  suddenly  his  whole  mouth  parted  in 
a  radiant,  stupid  smile,  which  exposed  the  lack  of  a  tooth 
(that  was  what  had  given  him  the  name  of  Shcherbatui,  the 
gap-toothed).  Denisof  smiled,  and  Petya  indiilged  in  a  heartj 
laugh  in  which  Tikhon  himself  joined. 

"Oh,  well,  he  was  entirely  no  good!'*  said  Tikhon.  **Hi» 
clothes  were  wretched,  else  I'd  have  brought  him.  And 
besides  he  was  surly,  your  nobility.  Says  he,  '  I  am  an  oim- 
raVs  son  myself,'  says  he,  ^  and  I  won't  come,'  says  he.'* 

"What  a  brute  !"  exclaimed  Denisof.  "I  wanted  to  ques- 
tion him  "  — 

"Well,  I  questioned  him,"  said  Tikhon.  "'I  don't  know 
much,'  says  he.  *A  poor  crowd.  A  good  many  of  us,*  says 
he,  'but  a  poor  lot.  Only,'  says  he,  'they  are  all  the  same 
kind.  Groan  a  little  louder,'  says  he,  *  you'll  get  'em  all,'" 
said  Tikhon  in  conclusion,  looking  gayly  and  resolutely  into 
Denisof's  eyes. 

"  I'll  have  you  thrashed  with  a  hot  hundred,  and  then  youTl 
perhaps  cease  playing  the  fool,"  said  Denisof  severely. 

"  What's  there  to  get  mad  about  ?  "  asked  Tikhcm.  "  Be- 
cause I  didn't  see  your  Frenchman.  Wait  till  after  it*8  dark, 
and  then,  if  you  want  some,  I'll  bring  in  three  of  *eiii-" 

"  Well,  come  on,"  said  Denisof ;  and  he  rode  away  angrily 
scowling,  and  uttered  not  a  word  until  he  reached  the  watch- 
house. 

Tikhon  followed,  and  Petya  heard  the  Cossacks  laughing 
with  him  and  at  him  about  the  pair  of  boots  that  he  had  Song 
into  the  bushes.  When  he  had  recovered  from  the  fit  of 
laughing  that  overmastered  him  on  account  of  Tikhon's  words 
and  queer  smile,  and  he  understood  in  a  flash  that  Tikhon  had 
killed  that  man,  Petya  felt  uncomfortable. 

He  glanced  at  the  little  drummer,  and  something  wrong  his 
very  heart.  But  this  sense  of  awkwardness  lasted  only  for  a 
second.  He  felt  that  he  must  lift  his  head  again,  plnek  up 
his  courage,  and  asked  the  esaul  with  an  air  of  great  impoi^ 
tance  in  regard  to  the  morrow's  enterprise,  so  as  to  be  woitiiy 
of  the  company  in  which  he  found  himself. 


WAM  AND  PEACE.  145 

The  officer  who  had  been  sent  to  find  Dolokhof  met  Denisof 
on  the  road  with  the  report  that  Dolokhof  would  be  there 
immediately,  and  that,  as  far  as  he  was  eoncemed,  he  was 
agreeable,  Denisof  suddenly  recovered  his  spirits,  and  beck- 
oned Petya  to  himself. 

"  Now,  tell  me  all  about  yourself,''  said  he. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Petya,  on  leaving  Moscow  and  saying  farewell  to  his  parents, 
had  joined  his  regiment,  and  soon  after  had  been  appointed 
orderly  to  a  general  who  had  a  large  detachment  under  his 
command. 

Since  the  time  of  his  promotion  to  be  an  officer,  and  espe- 
cially his  transfer  into  the  active  army,  with  which  he  had 
taken  part  in  the  battle  at  Yiazma,  Petya  had  been  in  a 
chronic  state  of  excitement  and  delight,  because  he  was  now 
"  grown  up,"  and  in  a  chronic  state  of  enthusiastic  eagerness 
not  to  miss  the  slightest  chance  where  heroism  was  to  be  dis- 
played. 

He  was  much  delighted  with  what  he  saw  and  experienced 
in  the  array,  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all 
the  chances  of  heroism  were  displayed  not  where  he  was,  but 
where  he  was  not.  And  he  was  crazy  to  be  on  the  move  all 
the  time. 

When,  on  November  second,  his  general  had  expressed  the 
desire  to  send  some  one  to  Denisof's  division,  Petya  pleaded 
so  earnestly  to  be  sent,  that  the  general  found  it  not  in  his 
heart  to  refuse.  But,  as  he  let  him  go,  the  general  remem- 
bered Petya's  reckless  escapade  in  the  battle  of  Viazma,  when, 
instead  of  taking  the  road  that  had  been  recommended  to  him, 
he  galloped  off  in  front  of  the  lines  and  under  the  French  fire, 
shooting  his  pistol  twice  as  he  rode,  and  so  now  the  general,  in 
letting  him  go,  expressly  forbade  Petya  to  take  part  in  any  of 
Denisof's  enterprises  whatever. 

That  was  the  reason  that  Petya  had  flushed  and  become 
confused  when  Denisof  asked  him  whether  he  could  stay  with 
him. 

Until  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  forest,  Petya  had  promised 
himself  that  he  should  immediately  return,  strictly  fulfilling 
his  duty  as  he  should  do.  But  when  he  saw  the  French,  when 
he  saw  Tikhon,  and  learned  that  during  the  night  there  would 
infallibly  be  a  raid  upon  them^  he,  with  the  swift  transition  of 
VOL.  4.  — 10* 


146  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

youth  from  one  view  to  another,  decided  in  his  own  mind  tiiat 
his  general,  whom  till  then  he  had  highly  respected,  was  a 
rubbishy  German,  that  Denisof  was  a  hero,  and  that  the  esaol 
was  a  hero,  and  that  Tikhon  was  a  hero,  and  that  it  would 
be  shameful  of  him  to  desert  them  at  such  a  critical  moment 

It  was  twilight  by  the  time  that  Denisof  with  Petya  and  the 
esaul  reached  the  watch-house.  Through  the  twilight  conM 
be  seen  saddled  horses,  Cossacks,  hussars,  shelter  huts  set  np<Hi 
the  clearing,  and  the  scattered  glow  of  fires  built  in  the  forest 
ravine,  so  that  the  smoke  might  not  betray  them  to  the  French. 

In  the  entry  of  the  little  hovel,  a  Cossack  with  sleeves  rolled 
up  was  cutting  up  mutton.  In  the  izba  itself  were  three  offi- 
cers of  Denisof  s  band  constructing  a  table  out  of  a  boaicL 
Petya  pulled  off  his  wet  clothing,  Riving  it  to  be  dried,  and 
immediately  offered  his  services  in  helping  to  set  the  dimm 
table. 

Within  ten  minutes  the  table  was  ready,  and  spread  with  a 
cloth  and  loaded  with  vodka,  a  bottle  of  rum,  white  bread,  and 
roasted  mutton  and  salt. 

Sitting  down  with  the  officers  at  the  table,  tearing  the  £at» 
fragrant  mutton  with  hands  from  which  dripped  the  tallow, 
Petya  found  himself  in  an  enthusiastic,  childlike  state  of  affec- 
tionate love  to  all  men,  and  consequently  of  belief  that  all 
men  felt  the  same  love  toward  him. 

"Say,  what  do  you  think,  Vasili  Fecdorovitch,"  he  asked, 
turning  to  Denisor,  "  shoiQd  I  get  into  trouble  if  I  staid  with 
you  for  a  single  little  day  ?  "  And,  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  he  went  on  answering  himself,  "  For  you  see  I  was 
ordered  to  find  out,  and  I  shall  find  out.  —  Only  you  must  let 
me  join  the  most — the  chief — I  don't  want  any  reward — But 
I  want "  —  Petya  set  his  teeth  together,  and,  lifting  his  head 
erect,  glanced  around  and  waved  his  hand. 

"  The  most  chief  ?  "  —  repeated  Denisof,  smiling. 

"  Only  please  let  me  have  a  company ;  let  me  command  it 
myself,"  pursued  Petya.  **  Now,  what  difference  will  it  make 
to  you  ?  —  Akh  !  would  you  like  a  knife  ?  "  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  an  officer  who  was  trying  to  dissect  a  slice  of  mutton. 
And  he  handed  him  his  case  knife. 

The  officer  praised  the  knife. 

"  Pray  keep  it.  I  have  several  like  it" —  said  Petya,  Uosh- 
ing.  "  Ye  saints !  I  forgot  all  about  it,"  he  suddenly  cried. 
<*  I  have  some  splendid  raisins ;  quite  without  seeds,  jon 
know.  We  bad  a  new  sutler,  and  he  brought  some  magnifi- 
cent things.     I  bought  ten  pounds.    I  like  something  sweet 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  147 

Would  yon  like  them  "  —  ?  And  Petya  ran  into  the  entry  to 
where  his  Cossack  was,  and  brought  back  a  basket  containing 
five  pounds  of  raisins. — "Take  them,  gentlemen,  take  them. — 
I  wonder  if  you  want  a  coffee  pot  ?  "  he  asked,  addressing  the 
esauL  "  I  bought  a  splendid  one  of  our  sutler.  He  had  mag- 
nificent things.  And  he  was  very  honest.  That  is  the  main 
thing.  I  will  send  it  to  you  without  fail.  And  perhaps  you 
are  out  of  flints  ?  Do  you  need  some  ?  I Ve  got  some  here  "  — 
he  pointed  to  his  basket  —  "A  hundred  flints.  I  bought  them 
very  cheap.  Take  them,  I  beg  of  you,  as  many  as  you  need, 
take  them  all "  — 

And,  suddenly  frightened  lest  he  was  talking  too  much, 
Petya  stopped  short  and  colored. 

He  began  to  recall  whether  he  had  said  anything  silly,  and, 
while  passing  the  events  of  the  day  in  review,  his  mind  recurred 
to  the  little  French  drummer.  "  We  are  very  comfortable  here, 
but  how  is  it  with  him  ?  What  have  they  done  with  him  ? 
ftave  they  given  him  anything  to  eat  ?  I  hope  they  haven't 
been  abusing  him,"  he  wondered ;  but,  recognizing  that  he  had 
gone  too  far  in  his  offer  with  the  flints,  he  was  now  afraid. 

"  Might  I  ask  ?  "  he  queried.  "  Won't  they  say,  'He's  a  boy 
himself,  and  of  course  he  pities  another  boy '  ?  But  I'll  show 
them  to-morrow  what  kind  of  a  boy  I  am.  Ought  I  to  be 
ashamed  to  ask  ?  "  queried  Petya.  "  Well,  then,  what  differ- 
ence does  it  make  ?  "  and  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  flushing 
and  giving  a  timid  look  at  the  officers  to  see  whether  they 
would  laugh  at  him,  he  said,  — 

"  May  I  call  in  that  lad  whom  you  took  prisoner,  and  give 
him  something  to  eat  ?  —  May  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  poor  little  fellow ! "  replied  Denisof,  evidently  seeing 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  thus  speaking  of  him.  "  Call  him 
in.     His  name  is  Vincent  Bosse.    Call  him." 

"  I'll  call  him,"  cried  Petya. 

"  Call  him,  call  him,  poor  little  fellow  ! "  said  Denisof. 

Petya  was  already  at  the  door  when  Denisof  said  this.  Petya 
made  his  way  among  the  officers,  and  swiftly  returned  to 
Denisof. 

"  Let  me  kiss  you,  dear,"  *  said  he.  "  Akh  I  how  splendid  of 
you !  How  kind  I "  And,  after  giving  Denisof  a  hearty  kiss, 
he  ran  out  of  doors. 

"Bosse !    Vincent ! "  called  Petya,  standing  at  the  door. 

^  Whom  do  you  want,  sir  ?  "  asked  a  voice  from  the  dark- 
ness. Petya  explained  that  it  was  the  French  lad  whom  they 
had  taken  that  day. 

•  Qoluhchik, 


148  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

"  Oh  /  VesSnnui  ?  "  inquired  the  Cossack.  The  lad's  name, 
Vincent,  had  been  already  changed  by  the  Cossacks  into  Yc«- 
6nnui,*  by  the  soldiers  and  muzhiks  into  Yisenya.  In  eack 
of  these  variations  the  reference  to  Spring  seemed  to  hafe  a 
special  appropriateness  to  the  young  lad. 

"  He's  there  by  the  fire,  warming  himself.  Hey,  Yisenya! 
Yisenya !  Yes^nnui ! "  sounded  the  voices,  passing  the  call 
on,  mingled  with  laughter. 

*'  Oh,  he's  a  likely  lad,"  said  a  hussar  standing  near  Petj& 
"  We  fed  him  anon.    He  was  half  starved." 

Steps  were  heard  in  the  darkness,  and  the  drummer  boy, 
with  his  bare  feet  slopping  through  the  mud,  came  up  to  the 
door. 

" Ah, c'est  votes"  said Petya.  Voulez-vous manger ?  IPwti 
paapeuT  !  On  ne  vous  f era  pas  de  mal.  —  Don't  you  want  soni^ 
thing  to  eat  ?  Don't  be  afraid ;  they  won't  hurt  you,"  he 
added,  timidly  and  cordially,  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm. 
"  EfUreZy  entrez." 

^^Merci,  monsieur!"  replied  the  drummer  in  a  trembling 
voice,  almost  like  that  of  a  child,  and  he  proceeded  to  wipe  his 
muddy  feet  on  the  threshold. 

Petya  felt  like  saying  many  things  to  the  drummer,  but  he 
dared  not.  Passing  beyond  him,  he  stood  next  him  in  the 
entry.  Then  in  the  darkness  he  seized  his  hand  and  pressed 
it.     <'  Entrez,  etitrez"  he  repeated  in  an  encouraging  whisper. 

'^  Akh !  what  can  I  do  for  him,  I  wonder  ? "  Petya  a^ed 
himself,  and,  opening  the  door,  he  let  the  lad  pass  in  front  of 
him  into  the  room. 

After  the  drummer  entered  the  izba  Petya  ^at  down  at  some 
distance  from  him,  considering  it  undignified  to  pay  him  too 
much  attention.  He  merely  fumbled  the  money  in  his  pocket, 
and  was  in  doubt  whether  it  would  not  be  shameful  to  give  it 
to  the  drummer  boy. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 

From  the  drummer,  who,  by  Denisof  s  direction,  was  served 
with  vodka  and  mutton,  and  dressed  in  a  Russian  kaftan,  so 
that  he  might  remain  in  his  band,  and  not  be  sent  off  with  the 
other  prisoners,  Petya's  attention  was  diverted  by  Dolokhof  s 
arrival.  He  had  heaid  much  in  the  army  about  Dolokhof s 
phenomenal  gallantry  ^nd  cruelty  to  the  French,  and  theie- 

*  The  adjective  from  Viesndf  Spring. 


WAlt  AND  PEACE.  149 

fore,  from  the  moment  that  Dolokhof  came  in,  Petya  gassed  at 
him  without  taking  his  eyes  from  him,  and  held  his  head  high, 
so  as  to  be  worthy  even  of  such  society  as  Dolokhof. 

Dolokhors  outward  appearance  struck  Petya  strangely,  from 
its  studied  simplicity. 

While  Denisof  was  dressed  in  a  chekm^n  or  Cossack  kaftan, 
wore  a  beard,  and  on  his  chest  a  picture  of  St.  Nicholas  the 
Miracle-worker  —  Nikola  Chudotvorets  —  and  in  his  manner 
of  speech,  in  all  his  ways,  manifested  the  peculiarity  of  his 
position,  Dolokhof,  on  the  contrary,  who  had  before  worn  a 
I'ersian  costume  in  Moscow,  now  had  the  air  of  a  most  con- 
ceited officer  of  the  Guards. 

His  face  was  smooth-shaven,  he  wore  the  wadded  uniform 
coat  of  the  Guards,  with  the  "  George  '*  in  the  button-hole,  and 
his  forage  cap  set  straight.  He  removed  his  wet  burka  in  the 
corner,  and,  going  directly  up  to  Denisof,  without  exchanging 
greetings  with  any  one,  immediately  proceeded  to  inquire 
about  the  business  in  hand. 

Denisof  told  him  about  the  projects  which  the  large  detach- 
ment of  troops  had  formed  of  attacking  their  transport-train, 
and  about  the  message  which  Petya  had  brought,  and  how  he 
had  replied  to  the  two  generals. 

Then  Denisof  related  all  that  he  knew  about  the  position  of 
the  French  escort. 

"  So  far,  so  good ;  but  we  must  know  what  sort  of  troops, 
and  how  many  they  are,"  said  Dolokhof.  "  We  must  enter 
their  lines.  If  we  don't  know  exactly  how  many  of  them  there 
are,  it's  no  use  to  attempt  the  thing.  I  like  to  do  such  busi- 
ness in  good  style.  Here,  I  wonder  if  any  of  these  gentlemen 
will  go  with  me  into  their  camp.  I  have  an  extra  uniform 
with  me." 

"I  —  I  — I  will  go  with  you ! "  cried  Petya. 

"  You  are  precisely  the  one  who  shall  not  go,"  said  Denisof, 
turning  to  Dolokhof.  "I  would  not  let  him  go  on  any  ac- 
count." 

«  That's  a  great  note ! "  cried  Petya.     «  Why  can't  I  go  ?  " 

« Why,  because  there's  no  reason  why  you  should." 

''Well,  now,  you  will  excuse  me  because  —  because  —  but  I 
will  go;  that's  all  there  is  of  it  I^You  will  take  me,  won't 
you  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  Dolokhof. 

*^Why  not?'*  replied  Dolokhof,  absent-mindedly,  staring 
into  the  face  of  the  French  drummer. 

"Have  you  had  this  young  lad  long?  "  he  asked  of  Denisof. 

'^  Took  nim  to-day,  hat  he  knows  nothing ;  I  kept  him  with 
me.'' 


150  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

• 

"  Well,  now,  what  do  you  do  with  the  others  ?  "  demaDded 
Dolokhof. 

"  What  should  I  do  ?  I  send  them  in  and  get  a  receipt," 
replied  Denisof,  suddenly  reddening.  "And  I'll  tell  y«i 
fwankly,  that  I  have  not  a  single  man  on  my  conscieDce. 
What's  the  twouble  in  sending  thirty  or  thwee  hundwed 
under  escort  to  the  city  ?  I  tell  you  honestly  it's  better  than  to 
stain  the  honor  of  a  soldier." 

"Let  this  sixteen-year-old  countlet  have  all  these  £me 
notions,"  said  Dolokhof,  with  icy  ridicule,  "  but  it's  time  yon 
gave  them  up." 

"  Well,  I  say  nothing  of  the  sort,  I  only  sjiy  that  I  am  cer- 
tainly going  with  you,"  timidly  interrupted  Petya. 

"Yes,  it's  high  time  you  and  I,  brother,  gave  up  these  fine 
notions,"  insisted  Dolokhof,  as  though  he  found  espedal 
delight  in  dwelling  on  this  point  which  was  annoying  to 
Denisof.  "Now,  for  instance,  why  did  you  keep  this  one?*' 
he  asked,  shaking  his  head.  "  Why,  it  was  because  you  pitied 
him,  wasn't  it  ?  We  know  well  enough  what  your  receipts 
amount  to  !  You  will  send  a  hundred  men,  and  thirty  '11  get 
there  !  They'll  die  of  starvation  or  be  killed.  So  why  isn't 
it  just  as  well  not  to  take  any  ?  " 

The  esaul,  snapping  his  bright  eyes,  nodded  his  head  in 
approval. 

"  It's  all  wight ;  no  need  of  weasoning  about  it  here.  I  don't 
care  to  take  the  wesponsibility  on  my  soul.  You  say  they  die 
on  the  woad.  Well  and  good.  Only  'tisn't  I  who  murder 
^em." 

Dolokhof  laughed.  "  Haven't  they  been  told  twenty  times 
to  take  me  ?  And  if  they  should  —  or  you,  either,  with  all 
your  chivalry,  it  would  be  an  even  game — a  rope  and  the 
aspen-tree ! "  He  paused.  "  However,  we  must  to  work. 
Have  my  man  bring  in  my  pack.  I  have  two  French  uni- 
forms. So  you  are  going  with  me,  are  you  ? "  he  asked  of 
Petya. 

"  I  ?  I  ?  — yes,  certainly  ! "  cried  Petya,  reddening  till  the 
tears  came,  and  glancing  at  Denisof. 

Again  at  the  time  while  Dolokhof  was  discussing  with 
Denisof  as  to  what  should  be  done  with  the  prisoners,  Pe^ 
had  that  former  sense  of  awkwardness  and  precipitancy ;  but 
again,  he  did  not  succeed  very  well  in  comprehending  what 
they  said.  "If  grown-uj),  famous  men  have  such  ideas,  of 
course  it  must  be  so,  it  must  be  all  right,"  he  said  to  himsell 
"  But  the  main  thing  is  that  Denisof  must  not  think  that  I  am 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  151 

going  to  listen  to  him,  that  he  can  give  orders  to  me !  Cer- 
tainly I'm  going  to  the  French  camp.  If  he  can,  of  course  I 
can."  To  all  Denisof  s  urgencies  not  to  go,  Petya  replied  that 
he  was  accustomed  to  do  things  properly — akkilrdtno  —  and 
not  at  hap-hazard,  and  he  never  thought  about  personal  danger. 
"Because — you  yourself  must  acknowledge  this — if  we 
don't  know  pretty  well  how  many  they  are,  the  lives  of  hun- 
dreds of  us  may  depend  upon  it,  while  here  we  are  alone  — 
and,  besides,  I  am  very  anxious  to  do  this,  and  I  am  certainly, 
certainly  going,  and  you  must  not  try  to  keep  me  from  it/' 
said  he;  "that  would  only  make  it  the  worse.'' 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Having  put  on  the  French  uniforms  and  shakos,  Petya  and 
Dolokhof  rode  to  the  vista  from  which  Denisof  had  recon- 
noitred the  camp,  and,  emerging  from  the  forest  in  absolute 
dai'kness,  they  made  their  way  down  into  the  ravine.  On 
reaching  the  bottom,  Dolokhof  ordered  the  Cossack  who  ac- 
companied them  to  wait  for  them  there,  and  started  off  at  a 
round  trot  along  the  road  to  the  bridge ;  Petya,  his  heart  in  his 
mouth  with  excitement,  rode  by  his  side. 

"If  we  fall  into  their  clutches,  I  won't  give  myself  up 
alive ;  I  have  a  pistol,"  whispered  Petya. 

"  Don't  speak  in  Eussian ! "  exclaimed  Dolokhof,  in  a  quick 
whisper,  and,  at  that  instant,  they  heard  in  the  darkness  the 
challenge  "  Qui  vive  ?  "  and  the  click  of  the  musket. 

The  blood  rushed  into  Petya's  face,  and  he  grasped  his  pistoL 

"  Landers  de  6/ne,"  cried  Dolokhof,  neither  hastening  nor 
checking  his  horse's  pace. 

The  dark  figure  of  the  sentinel  stood  out  upon  the  bridge. 

''Motd'ordre!'' 

Dolokhof  reined  in  his  horse,  and  rode  at  a  foot  pace. 

"  Tell  me  is  Colonel  Gerard  here  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  The  countersign,"  insisted  the  sentinel,  not  answering  the 
question,  and  blocking  the  way. 

"  When  an  officer  is  making  his  round,  the  sentinels  do  not 
ask  the  countersign,"  cried  Dolokhof,  suddenly  losing  his 
temper,  and  spurring  his  horse  against  the  sentinel.  "  I  ask 
you  if  the  colonel  is  here  ?  "  * 

•  "Mot  d'ardref'^—^'DiUs  done,  le  Colonel  Oirard  est  icif"'-**Mot 
Wordre!'^—"  Qiiand  nn  officier  fait  sa  ronde,  lea  aentinelles  ne  demanderU 
pQ»  le  mot  d^ordre—Je  vou9  demande  9i  le  colonel  est  ici" 


152  WAR  AND  PEACS. 

And,  without  waiting  for  an  answer  from  the  sentinel,  whom 
he  shouldered  out  of  the  way,  Dolokhof  rode  up  the  slope  at  a 
foot  pace. 

Perceiving  the  dark  figure  of  a  man  crossing  the  road, 
Dolokhof  halted  him,  and  asked  where  the  commander  and 
the  officers  were.  This  man,  who  had  a  basket  on  his  shoulder, 
paused,  came  close  up  to  Dolokhof's  horse,  laid  his  arm  on  her, 
and  told,  in  simple,  friendly  way,  that  the  commander  and  the 
officers  were  higher  up  on  the  hill,  at  the  right-hand  side,  at 
the  *'  farm,"  as  he  called  the  establishment  of  the  owner  of  the 
estate. 

After  riding  along  the  road,  on  both  sides  of  which  were  the 
bivouac  iires,  where  they  could  hear  the  sounds  of  men  talk- 
ing French,  Dolokhof  turned  into  the  yard  of  the  manorial 
mansion.  On  riding  into  the  gates,  he  slid  off  his  horse,  and 
went  up  to  a  great  blazing  camp-fire  around  which  sat  a  num- 
ber of  men  talking  loudly.  In  a  kettle  at  the  edge  of  it 
something  was  cooking,  and  a  soldier  in  a  cap  and  blue  capote 
was  on  his  knees  in  front  of  it,  his  face  brightly  lighted  by 
the  fiames,  and  was  stirring  it  with  his  ramrod.  ^'  OA,  e^est  un 
dur  d  euire —  He's  a  tough  one  at  cooking ! ''  cried  one  of  the 
officers,  who  were  sitting  in  the  shadow  in  the  opposite  side. 

"  R  fera  marcher  les  lapins  —  He'll  make  the  rabbits  fly," 
said  another,  with  a  laugh.  Both  relapsed  into  silence,  and 
looked  out  into  the  darkness  at  the  sounds  of  Dolokhof  and 
Petya's  footsteps,  who  came  up  to  the  fire,  leading  their  horses. 
^^ Bonjour,  messieurs"  cried  Dolokhof,  in  a  loud  tone, 
saluting  the  officers  politely.  The  officers  made  a  little  stir 
in  the  shadow  by  the  watch-fire,  and  a  tall  man  with  a  l<mg 
neck,  coming  around  the  fire,  approached  Dolokhof. 

"  C^est  V0118,  ClSment  ?  "  he  began.  "  jyou  diable — where  the 
deuce  ?  "  but  he  did  not  finish  his  question,  recognizing  his 
mistake,  and,  slightly  frowning,  he  exchanged  greetings  with 
Dolokhof,  as  with  a  stranger,  asking  him  in  what  way  he 
might  serve  him.  Dolokhof  told  him  that  he  and  his  comrade 
were  in  search  of  their  regiment,  and,  addressing  the  officers 
in  general,  he  asked  them  if  they  knew  anything  about  the 
sixth  regiment. 

No  one  knew  anything  about  it,  and  it  seemed  to  Petya 
that  the  officers  began  to  look  suspiciously  and  with  animositj 
at  him  and  Dolokhof.    For  several  seconds  all  were  silent. 

**  Si  volts  comptez  sur  la  soupe  du  soir,  vous  venez  trop  tard — 
You  are  too  late  if  you  expect  soup  this  evening,"  said  a  voioe 
with  a  suppressed  laugh  from  behind  the  fire. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  158 

DoloUiof  explained  that  they  were  not  hangry,  and  that 
they  had  to  go  still  farther  that  night.  He  handed  over  his 
horse  to  the  soldier  who  had  been  busy  over  the  stew,  and 

auatted  down  on  his  heels  by  the  fire,  next  the  long-necked 
icer.  This  officer  stared  at  Dolokhof,  without  taking  his 
eyes  from  him,  and  asked  him  for  a  second  time  what 
regiment  he  belonged  to  ? 

Dolokhof  made  no  reply,  affecting  not  to  hear  his  question ; 
and,  as  he  puffed  at  the  short  French  pipe  which  he  got  out  of 
his  pocket,  he  inquired  of  the  officers  how  far  the  road  in 
front  of  them  was  free  from  danger  of  the  Cossacks. 

"Z«»  brigands  santpartout — everywhere  I "  replied  an  offi- 
cer from  the  other  side  of  the  camp-fire. 

Dolokhof  remarked  that  the  Cossacks  were  dangerous  only 
for  those  who  were  alone,  as  he  and  his  companion  were,  but 
that  certainly  they  would  not  venture  to  attack  a  large  de- 
tachment—  "Would  they?"    he   added   dubiously. 

All  the  time  Petya,  who  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fire 
and  listening  to  the  conversation,  kept  saying  to  himself, 
"  Now  surely  he  will  start.'' 

But  Dolokhof  once  more  took  up  the  thread  of  the  conver- 
sation which  had  been  dropped,  and  began  to  ask  them  up 
and  down  how  many  men  there  were  in  .their  battalion,  how 
many  battalions,  how  many  prisoners  ?  And  while  asking 
his  questions  about  the  Russian  prisoners  whom  they  had  in 
their  escort,  Dolokhof  said,  "  Wretched  business  to  drag  these 
corpses  around  with  us.  We'd  much  better  shoot  this  trash,"  * 
and  he  laughed  aloud  with  such  a  strange  laugh  that  it  seemed 
to  Petya  as  if  the  French  would  then  and  there  discover  the 
imposition,  and  he  involuntarily  took  a  step  from  the  fire. 

No  one  responded  to  Dolokhof's  remark  or  his  laugh,  and  a 
French  officer  who  till  then  had  not  showed  himself  (he  had 
been  Iving  down  wrapped  up  in  his  capote)  raised  himself  up 
and  whispered  something  to  his  comrade.  Dolokhof  got  up 
and  beckoned  to  the  soldier  who  held  his  horse. 

"  Will  they  let  us  have  the  horses  or  not  ?  "  wondered  Petya, 
involuntarily  moving  nearer  to  Dolokhof. 

The  horses  were  brought. 

*^  Bonjour,  messieurs,"  said  Dolokhof. 

Petya  wanted  to  say  "  Bonjour "  as  well,  but  he  could  not 
pronounce  a  word.  The  officers  said  something  among  them- 
selves in  a  whisper.    Dolokhof  sat  for  some  time  on  his  horse. 


(I 


La  vilaine  affaire  de  trainer  ces  cadavres  aprks  soi.    Vaudrait  mieux 
fusilier  cetu  canaiUe." 


154  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

which  was  restive ;  then  he  rode  out  of  the  gates  at  a  foot 
pace.  Petya  rode  after  him,  wishing,  but  not  daring,  to 
glance  around  to  see  if  the  French  were  following  him  or  not 

On  striking  the  road,  Dolokhof  did  not  ride  back  into  the 
fields,  but  along  the  village  street.  In  one  place  he  stopped 
and  listened. 

«  Hark ! "  said  he. 

Petya  recognized  the  sound  of  Russian  voices,  and  saw  bj 
the  watch-fires  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  Russian  prisoners. 
On  reaching  the  bridge  again,  Petya  and  Dolokhof  rode  past 
the  sentinel,  who,  not  saying  a  word,  was  moodily  pacing  back 
and  forth  across  the  bridge ;  and  then  they  plunged  into  the 
ravine,  where  their  Cossacks  were  waiting  for  them. 

'^  Well,  good-by  for  now.  Tell  Denisof  at  daybreak,  at  the 
sound  of  the  first  shot,"  said  Dolokhof,  and  he  started  to  ride 
away ;  but  Petya  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  such  a  hero.  Akh  I  how  splendid! 
how  glorious  1    How  I  like  you ! " 

"All  right,  all  right  1"  said  Dolokhof ,  but  Petya  did  not 
let  go  of  him,  and  in  the  darkness  Dolokhof  could  just  make 
out  that  Petya  was  leaning  over  toward  him.  He  wanted  to 
kiss  him.  Dolokhof  kissed  him  laughingly,  and,  turning  his 
horsC;  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  X. 

On  returning  to  the  forest  hut,  Petya  found  Denisof  in  the 
entry.  He  had  been  waiting  for  him,  full  of  excitement, 
uneasiness,  and  self-reproach  that  he  had  let  him  go. 

"Thank  God  — Slava  Bohu!"  he  cried.  "Now,  then, 
thank  God  I"  he  repeated,  on  hearing  Petya's  enthusiastic 
story.  "  The  devil  take  you.  I  haven't  had  a  wink  of  sleep 
on  account  of  you,"  exclaimed  Denisof.  "Well,  thank  God. 
Now  go  and  get  some  sleep.  We'll  have  time  for  a  nap 
before  morning." 

"Yes,  —  but  no,"  said  Petya,  "I  don't  want  to  go  to  sleep* 
I  know  myself  too  well.  If  I  once  get  to  sleep  that's  the  end 
of  it.  And  besides,  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  before  a 
battle." 

Petya  sat  some  time  in  the  izb&,  gleefully  recalling  the 
details  of  his  visits  and  vividly  picturing  what  would  happen 
on  the  morrow.  Then  observing  that  Denisof  had  fallen 
asleep,  he  got  up  and  went  out  of  doors. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  156 

It  was  still  perfectly  dark.  It  had  ceased  raining,  but  the 
drops  were  stiU  falling  from  the  trees.  Near  the  hut  could 
be  seen  the  dark  forms  of  the  Cossack  shelters  and  their 
horses  picketed  together.  Behind  the  hut  the  dark  forms  of 
the  two  wagons  were  visible,  and  next  them  the  horses,  and  in 
the  gully  the  dying  fire  was  still  glowing  red.  Not  all  the 
Cossacks  and  hussars  were  asleep;  occasionally  could  be 
heard,  together  with  the  sound  of  the  pattering  drops,  and  the 
horses  champing  their  teeth,  low  voices,  which  seemed  to  be 
whispering  together. 

Petya  stepped  out  of  the  entiy,  glanced  around  in  the  dark- 
nesSy  and  approached  the  wagons.  Some  one  was  snoring 
under  the  wagons,  and  near  them  stood  the  horses  saddled 
and  eating  oats. 

Petya  in  the  darkness  recognized  his  horse,  which  he  called 
Karabakh  though  it  was  a  Little  Bussian  horse,  and  he  went 
to  him. 

"  Well,  Karabakh,  to-morrow  we  shall  see  service,"  said  he, 
putting  his  face  to  the  horse's  nose,  and  kissing  it. 

^^  What !  barin,  aren't  you  asleep  ?  "  asked  the  Cossack  sit- 
ting under  the  wagon. 

"  No,  I — your  name's  Likhatchef,  *  isn't  it  ?  You  see  I've 
just  come  back.    We've  been  to  visit  the  French." 

And  Petya  gave  the  Cossack  a  detailed  account,  not  only  of 
his  expedition,  but  also  wh^  he  had  taken  it,  and  why  he  con- 
sidered it  much  better  to  risk  his  own  life  than  to  work  at 
hap-hazard. 

<^  Well,  you'd  better  get  some  sleep,"  said  the  Cossack. 

'*  No,  I'm  used  to  it,"  replied  Petya.  "  I  wonder  if  you  are 
out  of  flints  for  your  pistol.  I  brought  some  with  me. 
Wouldn't  you  like  some  ?     Take  them ! " 

The  Cossack  put  his  head  out  from  under  the  wagon  to  get 
a  closer  look  at  Petya. 

"  Because  I'm  used  to  doing  everything  carefully  —  dkku- 
rdtno  "  —  said  Petya.  "  Some  never  think  of  making  ready 
beforehand,  and  they  are  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  I  don't  like 
that  way." 

^^  That's  a  fact,"  said  the  Cossack. 

"  I  wonder  if  you'd  be  kind  enough  to  sharpen  my  sabre. 
It  got  dull "  —  (but  Petya  could  not  tell  a  lie)  "  it's  never  been 
sharpened.    Can't  you  do  it  for  me  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course  I  can." 

Likhatchef  got  up,  fumbled  in  his  pack,  and  soon  Petya 

*  From  Likhktch,  a  good  driver  of  horses.    Greek,  hippokrate*. 


156  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

heard  the  warlike  sonnd  of  the  steel  on  the  stone;  He 
climbed  upon  the  wagon  and  perehed  on  the  edge.  The  Cot- 
sack  was  sharpening  the  sabre  under  the  ws^;on. 

"  Well,  are  the  boys  asleep  ?  "  asked  Petya. 

"  Some  of  'em  are  asleep,  some  ain't." 

"Well,  how  about  the  lad  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  Vesennui  ?  He's  crawled  into  the  hay  yonder 
Asleep  out  of  sheer  fright.     I  was  glad  of  it." 

For  a  long  time  after  that,  Petya  said  nothing,  but  listened 
to  the  various  sounds.  Steps  were  heard  approaching  in  the 
darkness,  and  a  dark  form  appeared. 

"  What  are  you  whetting? ''  asked  a  man,  coming,  up  to  tba 
wagon. 

"  Whetting  this  barin's  sabre." 

"  Good  thing,"  said  the  man,  whom  Petya  took  to  be  a  hus- 
sar.    "  I  wonder  if  a  cup  was  left  orer  here  with  you  ?  " 

"  There  it  is  by  the  wheel." 

The  hussar  took  the  cup. 

"  It'll  be  daylight  soon,"  he  added,  yawning,  and  went  off. 

Petya  might  have  been  supposed  to  know  that  he  was  in 
the  woods  with  Denisof's  party,  a  verst  from  the  highway, 
that  he  was  perehed  on  the  wagon  taken  from  the  French, 
while  around  the  horses  were  tethered,  and  under  it  sat  the 
Cossack  Likhatchef  sharpening  his  sabre,  —  that  the  great 
black  spot  at  the  right  was  the  guard-house,  and  the  bright 
red  spot  below  at  the  left  was  the  dying  watch-fire,  that  the 
man  who  came  after  the  cup  was  a  hussar,  who  wanted  a 
drink ;  but  he  did  not  realize  this,  and  had  no  desire  to  real- 
ize it. 

He  was  in  a  magic  realm,  in  which  nothing  resembled  the 
reality. 

The  great  black  spot,  perhaps,  was  simply  the  gpiard-hoose, 
but  perhaps  it  was  a  cavern  leading  down  into  the  depths  of 
the  earth. 

The  red  spot,  perhaps,  was  a  fire,  but  perhaps  it  was  the  eye 
of  a  huge  monster. 

Perhaps  he  was  really  perched  on  the  wagon,  but  veiy  jjos- 
sibly  he  was  sitting  not  on  the  wagon,  but  on  a  terribly  high 
turret,  from  which,  if  he  fell,  it  would  take  him  a  whole  day, 
a  whole  month,  to  reach  the  earth  — ^  he  might  fall  foroTer, 
and  never  reach  it ! 

Perhaps  it  was  merely  the  Cossack  Likhatchef  sitting 
under  the  wagon,  but  very  possibly  it  was  the  best,  kindest^ 
bravest,  most  glorious,  most  admirable  man  in  the  world^  and 
no  one  knew  it  I 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  157 

Perhaps  it  was  merely  a  hnssar  who  came  after  water,  and 
went  down  the  ravine ;  but  perhaps  he  had  disappeared  from 
sight,  and  vanished  absolntelj  into  nothingness. 

Nothing  that  Petya  might  have  seen  at  that  moment  wonld 
have  surprised  him.  He  was  in  a  magic  realm,  in  which 
everything  was  possible. 

He  glanced  at  the  sky.  And  the  sky  was  as  magical  a 
thing  as  the  earth.  The  sky  had  began  to  clear,  and  over  the 
tree-tops  swiftly  scurried  the  clouds,  as  it  were  unveiling  the 
stars.  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  though  the  sky  were  clearing, 
and  the  black  depths  of  clear  sky  were  coming  into  sight. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  those  black  spots  were  clouds. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  the  sky  were  lifted  high,  high  above 
his  head ;  sometimes  the  sky  stooped  down  absolutely  so  that 
his  hand  could  touch  it. 

Petya's  eyes  began  to  close,  and  he  swayed  a  little. 

Bain-drops  dropped.*  Men  were  talking  in  low  tones. 
The  horses  neighed  and  shook  themselves.    Some  one  snored. 

Ozhik^  zhik,  ozhik^  zhik — sounded  the  sabre  on  the  whet- 
stone; and  suddenly  Petya  heard  a  harmonious  orchestra 
playing  a  solemnly  exquisite  hymn,  which  he  had  never  heard 
before. 

Petya  had  a  gift  for  music,  just  as  Natasha  had,  and  greater 
than  Nikolai's,  but  he  had  never  taken  music  lessons.  His 
mind  was  not  occupied  with  music,  and  consequently  the 
themes  that  entered  Ids  mind  were  to  him  absolutely  new  and 
fascinating. 

The  orchestra  played  louder  and  louder.  The  air  was 
resolved,  transferred  from  one  instrument  to  another.  The 
result  was  what  is  called  a  fugue,  although  Petya  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  what  a  fugue  was.  £ach  instrument,  the  one 
corresponding  to  the  violin,  and  the  one  corresponding  to  the 
horn,  —  only  better  and  purer  than  violin  or  horn,  —  each 
instrument  played  its  own  part,  and  before  it  had  played  to 
the  end  of  the  motif,  blended  with  another,  which  began 
almost  the  same  way,  and  then  with  a  third,  and  with  a 
fourth,  and  then  all  of  them  blended  in  one,  and  again  sepa- 
rated, and  again  blended,  now  into  something  solemnly  eccle- 
siastical, now  into  something  brilliant  and  triumphant. 

**  Oh,  yes,  1  must  be  dreaming,"  said  Petya  to  himself,  as  he 
pitclied  forward.  **  It  was  in  my  ears.  But  perhaps  it  is  mv 
music !   Well,  then,  once  more  !    Go  on,  music  mine  I    Now ! " 

He  closed  his  eyes.    And  from  different  directions,  as  though 


158  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

from  a  distance,  the  sounds  came  trembling,  began  to  fall  into 
rhythmical  form,  to  run  into  variations,  to  coalesce,  and  onoe 
more  they  united  in  the  same  sweet  and  solemn  triumphal 
hymn. 

'*•  Akh  !  this  is  so  ^exquisite.  Truly  at  my  beck  and  call," 
said  Petya  to  myself.  He  tried  to  direct  this  tremendous 
orchestra  of  instruments. 

"  Now,  more  softly,  more  softly ;  let  it  almost  die  away ! " 
And  the  sounds  obeyed  him.  ^'Now,  then,  fuller,  more  gayly. 
Still  more,  still  more  jollity  !  " 

And  from  the  unknown  depths  arose  the  triumphant  strains 
in  vastly  fuller  volume. 

'  Now,  voices,  you  come  in  !  "  commanded  Petya.  And  at 
first  far  away  he  heard  the  voices  of  men,  then  of  women. 
The  voices  grew  in  regular  gradations  into  solemn  power. 
Petya  felt  a  mixture  of  terror  and  joy  in  recognizing  theii 
extraordinary  loveliness. 

With  the  solemn  strains  of  the  triumphal  march  blended 
the  song,  and  the  rain-drops  dropped,  and  with  its  Vzhik,  zkik, 
zhiky  rang  the  sabre,  and  again  the  horses  stirred  and  neighed, 
though  not  disturbing  the  chorus,  but  rather  blending  with  it 

Petya  knew  not  how  long  this  lasted :  he  enjoyed  it,  was 
all  the  time  amazed  at  his  enjoyment  of  it,  and  regretted  that 
there  was  no  one  to  share  it  with  him. 

He  was  awakened  by  Likhatchefs  affectionate  voice. 

** Ready,  your  nobility;  you  can  split  two  Frenchmen* 
with  It." 

Petya  aroused  himself. 

'*  It's  getting  light ;  truly  it's  growing  light ! "  he  cried. 

The  horses,  before  invisible,  could  now  be  plainly  seen, 
and  through  the  bare  limbs  of  the  forest  trees  gleamed  a 
watery  light. 

Petya  shook  himself,  sprang  down,  got  a  silver  ruble  oat  of 
his  pocket,  and  gave  it  to  Likhatchef,  and,  after  brandishing 
his  sword,  he  examined  the  blade,  and  pushed  it  into  the 
sheath. 

The  Cossacks  were  beginning  to  untie  their  horses  and 
tighten  their  giiiihs. 

<<  Here  is  the  commander,"  said  Likhatchef. 

From  the  guard-house  came  Denisof,  and^  nodding  to  Petja, 
gave  orders  to  get  ready. 

«  He  calls  FranUfUt  Khrant$d$. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  169 


CHAPTER  XL 

Ik  the  half-light  of  the  dawn  the  horses  were  speedily  brought 
out,  saddle-girths  were  tightened,  and  the  men  fell  into  line. 

Denisof  stood  by  the  hut,  giving  the  final  directions.  The 
infantry  detachment,  with  their  hundreds  of  feet  splashing  at 
onoe,  marched  ahead  along  the  road,  and  soon  were  hidden 
from  sight  among  the  trees  in  the  dawn-lighted  mist. 

The  esaul  gave  some  command  to  his  Cossacks.  Petya  held 
his  horse  by  the  bridle,  impatiently  awaiting  the  signal  to 
mount.  His  face,  which  had  been  laved  in  cold  water,  and 
especially  his  eyes,  glowed  with  fire :  a  cold  shiver  ran  down 
his  back,  and  his  whole  body  shook  with  a  rapid,  nervous 
trembling. 

*'  Well,  are  you  all  ready  ?  "  asked  Denisof.     "  To  horse ! " 

The  horses  were  brought  out.  Denisof  scolded  his  Cossack 
because  his  saddle-girth  was  loose,  and,  after  tightening  it,  he 
mounted.  Petya  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup.  His  horse,  as 
was  his  wont,  tried  to  bite  his  leg ;  but  Petya,  not  conscious  of 
weight,  quickly  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and,  looking  at  the 
long  line  of  hussars  stretching  away  into  the  darkness,  rode 
up  to  Denisof. 

'•Vasili  Feodorovitch,  you'll  give  me  some  charge,  won't 
you  ?  Please  —  for  God's  sake ! "  said  he.  Denisof  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  about  Petya's  existence.    He  glanced  at  him. 

"  I'll  ask  you  one  thing,"  said  he  severely,  "  to  obey  me  and 
to  mind  your  own  business." 

During  all  the  march  Denisof  said  not  a  word  further  to 
Petya,  and  rode  in  silence. 

When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  forest  the  morning  light 
was  spreading  over  the  fields.  Denisof  held  a  whispered  con- 
sultation with  the  esaul,  as  the  Cossacks  rode  past  Petya  and 
hijD.  When  they  had  all  filed  by,  Denisof  turned  his  horse 
and  rode  down  the  slope.  The  horses,  sitting  back  on  their 
liaunches,  and  sliding,  let  themselves  and  their  riders  doi^ 
into  the  ravine.  Petya  rode  by  Denisof 's  side.  The  trembling 
over  his  whole  frame  had  greatly  increased. 

It  was  growing  lighter  and  lighter.  Only  distant  objects 
•veere  concealed  as  yet  in  the  fog.  On  reaching  the  bottom, 
X>enisof,  after  glancing  back,  nodded  to  a  Cossack  standing 
near  him. 

"The  signal,"  he  cried. 


160  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  Cossack  raised  his  hand.  A  shot  rang  out,  and  at  tbe 
same  instant  they  heard  the  trampling  hoofs  of  the  hones 
simultaneously  dashing  forward,  and  yells  in  different  direc- 
tions, and  more  shots. 

At  the  instant  that  the  first  sounds  of  the  trampling  boofe 
and  the  yells  broke  upon  the  silence,  Petya,  giving  a  cat  to 
his  horse,  and  letting  him  have  full  rein,  galloped  forward, 
not  heeding  Denisof,  who  called  him  back. 

It  seemed  to  Petya  that  at  the  moment  he  heard  the  mu^et- 
shot  it  suddenly  became  perfectly  light,  like  midday.  He  gal- 
loped upon  the  bridge.  In  front  of  him,  along  the  load,  the 
Cossacks  were  dashing  ahead.  On  the  bridge  he  knocked  ap 
against  a  Cossack  who  had  been  left  behind,  but  still  he  gal- 
loped on.  In  front  of  him  he  saw  some  men — they  must  be 
the  French  —  running  from  the  right  side  of  the  road  to  Uie 
left.     One  fell  in  the  mud  under  the  feet  of  Petya's  horse. 

Around  one  izba  a  throng  of  Cossacks  were  gathered  doing 
something.  From  the  midst  of  the  throng  arose  a  terrible 
shriek.  Petya  galloped  up  to  this  throng,  and  the  first  thing 
that  he  saw  was  a  Frenchman's  white  face,  his  lower  jaw 
trembling.  He  was  clutching  the  shaft  of  a  lance  directed  at 
his  breast. 

"  Hurrah !  boys.  Ours ! "  yelled  Petya,  and,  giving  free  rein 
to  his  excited  horse,  he  flew  up  the  street. 

In  front  of  him  shots  were  heard.  Cossacks,  hussars,  and 
tattered  Eussian  prisoners,  running  from  both  sides  of  the  road, 
were  incoherently  shouting  something  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 
A  rather  youthful  Frenchman,  without  his  cap,  and  with  a  red, 
scowling  face,  in  a  blue  capote,  was  defending  himself  with 
his  bayonet  from  the  hussars. 

When  Petya  reached  there  he  was  already  fallen. 

'^  Too  late  again ! "  flashed  through  Petya's  head,  and  he 
dashed  off  where  the  shots  were  heard  the  thickest.  This 
in  the  yard  of  the  manor-house,  where  he  had  been  the 
before  with  Dolokhof .  The  French  had  intrenched  themselTes 
behind  the  hedge  and  in  the  park,  where  the  bushes  had  grown 
up  dense  and  wild,  and  they  were  firing  at  the  Cossacks  clll8te^ 
ing  around  the  gates.  On  reaching  the  gates,  Petya,  throngk 
the  gunpowder  smoke,  saw  Dolokhof,  with  a  pale  greenHk 
face,  shouting  something  to  his  men. 

'<  At  their  flank !  Infantry,  wait ! "  he  was  yelling,  just  as 
Petya  rode  up. 

"  Wait  ?  —  Hurra-a-a-a-ah ! "  yelled  Petya ;  and  he,  without 
waiting  a  single  instant,  rode  up  into  the  veiy  place  where  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  161 

shots  were  heard,  and  where  the  gunpowder  smoke  was  densest. 
A  volley  rang  out ;  the  bullets  fell  thick  and  fast,  and  did  their 
work.  The  Cossacks  and  Dolokhof  followed  Petya  through 
the  gates.  The  Frenchmen  could  be  seen  through  the  thick, 
billowing  smoke,  some  throwing  down  their  arms  and  coming 
oat  from  behind  the  bushes  to  meet  the  Cossacks,  others  run- 
ning down  the  slope  to  the  pond, 

Petya  still  rode  nis  horse  at  a  gallop  around  the  manor-house 
dror,  but,  instead  of  guiding  him  by  the  bridle,  he  was  waving 
both  his  hands  in  the  strangest,  wildest  manner,  and  was  lean- 
ing moie  and  more  to  one  side  of  the  saddle.  His  horse,  com- 
ing on  the  camp-fire,  which  was  smoufdering  in  the  morning 
light,  stopped  short,  and  Petya  fell  heavily  on  the  wet  ground. 
The  Cossacks  saw  his  arms  and  legs  twitch,  although  his  head 
was  motionless.    A  bullet  had  entered  his  brain. 

Dolokhof,  after  a  moment's  conversation  with  an  old  French 
officer,  who  came  out  of  the  house  with  a  handkerchief  on  his 
sword,  and  explained  that  they  surrendered,  dismounted  and 
went  to  Petya,  lying  there  motionless,  with  outstretched 
arms. 

''  Done  up,''  he  said,  scowling ;  and  he  went  to  the  gates  to 
meet  Denisof,  who  was  coming  to  meet  him. 

'^Killed!"  cried  Denisof,  seeing,  while  still  at  a  distance, 
the  unquestionably  hopeless  position,  only  too  well  known  to 
him,  in  which  Petya's  body  lay. 

'<  Done  up,"  repeated  Dolokhof,  as  though  the  repetition  of 
this  word  gave  him  some  satisfaction  ;  and  he  hastened  to  the 
prisoners,  aroimd  whom  the  Cossacks  were  crowding,  "We 
can't  take  him,"  he  called  back  to  Denisof. 

Denisof  made  no  reply.  He  rode  up  to  Petya,  dismounted, 
and  with  trembling  hands  turned  Petya  over,  looked  at  his 
face,  already  turned  pale,  and  stained  with  blood  and  mud. 

'^  I  like  something  sweet.  Splendid  raisins,  take  them  all," 
occurred  to  him.  And  the  Cossacks,  with  amazement,  looked 
around  as  they  heard  the  sound,  like  the  barking  of  a  dog,  with 
which  Denisof  quickly  turned  away,  went  to  the  hedge,  and 
clutched  it. 

Among  the  Russian  prisoners  released  by  Denisof  and  Dol- 
okhof was  Pierre  Bezukhoi. 

VOL.  4.  — 11, 


162  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

CoKCERNiNG  the  party  of  prisoners  to  which  Pierre  belonged 
at  the  time  of  the  general  exodus  from  Moscow^  the  French 
commanders  had  made  no  new  dispensation. 

On  the  third  of  November  this  party  found  itself  with  a  dif- 
ferent escort  and  with  a  different  train  of  wagons  from  the  one 
with  which  they  had  left  Moscow. 

One  half  of  the  provision  train,  which  had  followed  them 
during  the  iirst  stages  of  the  march,  had  been  captured  by  the 
Cossacks ;  the  other  half  had  gone  on  ahead.  The  cavalrynien 
without  horses,  who  had  marched  in  the  van,  had  every  one 
disappeared :  not  one  was  left.  The  artillery,  which  during 
the  first  stages  had  been  visible  in  front  of  them,  was  now  re- 
placed by  Marshal  Junot's  huge  baggage-w^ons,  under  the 
escort  of  Westphalians.  Behind  the  prisoners  rode  a  train  of 
cavalry  appurtenances. 

After  leaving  Viazma  the  French  troops,  which  before  had 
marched  in  three  columns,  now  proceeded  all  in  confusion. 
The  symptoms  of  disorder  which  Pierre  had  observed  in  the 
first  halting-place  out  of  Moscow  had  now  reached  its  veiy 
acme.  The  road  along  which  they  had  passed  was  strewn  on 
both  sides  with  dead  horses.  Ragged  men,  stragglers  from  the 
different  commands,  constantly  shifting  about,  now  joined,  then 
a^ain  fell  out  of,  the  moving  columns. 

Several  times  during  the  march  there  were  false  alarms, 
and  the  soldiers  of  the  convoy  raised  their  muskets,  fired 
them,  and  ran  headlong,  pushing  one  another ;  but  then  again 
they  would  form  and  revile  each  other  for  the  needless  pania 

These  three  divisions  which  proceeded  in  conipany — the 
cavalry  stores  (dSpot),  the  detachment  of  the  wounded  and 
Junot's  baggage  —  still  constituted  a  separate  and  complete 
body,  but  each  of  them  was  rapidly  melting  away. 

In  the  department,  to  which  at  first  one  hundred  and  twenty 
teams  belonged,  now  remained  no  more  than  sixty ;  the  rest 
were  captured  or  abandoned.  A  number  of  wagons  of  Junot's 
train  had  also  been  left  behind  and  captured.  Thfee  teams 
had  been  rifled  by  stragglers  from  Davoust's  corps. 

From  the  talk  of  the  Germans,  Pierre  gathered  that  this 
train  was  more  strongly  guarded  than  that  of  the  prisoners, 
and  that  one  of  their  comrades,  a  Grerman  soldier,  had  been 
3hot  by  order  of  the  marshal  himself  because  he  had  been 


WAR  AND  PS  ACS.  16S 

found  with  a  silyer  spoon  belonging  to  the  marshal  in  his 
possession. 

The  niunber  of  prisoners  had  melted  away  more  than  any 
of  the  three  divisions.  Out  of  three  hundred  and  thirty  men 
who  left  Moscow,  now  less  than  one  hundred  remained.  The 
prisoners  were  more  of  a  care  to  the  soldiers  of  the  convoy 
than  were  the  saddles  of  the  cavalry  stores  or  than  Junot's 
baggage. 

The  saddles  and  Junot's  spoons,  they  understood,  might  be 
of  some  advantage  to  some  one;  but  for  cold  and  hungry 
soldiers  to  stand  guard  and  watch  over  Russians  who  were 
likewise  cold  and  hungry,  and  who  died  and  were  abandoned 
on  the  way,  whom  they  were  commanded  to  shoot  down,  this 
was  not  only  incomprehensible,  but  even  repulsive. 

And  the  men  of  the  convoy,  as  though  fearful  that  in  the 
cruel  position  in  which  they  found  themselves  they  should 
give  way  to  the  real  feeling  of  pity  which  they  felt  for  the 
prisoners,  and  thus  make  their  own  condition  harder,  treated 
them  with  peculiar  gruffness  and  severity. 

At  Dorogobuzh,  while  the  soldiers  of  the  convoy  went  off 
to  plunder  some  of  their  own  stores,  and  locked  the  prisoners 
in  a  bam,  several  of  the  Eussian  soldiers  dug  out  under  tlio 
walls  and  escaped,  but  they  were  caught  by  the  French  and  shot. 

The  order  which  had  been  observed  on  the  departure  from 
Moscow,  of  keeping  the  officers  from  the  other  prisoners,  had 
for  some  time  been  disregarded :  all  those  who  could  march 
went  together,  and  Pierre  after  the  third  march  was  again 
brought  into  the  company  of  Karatayef  and  the  short-legged 
pink  dog,  which  had  chosen  Karatayef  as  her  master. 

Karatayef,  on  the  third  day  out  from  Moscow,  had  a  relapse 
of  the  same  fever  from  which  he  had  suffered  in  the  Moscow 
hospital,  and  as  he  grew  worse  Pierre  avoided  him.  He  knew 
not  why  it  was,  but  from  the  time  that  Kanttayef  began  to 
fail,  Pierre  found  himself  obliged  to  exercise  great  self-control 
to  be  near  him.  And  when  he  approached  him,  and  heard  the 
low  groans  which  he  kept  up  all  the  time  when  they  were  in 
camp,  and  smelt  the  odor  which  now  more  powerfully  than 
erer  exhaled  from  Karatayef,  Pierre  avoided  him  as  far  as 
possible,  and  kept  him  out  of  his  mind. 

While  a  prisoner  in  the  balagdn,  Pierre  was  made  aware, 
not  by  his  reason,  but  by  his  whole  being,  by  life,  that  man 
is  created  for  happiness,  that  happiness  is  in  himself,  in  th? 
satisfaction  of  the  simple  needs  of  humanity,  and  that  all 
unhappiness  arises,  not  from  lack,  but  from  superfluity. 


164  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

But  now,  during  these  last  three  weeks  of  the  match,  he 
had  learned  still  another  new  and  consoling  truth — he  had 
learned  that  there  is  nothing  terrible  in  the  world.  He  had 
learned  that  just  as  there  was  no  position  in  the  world  in  which 
a  man  woula  be  happy  and  absolutely  free,  so  also  th^e 
was  no  position  in  which  a  man  would  be  unhappy  and 
unfree. 

He  had  learned  that  suffering  has  its  limits,  and  that 
freedom  has  its  limits,  and  that  these  limits  are  vety  near 
together;  that  the  man  who  suffered  because  one  leaf  on  his 
bed  of  roses  was  crumbled,  suffered  just  as  much  as  he  nov 
suffered  sleeping  on  the  cold,  damp  ground,  one  side  roasting, 
the  other  freezing ;  that  when  he  used  to  wear  his  dancing- 
pumps  too  tight,  he  suffered  just  as  much  as  he  suffered  dow 
in  going  bare-footed, — his  shoes  were  entirely  worn  out,-- 
with  his  feet  covered  with  sores* 

He  had  learned  that  when  he,  as  it  seemed  to  him  by  his 
own  free  will,  married  his  wife,  he  was  not  reaUy  any  move 
free  than  now,  when  he  was  shut  up  for  the  night  in  the 
bam. 

Of  all  that  which  he  afterwards  called  sufferings,  but  which 
at  the  time  he  scarcely  felt,  the  worst  was  from  his  bare, 
bruised,  scurvy-scarred  feet.  (The  horse-flesh  was  palatable 
and  nourishing,  the  saltpetre  odor  of  the  gunpowder  which 
they  used  instead  of  salt  was  even  pleasant ;  the  weather  was 
not  very  cold ;  in  the  daytime  while  marching  it  was  even 
hot,  but  at  night  they  had  bivouac  fires ;  the  vermin  which 
fed  upon  him  warmed  his  body.)  The  one  thing  hard  at  that 
time  was  the  state  of  his  feet. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  retreat,  Pierre,  examining  hissoies 
by  the  fire,  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  take  another  step  on 
them ;  but  when  all  got  up,  he  went  along  treading  gingedy, 
and  afterwards,  when  he  was  warmed  to  it,  he  walked  without 
pain,  though  when  evening  came  it  was  more  terrible  than 
ever  to  look  at  his  feet.  But  he  did  not  look  at  them,  and 
turned  his  thoughts  to  other  things. 

Now  for  the  first  time  Pierre  realized  all  man's  power  of 
vitality,  and  the  saving  force  of  abstracting  the  attention, 
which,  like  the  safety  valve  in  the  steam-engine,  lets  off  the 
excess  of  steam  as  soon  as  the  pressure  exceeds  the  normal. 

He  saw  not  and  heard  not  how  the  prisoners  who  strayed 
were  shot  down,  although  more  than  a  hundred  had  perished 
in  this  way.  He  thought  not  of  Raratayef,  who  grew  weaker 
every  day^  and  was  evidently  fated  to  suffer  the  same  lot 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  166 

Still  less  Pierre  thought  of  himself.  The  more  trying  his 
position,  the  more  appalling  the  future^  the  more  disconnected 
with  the  position  in  which  he  found  himself,  the  more  joy- 
ful and  consoling  were  the  thoughts^  recollections,  and  visions 
which  came  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

At  noon  of  the  third,  Pierre  was  climbing  up  a  muddy, 
slippery  hill,  looking  at  his  feet  an<}  at  the  inequalities  of  the 
road. 

Occasionally  his  eyes  glanced  at  the  familiar  throng  around 
him,  and  then  back  to  his  feet  again.  Both  the  one  and  the 
other  were  peculiarly  connected  with  his  individual  impres- 
sions. 

The  pink,  bandy-legged  Sierui  was  frolicking  by  the  side  of 
the  road,  occasionally  lifting  up  her  hind  leg,  as  a  sign  of  her 
f^lity  and  jollity,  nying  along  on  three  legs,  and  then  again 
on  all  four  darting  off  to  bark  at  the  crows,  which  were  feast- 
ing on  the  carrion.  Sierui  was  more  frolicksome  and  in  better 
condition  than  she  had  been  in  Moscow.  On  all  sides  lay  the 
flesh  of  various  animals  —  men  as  well  as  horses  —  in  various 
degrees  of  putrefaction,  and  the  constant  passing  of  people  did 
not  permit  of  the  wolves  approaching,  so  that  Sierui  was  able 
to  get  all  that  she  wanted  to  eat. 

It  had  been  raining  since  morning,  and  if  for  a  moment  it 
seemed  that  it  was  passing  over  and  the  skies  were  going  to 
clear,  instantly  after  such  a  short  respite  the  downpour  would 
be  heavier  than  ever.  The  road  was  perfectly  soaked  and 
could  not  absorb  any  more  water,  and  little  brooks  ran  along 
the  ruts. 

Pierre  plodded  along,  looking  at  one  side,  counting  his  steps 
by  threes,  and  doubling  down  his  fingers.  Apostrophizing  the 
rain,  he  kept  repeating  mentally,  "  Rain,  rain,  please  not  come 
again.''  * 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  not  thinking  of  anything ;  but 
in  the  depths  of  his  mind,  remote,  there  were  grave  and  com- 
forting thoughts.  They  were  the  direct  spiritual  outcome  of 
his  yesterday  evening's  conversation  with  Karatayef. 

The  evening  before,  while  they  were  halting  for  the  night, 
after  half  freezing  at  a  fire  that  had  gone  out,  Pierre  got  up 
and  went  over  to  a  neighboring  camp-fire  that  was  burning 

*  '*Nu  ka,  nu  ka,  yeshcM,  yes?ic?id,  nadddtP* 


166  WAR  AND  PEACe. 

knore  brightly.  Near  this  fire  to  which  Pierre  went,  Platxm 
was  sitting,  with  his  head  wrapped  up  in  his  cloak  as  though 
it  were  a  chasuble,  and  was  telling  the  soldiers,  in  his  flueut, 
agreeable,  but  weak  and  ailing  voice,  a  story  which  Piene  had 
often  heard. 

It  was  already  after  midnight.  This  was  the  time  that 
Raratayef  usually  recovered  from  his  paroxysms  of  fever,  and 
became  peculiarly  lively. 

On  approaching  the  camp-fire  and  hearing  Platpn's  weak, 
ailing  voice,  and  seeing  his  yellow  face  brightly  lighted  up  hj 
the  fire-light,  Pierre^s  heart  reproached  him.  He  was  alarmed 
by  his  feeling  of  pity  for  tlie  man,  and  wanted  to  go  away ;  but 
there  was  no  other  camp-fire,  and  Pierre  sat  down  by  the 
bivouac  fire,  and  tried  not  to  look  at  Platon. 

**  Well,  how  is  your  health  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Health  ?  Even  if  you  weep  for  illness,  God  does  not  send 
death,"  said  Karatayef,  and  instantly  resumed  the  stoiy  he 
was  telling. 

*^  So,  then,  my  dear  brothers,"  Platon  went  on,  with  a  smile 
illumining  his  thin,  pale  face,  and  with  a  gleam  of  peculiar 
delight  in  his  eyes,  —  "  so,  then,  my  dear  brothers  "  — 

Pierre  had  heard  this  story  a  long  time  before ;  Raratayef 
had  related  it  half  a  dozen  times  to  him  alone,  and  always  with 
a  peculiar  feeling  of  pleasure.  But,  well  as  Pierre  knew  it,  he 
now  listened  to  it  as  though  it  were  something  new,  and  that 
genial  enthusiasm  which  Karatayef  evidently  felt  in  relating 
it  communicated  itself  to  Pierre. 

It  was  the  story  of  an  old  merchant  who  lived  a  moral,  God- 
fearing life  with  his  family,  and  who  once  set  out  with  a  friend 
of  his,  a  rich  merchant,  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St 
Makarii. 

They  put  up  one  night  at  an  inn,  and  the  two  meichants 
retired  to  bed;  and  the  next  morning,  the  merchant's  com- 
panion was  found  robbed  and  with  his  throat  cut.  The  bloody 
knife  was  found  under  the  old  merchant's  pillow.  The  old 
merchant  was  tried,  knouted,  and  after  his  nostrils  had  been 
slit  —  "as  was  proper  according  to  the  law,"  said  Karatayef — 
was  sent  to  hard  labor. 

"So,  then,  my  brothers,"  —  it  was  at  this  place  that  Pierre 
had  interrupted  Platon's  story,  —  "  ten  years  or  more  passed. 
The  good  old  man  lives  in  the  mines.  He  submits  as  in  dutj 
bound ;  never  does  any  one  any  harm.  Only  he  prays  to  God 
to  let  him  die.  Very  good.  One  time  the  convicts  were  gath- 
ered together — it  was  night — just  as  if  it  had  been  you  and  I, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  167 

and  the  good  old  man  was  with  'em.  And  they  were  telling  each 
other  what  they  had  been  punished  for,  and  of  what  they  were 
guilty  before  God.  They  began  to  confess,  one  that  he  had 
murdered  a  man ;  *  another,  two ;  a  third  that  he  had  set  a 
house  on  fire  ;  another  that  he  had  been  a  deserter,  and  so  on. 
Then  they  began  to  ask  the  old  man:  'And  you,  grandsire, 
what  are  you  being  punished  for  ? '  —  *  I,  my  dear  friends/  f 
says  he,  *am  punished  for  my  own  sins,  and  for  the  sins  of 
others.  I  never  killed  a  soul,  I  never  stole  from  any  one; 
instead,  I  used  to  give  to  any  needy  brother.  I,  my  dear 
friends,  was  a  merchant,  and  I  had  a  large  property.'  And  so 
on  and  so  on,  he  tells  the  whole  story,  of  courae,  just  as  it  hap- 
pened. *  I  don't  complain,'  says  he.  *  Of  course,  God  did  it 
to  search  me.  Only,'  says  he,  '  I  am  sorry  for  my  old  woman 
and  my  children.'  And  then  the  old  man  began  to  cry.  It 
happened  the  very  man  who  had  murdered  the  merchant,  you 
know,  was  there  in  that  company.  *  Where  was  it,  grand- 
sire,  it  happened  ?  When  ?  What  month  ? '  He  asked  all 
about  it.  His  heart  stung  him.  And  so  he  goes  up  to  the  old 
man  and  falls  at  his  feet.  'You  were  punished  all  on  my 
account,  you  good  old  man,'  says  he.  '  That's  the  truth,  the 
honest  truth.  It's  a  fact,  bovs ;  t  this  man  is  innocent,  and 
has  been  punished  for  my  crime,'  says  he.  '  I  did  it  myself,' 
says  he, '  and  I  put  the  knife  under  your  pillow  while  you  was 
asleep.    Forgive  me,  grandsire,'  says  he,  'for  Christ's  sake !'" 

Karatayef  paused,  joyously  smiling,  and  as  he  gazed  into  the 
fire  he  straightened  the  logs. 

"And  the  good  old  man  says,  'God  will  forgive  you,  but  we 
are  all  of  us,'  says  he,  '  sinners  before  God.  I  suffer  for  your 
sin.'  He  wept  bitter  tears.  And  what  think  you,  friends,"  § 
exclaimed  Karatayef,  with  a  radiant,  beatific  smile  lighting 
his  face  more  and  more,  as  though  what  he  had  now  to  relate 
included  the  main  charm  and  all  the  significance  of  the  story, 
"  what  think  you,  friends  !  this  murderer  revealed  the  whole 
thing  to  the  authorities.  'I,'  says  he,  'I  have  killed  six  souls' 
(he  was  a  great  villain !),  '  but  what  I  regret  more  than  all  is 
this  good  old  man.  Let  him  not  weep  any  longer  on  my 
account.'  He  explained  the  whole  matter ;  they  took  it  down, 
sent  off  the  paper  in  proper  shapei  It's  a  long  way  off,  and 
it  was  a  long  time  before  the  matter  was  decided,  and  before 
all  the  papers  were  written  as  they  had  to  be,  as  it  always  is 
with  the  authorities.    It  reached  the  tsar.    And  then  came 

*  BtuhOf  a  Baal.  t  Rebi/atvshklt  little  children, 

t  Brdtsui  mof  mdenkiye  (brothers  mine  dear).  $  Sokifhk,  a  hawk. 


168  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  ukase  t  'Let  the  merchant  go ;  give  him  a  present,  what- 
ever they  may  decide.'  The  document  came ;  they  tried  to 
tind  the  poor  old  man.  Where  is  the  poor  old  man  who  was 
innooent  and  suffered  so  long  ?  A  document  has  come  from 
the  tsar.  They  began  to  search  for  him."  Karatayefs  lover 
jaw  trembled.  <'But  God  had  forgiven  him  —  he  was  dead. 
That  was  the  way  of  it,  friends,"  *  concluded  Karatayef,  and 
for  a  long  time  he  sat  looking  into  the  fire,  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips. 

It  was  not  so  much  this  story  itself,  but  its  mysteriom 
meaning,  that  solemn  joy  which  irradiated  Karatayefs  face 
as  he  related  it,  the  mysterious  significance  of  this  joy,  which 
filled  Pierre's  soul  with  a  vague  sense  of  joy. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  A  V08  places  /  "  suddenly  cried  a  voice. 

A  glad  stir  and  expectation  of  something  good  and  soknui 
awoke  among  the  prisoners  and  convoy.  On  all  sides  weie 
heard  shouts  of  command,  and  at  the  left  suddenj|y  appeared 
handsomely  dressed  cavalrymen,  trotting  by  the  prisoners,  on 
handsome  horses.  All  faces  wore  that  expression  of  ten- 
sion which  is  usually  seen  when  important  .personages  aie 
expected. 

The  prisoners  were  collected  and  pushed  oat  of  the  road; 
the  soldiers  formed  in  line. 

"L^empereurf  Vempereur!  Le  marechalf  LeducP^  and 
as  soon  as  the  plump  horses  of  the  mounted  escort  dashed  by, 
a  coach  drawn  by  six  gray  steeds  thundered  past  Pierre,  as 
by  a  fiash,  caught  sight  of  the  calm,  handsome,  plump  but 
pale  face  of  a  man  in  a  tricome. 

This  was  one  of  the  marshals. 

The  marshal's  eye  rested  on  Pierre's  rotund,  noticeable  fig^ 
ure,  and  the  expression  with  which  the  marshal  scowled  and 
turned  away  his  face  made  it  evident  to  Pierre  that  he  felt 
sympathy  and  wanted  to  hide  it. 

The  general  in  charge  of  the  division  galloped  after  the 
carriage,  with  a  red,  frightened  face,  spurring  on  his  lean 
horse.  Several  officers  gathered  together;  the  soldiers 
pressed  around  them.  All  faces  wore  an  expression  of  excite- 
ment and  tension. 

*  There  is  a  variant  of  this  same  story,  told  by  Goont  Tolstoi  lor  chUdna. 
See  "  A  £x>iig  Exile  "  (T.  Y.  Growell  &  Co.). 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  169 

*'  Qu^eg^^e  qu^il  a  dit?  qu^est-ce  qu'il  a  dit?  —  What  did  he 
say  ?  "    Pierre  heaid  them  asking. 

While  the  marshal  had  been  passing,  the  prisoners  had  been 
gathered  in  a  clump,  and  Pierre  noticed  Karatayef,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  since  early  that  morning.  Karatayef  in  his 
short  cloak  was  leaning  up  against  a  birch-tree.  While  his 
face  still  bore  that  expression  of  joyful  emotion  which  it  had 
bad  the  evening  before,  when  telling  the  story  of  the  mer- 
chant's unmerited  punishment,  it  was  lighted  up  by  an  expres- 
sion of  gentle  solemnity. 

Karatayef  looked  at  Pierre  out  of  his  kindly  round  eyes, 
which  were  now  full  of  tears,  and  he  seemed  to  be  calling  him 
to  him,  as  though  he  wanted  to  say  something.  But  Pierre 
felt  quite  too  terribly  about  himself.  He  affected  not  to  see 
him,  and  hastened  away. 

When  the  prisoners  were  set  on  their  march  again,  Pierre 
glanced  back.  Karatayef  was  sitting  by  the  edge  of  the 
road,  under  the  birch-tree,  and  two  Frenchmen  were  discuss- 
ing about  something  over  him.  Pierre  did  not  look  longer. 
He  passed  on  his  way,  limping  up  the  hill. 

From  the  place  where  EjEuratayef  had  been  left  behind,  the 
report  of  a  musket-shot  was  hoard.  Pierre  distinctly  heard 
this  report,  but  at  the  instant  that  he  heard  it  he  recollected 
that  he  had  not  finished  his  calculation  how  many  stages 
there  were  to  Smolensk,  a  calculation  in  which  he  had  been 
interrupted  by  the  arriyal  of  the  marshal.  And  he  began  to 
count. 

The  two  French  soldiers,  one  of  w];^om  held  the  smoking 
musket  which  he  had  iust  discharged,  ran  past  Pierre.  Both 
of  them  were  pale,  and  in  the  expression  of  their  faces  —  one 
of  them  looked  timidly  at  Pierre  —  there  was  something  that 
reminded  him  of  the  young  soldier  who  had  been  executed. 

Pierre  looked  at  this  soldier,  and  remembered  how  this 
private,  a  few  days  before  they  had  started,  had  burned  his 
shirt  as  he  was  drying  himself  by  the  camp-fire,  and  how 
they  had  made  sport  of  him. 

The  dog  staid  behind,  and  was  howling  around  the  place 
where  Karatayef  was. 

«What  a  fool  I  what  is  she  barking  about?"  Pierre 
exclaimed  inwardly. 

The  soldiers,  Pierre's  comrades,  walking  in  file  with  him, 
like  him  did  not^  4ook  back  to  the  place  where  first  the  shot 
and  then  the  howl  of  the  dog  was  heard,  but  a  stern  expres- 
sion lay  on  all  their  faces. 


170  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Th8  provision  train  and  the  prisoners  and  the  marshtl^ 
baggage-wagons  were  halting  at  Shamshevo.  All  gathered  in 
groups  around  the  watch-fires.  Pierre  went  to  a  camp-fire, 
and,  after  eating  some  roasted  horse-flesh,  lay  down  with  his 
back  to  the  fire  and  instantly  fell  asleep.  He  slept  the  same 
kind  of  sleep  which  he  had  slept  at  Mozhaisk  after  Borodioa 

Once  more  real  events  mingled  with  visions,  and  once  more 
some  one,  either  himself  or  some  other  person,  uttered 
thoughts,  even  the  same  thoughts  which  had  been  spoken  to 
him  at  Mozhaisk. 

'^  Life  is  everything.  Life  is  God.  Everything  changes 
and  is  in  a  state  of  flux,  and  this  movement  is  Grod.  And  as 
long  as  there  is  life,  there  is  enjoyment  of  the  self-conscious- 
ness of  the  Divinity.  To  love  life  is  to  love  Grod.  More  dif- 
ficult and  more  blessed  than  all  else  is  it  to  love  this  life  in 
its  sufferings,  in  undeserved  sufferings." 

"  Karatayef ! "  it  occurred  to  Pierre. 

And  suddenly  there  seemed  to  be  standing  before  Pierre,  as 
though  alive,  a  dear  little  old  man,  long  forgotten,  who  in 
Switzerland  had  taught  Pierre  geography. 

"Wait,"  said  the  little  man.  And  he  showed  Pierre  a 
globe.  This  globe  was  a  living,  rolling  ball,  and  had  no  natu- 
ral divisions.  The  whole  surface  of  the  globe  consisted  of 
drops  closely  squeezed  together.  And  these  drops  were  all 
in  motion,  changing  about,  sometimes  several  coalescing  into 
one,  sometimes  one  breaking  up  into  many.  Each  drop  tried 
to  expand,  to  occupy  as  much  space  as  possible ;  but  othen, 
striving  for  the  same  end,  crushed  it,  sometimes  annihilated 
it,  sometimes  coalesced  with  it. 

"  Such  is  life,"  said  the  little  old  teacher. 

"  How  simple  and  how  clear,"  thought  Pierre,  "  Why  is  it 
I  never  knew  this  before  ?  " 

"  In  the  centre  is  God,  and  each  drop  strives  to  spread  out, 
expand,  so  as  to  reflect  him  in  the  largest  possible  proper* 
tions.  And  each  expands,  and  coalesces,  and  is  pressed  down, 
and  is  to  all  outward  appearance  annihilated,  and  sinks  into 
the  depths  and  comes  out  again." 

"That  was  the  case  with  Karatayef:  he  overflowed  and 
vanished." 

"  Vou8  avez  compris,  man  enfant/^  said  the  teacher. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  171 

^  Vims  avez  eampris !  Sacrh  nam  /  Do  you  understand  ? 
The  devil  take  you ! "  cried  a  voice,  and  Pierre  awoke. 

He  sat  up.  Squatting  on  his  heels  by  the  camp-fire  sat  a 
Frenchman  who  had  just  been  pushing  away  a  Russian  sol> 
dier,  and  was  now  broiling  a  piece  of  meat  stuck  on  a  ram- 
rod. His  muscular,  red  hand,  covered  with  hairs,  with  short 
fingers,  was  skilfully  twirling  the  ramrod.  His  cinnamon- 
oolored,  scowling  face  and  knitted  brows  could  be  clearly  seen 
in  the  light  of  the  coals. 

"  fJa  lux  est  bien  egal  —  It's  all  the  same  to  him,"  he 
growled  out^  addressing  the  soldier  standing  near  him.  ^'  Bri- 
gand! VaP^  And  the  soldier,  twirling  the  ramrod,  glared 
gloomily  at  Pierre.  Pierre  turned  away  and  gazed  into  the 
darkness. 

A  Russian  soldier,  one  of  the  prisoners,  the  very  same 
whom  the  Frenchman  had  pushed  away,  was  sitting  by  the 
fire  and  was  patting  something  with  his  hand.  Looking 
closer,  Pierre  recognized  that  it  was  the  little  bandy-legged 
pink  dog,  which  was  wagging  her  tail  as  she  crouched  down 
next  the  soldier. 

«  Ah  ?  She's  come,  has  she  ?  "  said  Pierre,  «  but  Plat "  — 
he  began,  but  did  not  finish  the  name.  Suddenly  in  his 
imagination  all  blended  together,  —  the  recollection  of  the 
look  which  Platon  had  given  him  as  he  sat  under  the  tree, 
the  shot  which  he  had  heard  at  that  same  place,  the  howling 
of  the  dog,  the  guilty  faces  of  the  two  Frenchmen  who 
hastened  past  him,  the  empty,  smoking  musket,  Karatayef  left 
behind  at  that  halting-place,  and  this  now  made  him  realize 
that  Platon  was  dead,  but  at  the  same  insta,nt,  suggested  by 
God  knows  what,  there  arose  in  his  mind  the  recollection  of 
an  evening  that  he  had  spent  in  company  with  a  Polish  beauty 
one  summer,  on  the  balcony  of  his  mansion  at  Kief.  And, 
'nevertheless,  without  making  any  eflPort  to  coK>rdinate  his 
recollections,  and  drawing  no  conclusions  from  them,  Pierre 
closed  his  eyes,  and  the  vision  of  the  summer  scene  mingled 
with  his  recollections  of  bathing,  of  the  fluid,  rolling  globe, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  sinking  in  water,  so  that  the  water  went 
over  his  head. 

Before  sunrise  he  was  wakened  by  loud  and  frequent  firing 
and  shouts.     The  French  were  flying  past  him. 

^^ Les  Cosaques/'^  cried  one  of  them,  and  in  a  moment 
Pierre  was  surrounded  by  a  throng  of  Russians. 

It  was  son^e  tiiqe  before  Pierre  could  realize  what  hsi/i  hap- 


172  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

pened  to  him.  On  all  sides  he  heard  the  joyful  vocilentiaos 
of  his  comrades.  << Brothers!  comrades!  friends!"  shoated 
old  soldiers,  and  burst  into  tears  as  they  embraced  Cossacks 
and  hussars.  Ck)ssaoks  and  hussars  surrounded  the  prisoneis 
and  made  haste  to  ofEer  them  some  clothes,  some  shoes,  some 
bread. 

Pierre  stood  in  the  midst  of  them,  sobbing,  and  could  not 
speak  a  word.  He  threw  his  arms  around  the  first  soldiv 
whom  he  met  and  kissed  him  weeping. 

Bolokhof  stood  at  the  gates  of  the  dilapidated  mansko, 
watching  the  throng  of  the  disarmed  French  file  past  hiia. 
The  Frenchmen,  excited  by  all  that  had  occurred,  were  talking 
loudly  among  themselves ;  but  when  they  passed  Dolokho^ 
who  stood  lightly  flecking  his  boots  with  his  nagaika,  or  short 
whip,  and  watched  them  with  his  cool,  glassy  glance,  thst 
boded  them  nothing  good,  their  voices  were  hush^.  On  the 
other  side  stood  Dolokhof  s  Cossack  and  counted  the  prisonen, 
scoring  them  in  hundreds  on  the  gate  with  a  bit  of  chalk. 

'*  How  many  ?  "  asked  Dolokhof  of  the  Cossack  who  was 
counting  the  prisoners. 

'^  Into  the  second  hundred,"  replied  the  Cossack. 

"FileZffilez/  —  Step  on,  step  on!"  exclaimed  Dolokhof 
who  had  learned  this  expression  of  the  French;  and  as  his 
eyes  met  those  of  the  prisoners  who  filed  past,  they  lighted 
with  a  cruel  gleam. 

Denisof ,  with  a  gloomy  face,  walked  bare-headed  behind  the 
Cossacks  who  were  carrying  the  body  of  Petya  Bostof  to  a 
grave  which  they  had  dug  in  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

Aftbb  the  ninth  of  November,  when  hard  frosts  began,  the 
flight  of  the  French  assumed  a  still  more  tragic  character 
because  of  the  many  who  perished  of  the  cold  or  were  burned 
to  death  at  the  camp-fires,  while  the  emperor,  kings,  and 
dukes  continued  to  pursue  their  homeward  way  wrapped  ia 
furs  and  riding  in  carriages,  and  carrying  the  treasure  that 
they  had  stolen. 

But  in  its  real  essence  the  process  of  flight  and  dissolutioii 
of  the  army  had  not  really  changed. 

From  Moscow  to  Viazma  the  seventy-three  thousand  com- 
posing the  French  army,  not  counting  the  Quaid,— -which 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  178 

thTOttghont  the  whole  war  had  done  nothing  except  pillage,  — 
the  seventy-three  thousand  of  the  army  were  reduced  to  thirty- 
six  thousand.  Out  of  the  number  lost,  not  more  than  five 
thousand  perished  in  battle.  This  is  the  first  term  of  a  pro- 
gression whereby,  with  mathematical  accuracy,  the  succeeding 
terms  are  determined. 

The  French  army  melted  away  and  was  destroyed  in  the 
same  proportion  from  Moscow  to  Yiazma,  from  Viazma  to 
Smolensk,  from  Smolensk  to  the  Beresina,  from  the  Beresina 
to  Yilno,  independently  of  the  greater  or  less  degree  of  cold, 
the  pursuit  of  the  Russians,  the  obstruction  of  the  road,  and 
all  other  conditions  taken  singly. 

After  Yiazma,  the  French  armies,  instead  of  marching  in 
three  columns,  went  in  one  crowd,  and  thus  proceeded  to  the 
end. 

Berthier  wrote  to  his  sovereign  (it  is  well  known  how  far 
commanders  allow  themselves  to  depart  from  the  truth  in 
describing  the  position  of  their  armies).  —  He  wrote :  — 

"  I  think  it  my  duty  to  acquaint  your  majesty  with  the  condition  of 
the  troops  in  the  different  army  corps  tiiat  1  have  observed  during  these 
last  three  days  in  the  various  stages.  They  are  almost  disbanded.  Less 
than  a  fourth  of  the  soldiers  remain  under  tlie  standards,  at  most.  This 
proportion  holds  in  nearly  all  the  regiments.  The  others  are  straggling  off 
by  themselves  in  different  directions,  trying  to  find  provisions  and  to  escape 
from  discipline.  AH  of  them  look  to  SmolendL  a0  the  place  where  they 
will  retrieve  themselves.  During  the  last  few  days  many  soldiers  have  been 
noticed  throwing  away  their  cartridges  and  muskets.  In  this  condition  of 
things,  the  interests  of  your  majesty's  service  require  that,  whatever  your 
ultimate  plans  may  be,  the  army  should  be  rallied  at  Smolensk,  and  rid  of 
non-comlMitants,  of  unmounted  cavalrymen,  of  superfluous  baggage,  and 
of  a  portion  of  the  artillery,  since  it  is  no  longer  in  proportion  to  the  effec- 
tive of  the  army.  Moreover,  the  soldiers  require  some  days  of  rest  and 
supplies  of  food,  for  they  are  worn  out  by  hunger  and  fatigue;  many  in 
the  last  few  days  have  died  on  the  road  or  in  bivouac.  This  state  of 
things  is  constantly  growing  worse,  and  there  Is  danger  that,  if  remedies 
are  not  promptly  applied,  the  troops  could  not  be  controlled  in  case  of 
battle.  — November  9,  at  thirty  verstsfrom  Smolensk,'* 

♦  **Je  croU  devoir /aire  connaitre  h  voire  majesty  Vitat  de  see  troupes  dans 
ies  dijperents  corps  d*arm^e  qvefai  Hi  h,  mime  d'observer  depuis  deux  ou  trois 
j<ntrs  dans  diffirents  passages.  Elles  sont  presque  debandies.  Le  nombre 
des  soldats  qvt  svivent  Ies  drapeaux  est  en  proportion  du  quart  au  plus  daiis 
presque  tous  Ies  regiments,  Ies  autres  marchant  isoliment  dans  diffirenis 
directions  ei  pour  leur  compte,  dans  Vesperance  de  trouver  des  stibsistances  et 
pour  se  dibarrasser  de  la  discipline.  En  general  ils  regardent  Smolensk 
eomme  la  point  oit  ils  doivent  se  refaire.  Ces  derniers  jours  on  a  remarque 
que  beaucoup  de  soldats  jettent  leurs  cartouches  et  leurs  armes.  Dans  cette 
Hat  de  choses,  Vinterei  du  service  de  voire  majeste  exige,  quelles  que  soient  see 
vues  vlterieures,  qu*on  rallie  Varmee  it  Smolensk  en  commengant  a  la  debar- 
roMor  des  non^combattants,  tels  que  hommes  demontis  et  des  bagages  inutUes 


174      •  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Bashing  into  Smolensk,  which  was  to  them  like  the  prom- 
ised land,  the  French  fought  with  one  another  for  food,  pil- 
laged their  own  stores,  and  when  everything  had  been 
plundered  they  hurried  on. 

All  fled,  not  knowing  whither  or  why ;  and  Napoleon,  witli 
all  his  genius,  knew  less  than  others  why  they  did  so,  for  no 
one  ordered  him  to  fly. 

But,  nevertheless,  he  and  those  around  him  observed  their 
old  habits :  wrote  orders,  letters,  reports,  ordres  du  jour,  and 
they  addressed  one  another  as  —  Si7*e,  Hon  Cousin^  Frittce 
d^Eckmiihl,  Roi  de  NaideSy  etc.  But  these  orders  and  reports 
were  only  on  paper;  nothing  was  done  according  to  them, 
because  they  could  no  longer  be  carried  out ;  and  though  thej 
continued  to  call  each  other  Majesty,  Highness,  and  Cousin, 
they  all  felt  that  they  were  misemble  wretches,  who  had  done 
much  evil,  and  that  expiation  had  begun.  And,  though  they 
pretended  to  be  very  solicitous  about  the  army,  each  of  them 
thought  only  of  himself  and  how  he  might  get  off  and  escape 
as  speedily  as  possible. 


CHAPTEB  XVn. 

The  actions  of  the  Bussian  and  Prench  troops  during  the 
retreat  from  Moscow  to  the  Niemen  wei-e  like  the  game  of 
zhviurkiy  or  blind-man's-buff,  where  the  two  players  have  their 
eyes  bandaged,  and  one  of  them  rings  a  bell  from  time  to 
time,  to  call  the  attention  of  the  '^  catcher." 

At  flrst,  the  one  who  is  to  be  caught  sounds  his  bell  without 
fear  of  the  enemy ;  but  when  the  pursuer  is  coming  close  to  him, 
he  seeks  to  evade  hjs  pursuer  by  going  noiselessly,  and  often, 
when  he  thinks  he  is  escaping,  he  runs  directly  into  his  arms. 

At  first  Napoleon's  troops  let  themselves  be  heard  from  — 
this  was  during  the  first  period  of  their  movement  on  the 
Kaluga  road ;  but  afterwards,  when  they  had  gone  back  to 
the  Smolensk  road,  holding  the  clapper  of  the  bell^  they  fled, 
and,  while  believing  that  they  were  escaping,  they  ran  right 
into  the  enemy. 

tt  du  materiel  de  VartiUerie  qui  n^est  plus  en  proportion  avec  les  forces 
actuelles.  En  outre  let  jours  de  repos,  des  subsistances  sont  Jiicessaurs  aux 
soldats  qui  sont  extenuispar  la  f aim  et  la  fatigue ;  beaucoup  sont  mortscts 
derniers  jours  sur  la  route  et  dans  les  bivacs.  Cet  €tat  de  choses  va  tonjovrs 
en  augmentant  et  donne  lieu  de  craindre  que  si  Von  n*y  prele  un  prompt  re- 
mkde,  on  ne  soit  plus  maitre  des  troupes  dans  un  Qonibat,  Le  9  f^vanbrt^  k 
30 verstea de  Smolensk" 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  176 

Owing  to  the  speed  with  which  the  French  ran  and  the 
Kossians  pursued  and  the  consequent  exhaustion  of  the  horses, 
the  chief  method  of  ascertaining  the  position  of  an  enemy  — 
reconnoissance  by  cavalry  —  became  impossible.  Moreover, 
owing  to  the  numerous  and  rapid  changes  of  position  in  both 
armies,  information,  such  as  it  was,  always  came  too  late. 

If  the  news  came  on  one  day  that  the  enemy's  army  was  at 
such  and  such  a  place  the  night  before,  on  the  next  day,  by 
the  time  that  anything  could  be  undertaken,  this  army  would 
have  already  made  a  two-days'  march  and  occupied  an  entirely 
different  position. 

One  army  fled,  the  other  pursued.  From  Smolensk  the 
French  had  a  choice  among  many  different  routes,  and  it 
would  seem  as  if,  during  their  four-days'  halt  there,  they 
might  have  reconnoitred  the  enemy,  adopted  some  advantage- 
ous plan,  and  tried  some  other  way. 

But  after  the  four-days'  rest  the  army  hastened  on  in 
throngs,  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  and  with- 
out manoeuvres  or  combinations  following  the  beaten  track 
along  their  former  route  —  the  worst  of  all  —  that  of  Krasnoye 
and  Orsha. 

Thinking  always  that  the  enemy  was  behind  and  not  before 
them,  the  French  hastened  on,  spreading  out  and  scattering 
often  twenty-four  hours'  march  from  each  other. 

At  the  head  of  the  whole  army  ran  the  emperor,  then  the 
kings,  then  the  dukes. 

The  Russian  army,  believing  that  Napoleon  would  turn  to 
the  right  toward  the  Dniepr,  which  was  the  only  reasonable 
route,  themselves  turned  to  the  right,  and  followed  the  main 
road  toward  Krasnoye. 

And  here,  just  as  in  the  game  of  blind-man's-buff,  the 
French  ran  against  our  advance  guard. 

Having  thus  unexpectedly  caught  sight  of  the  enemy,  the 
French  were  confused,  and  paused  in  astonishment  and  fright, 
only  to  resume  their  flight,  abandoning  their  comrades,  who 
followed  them.  There,  for  three  days,  the  separate  fragments 
of  the  French  army  ran,  one  after  the  other,  as  it  were,  the 
gantlet  of  the  Russian  troops ;  first  came  the  corps  of  the 
viceroy,  then  Davoust's,  then  Key's. 

They  all  abandoned  each  other,  they  all  abandoned  their 
heavy  possessions,  the  artillery,  half  of  their  forces,  and  took 
to  flight,  marching  only  by  night  and  in  detours,  so  as  to 
avoid  the  Russians. 

Ney,  who  came  last  (because,  in  spite  of  their  wretched 


176  WAli  AND  PEACE. 

condition,  or  rather  in  consequence  of  it,  since,  like  the  boy^ 
he  wanted  to  beat  the  floor  on  which  he  had  been  hurt,  he  had  * 
stopped  to  blow  up  the  unoffending  walls  of  Smolensk),— 
Ney,  coming  last,  rejoined  Napoleon  at  Orsha  with  only  one 
thousand  men  out  of  the  ten  thousand  of  his  corps.  Having 
abandoned  all  his  soldiers  and  all  his  artillery,  he  had  sue- 
ceeded  in  secretly  making  his  way  through  the  woods  by 
night,  and  crossing  the  Dniepr. 

From  Orsha  they  hastened  onward,  taking  the  road  to 
Vilno,  in  exactly  the  same  way,  playing  blind-man's-buff  with 
the  pursuing  army. 

At  the  Beresiua  again  they  were  thrown  into  confnsuHL 
Many  were  drowned,  many  gave  themselves  up ;  but  those 
who  crossed  the  river  still  hastened  on. 

Their  chief  commander  wrapped  himself  up  in  his  furs,  got 
into  a  sledge,  and,  abandoning  his  companions,  gaUoped  off 
alone. 

Those  who  could  escaped  the  same  way  ^  those  who  coold 
not  surrendered  or  perisned. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  would  seem  as  if,  during  this  period  of  the  campaign^ 
while  the  French  did  everything  possible  to  ruin  themselves, 
while  in  no  single  movement  of  this  mass  of  men,  beginning 
with  its  ditour  on  the  Kaluga  road  up  to  the  flight  of  Napo- 
leon,  was  there  one  ^leam  of  sense,  —  it  would  seem  as  if  those 
historians  who  consider  the  action  of  the  masses  subservient 
to  the  will  of  a  single  man  might  And  it  impossible  to  make 
this  retreat  fit  in  with  their  theory. 

But  no  !  Mountains  of  books  have  been  written  by  histo- 
rians concerning  this  campaign,  and  Napoleon's  plajos  and 
dispositions  have  been  characterized  as  profound,  as  well  as 
the  manoeuvres  executed  by  the  troops,  and  the  genius  shown 
by  the  marshals  in  their  measures. 

The  retreat  from  Malo-Yaroslavets  —  that  useless  i*etreflt  by 
a  devastated  route,  when  he  was  offered  one  through  a  well- 
supplied  region,  when  he  might  have  taken  the  parallel  road 
by  which  Kutuzof  afterwards  pursued  him  —  is  explained  for 
us  according  to  various  profound  considerations.  By  these 
same  profound  considerations  his  retreat  from  Smolensk  to 
Orsha  is  described.  Then  they  describe  his  bravery  at  Kja.<i- 
noye,  where,  we  are  led  to  believe,  he  was  ready  to  put  him- 


••    #    * 


aelf  at  the  head  of  li*  r^KK^  et-i  -:•  e""»  i?ir::>.  cut  ▼*!*?=»  in- 
marched  with  a  lirriier  "k:**-  t-iT'n^"   — 

"  I  have  been  erLp-ercc  a:c:r  -tru.*  ^ri  :3  ^  -nzir*  •  -  :«*^  11*^ 
general"  • 

And  yet,  immediatelT  if>r  "lu.*.  iff-  ir^L  ^i-^JL-r  "-:  ii'^^ 
fate  the  defenoeless  frfcrnif^-i*  ic  i-a  ^^^^7  sin:r_:-i:-r  Li^-rr 
liim. 

Then  they  describe  f:r  -n*  'Lb^  mrLi^Tir  :•:  «-:»il  .'-■"  .l"--:  i*^ 
the  marshals,  espe-riillT  tv  N-j.  -r-i.,*^  i-^-^u- 1.-  .:  *•.•>_  t*^ 
shown  by  his  sneaku^  "LLnr^^  "L-ir  :.r— "l  l>i  ':^-r-ir  *.-ijr 
Dniepr  by  night,  ai>-i  eh^Aic-z  il*:  v-^i  ▼".-...•.^  ^.§^  t-ii.L- 
dards  and  aitiileiT,  ki*i  wiij.  ^  j.-if  1^  -^  -i^-t^",»  if  L-i- 
troops. 

And,  finally,  the  gwaJ  er.T«er:r  l'.zz.*^'J.  i.V:^  :»:«^  t  r  li$ 
heroic  army  is  represi^iit^-i  ij  r-.r^i-r-*^*  hi  ^'.*zir',^.'.z  rriJiL 
as  a  stroke  of  genios.  Et^ti.  il^f  li.-*  2i_*^n  ^  tr.  k  •::  mi- 
ning away,  which  in  oriiasjr  \\z^rz^^  •%  _•—  I  'jr  ?il>:  "Ll-*- 
lowest  degree  of  meanaess.  '»'1_  -  ^Ti-rj  *-":  .1  is  tJi-jli 
to  consider  a  shnni  -f;!  d**-i,  erei:  tl-s  ti1^  tr^.k  tJii*  7-^1^^ 
cation  among  ti.  -      -:'irian5- 

For  when  it  i^  n  j  lon^r  p*>«.rrv>  v>  rtr*^  ::  o-it  tie  ar:^:::i- 
ated  threads  of  hi--torical  ars^nirLt*,  wl-u  ar-.i-s  nizr-antly 
contradict  what  hamanitT  call*  ?ocfd  ai.i  e-rea  r.jLt,  th-e  Lis- 
torians  bring  up  the  savir,?  iirra  of  ereitr-^^-ss.  Gr^atDess 
seems  to  exclude  the  pos5:b:l:tT  of  ari'vir-z  tLe  stAiidirds  of 
good  and  eviL  In  the  great.*  notLii-g  is  tA<L  He  who  is 
great  is  not  charged  with  the  atnxrity  of  which  he  may  hare 
been  guilty. 

"  It  is  great !  —  Cest  grand!  ^  say  the  historians ;  and  then 
there  is  no  more  good  or  eviL  but  only  great  and  not  great. 

Great  is  good ;  Tiot  great  is  bad- 
Greatness  is,  according  to  them,  the  quality  of  certain  pecul- 
iar beings,  whom  they  call  heroes. 

And  Napoleon,  fleeing  to  his  own  fireside,  wrapped  in  his 
warm  furs,  and  leaving  behind  his  perishing  companions,  and 
those  men  whom,  according  to  his  idea,  he  had  led  into  Russia, 
feels  qiie  c'est  grand,  and  his  soul  is  tranquil. 

"  There  is  only  one  step,"  he  said,  "  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous."  Ole  thinks  himself  sublime!)  And  for  fifty 
years  everyboay  has  repeated  it :  "  Sublime  /  Great !  Napoleon 
le  grand  !  "  Truly,  there  is  only  one  step  from  the  sublime  to 
the  ridiculous !  t 

•  Tax  asaez/ait  Vempereur,  U  eat  temps  defaire  le  g^n^nU* 
t  Jhi  tublime  au  ridicule  il  rCy  a  qu  ^un  pas. 

VOL.  4.  — 12. 


178  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

It  has  never  entered  the  mind  of  any  man  that  by 
greatness  as  the  absolute  standard  of  good  and  evil,  he  only 
proclaims  his  own  emptiness  and  immeasurable  littleness. 

For  us  who  have  the  standard  of  right  and  wrong  set  by 
Christ,  there  is  nothing  incommensurate.  And  there  is  no 
greatness  where  there  is  not  simplicity,  goodness,  and  justice. 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

What  Russian  is  there  who,  reading  the  descriptions  of  the 
last  period  of  the  campaign  of  1812,  has  not  experienced! 
profound  feeling  of  annoyance,  dissatisfaction,  and  perplexity  ? 

Who  has  not  asked  himself ;  Why  did  we  not  captureor 
destroy  all  the  French,  when  they  were  surrounded  by  our 
three  armies,  each  of  superior  numbers ;  when,  dying  of  starrar 
tion  and  cold,  they  surrendered  in  throngs ;  and  when,  as  histoary 
tells  us,  the  aim  of  the  Russians  was  precisely  this  —  to  cut 
off  the  French,  to  stop  them,  and  to  take  them  all  prisoners  ? 

How  was  it  that  this  army,  —  which,  when  weaker  in  num- 
bers, fought  the  battle  of  Borodino,  —  how  was  it  that  this 
ai-my,  when  it  surrounded  the  French  on  three  sides,  and  in- 
tended to  take  them  prisoners,  did  not  accomplish  its  pur- 
pose ? 

Had  the  French  such  immense  pre-eminence  over  us  that  we, 
though  possessing  superior  numbers,  and  having  sunounded 
them,  could  not  defeat  them  ? 

How  was  it  that  this  failed  of  execution  ? 

History,  —  or  what  is  called  history,  —  in  reply  to  these 
questions,  declares  that  it  failed  of  execution  because  Kutuzof, 
and  Tormasof,  and  Chitchagof,  and  this  one  and  that  one,  and 
the  other,  did  not  execute  such  and  such  manoeuvres. 

But  why  did  they  not  execute  these  manoeuvres  ?  If  these 
generals  were  t9  blame  because  the  end  in  view  was  not  at- 
tained, why  were  they  not  court-martialled  and  put  to  death  ? 

But  even  if  we  admit  that  Kutuzof  and  Chitchagof  and  the 
others  were  to  blame  for  the  Russian  noiv^ueeessy  it  is  still  im- 
possible to  understand  why  the  Russian  troops,  under  the 
conditions  which  obtained  at  Krasnoye  and  at  the  Beresina 
(for  in  both  cases  the  Russians  were  superior  in  numbers), 
did  not  capture  the  French  troops,  with  their  marshals,  kings, 
and  emperors,  if  such  was  the  object  of  the  Russians. 

This  strange  phenomenon  cannot  be  explained  —  as  is  done 
by  the  Russian  military  historians  —  by  saying  that  it 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  179 

because  Kutuzof  prevented  offensive  operations,  for  we  know 
that  Kutuzof's  will  was  unable  to  restrain  the  troops  from 
attacking  at  Viazma  and  at  Tarutino. 

If  the  Russian  army,  which  with  inferior  forces  was  able  at 
Borodino  to  wrest  a  victory  from  an  enemy  then  at  the  zenith  of 
its  strength,  why  could  it  not  conquer  the  demoralized  throngs 
of  the  French  at  Krasnoye  and  at  the  Beresina,  when  its  forces 
had  become  superior  ? 

If  the  object  of  the  Russians  had  been  to  cut  off  and  cap- 
ture Napoleon  and  his  marshals,  and  this  object  not  only  was 
not  attained,  but  all  attempts  in  that  direction  failed  in  the 
most  shameful  manner,  then  the  French  were  perfectly  right 
in  representing  the  last  period  of  the  campaign  as  a  series  of 
victories,  and  Russian  historians  are  perfectly  wrong  in  repre- 
senting that  we  were  victorious. 

Russian  military  historians,  if  they  have  any  regard  for 
logic,  must  come  to  this  conclusion,  a)id,  in  spite  of  their 
lyrical  effusions  about  courage  and  patriotism,  must  logically 
confess  that  the  retreat  of  the  French  from  Moscow  was  for 
Napoleon  a  series  of  victories,  and  for  Kutuzof  a  series  of 
defeats. 

But,  if  we  put  absolutely  aside  national  pride,  we  feel  that 
this  conclusion  involves  a  contradiction,  since  this  series  of 
victories  on  the  part  of  the  French  brought  them  to  complete 
destruction,  while  the  series  of  defeats  on  the  part  of  the  Rus- 
sians led  them  to  the  absolute  overthrow  of  tlieir  enemy,  and 
the  evacuation  of  their  own  country. 

The  source  of  this  conti*adiction  lies  in  the  fact  that  histo- 
rians who  study  events  in  the  correspondence  of  kings  and 
generals,  and  in  official  narratives,  reports,  and  plans,  have 
taken  for  granted  the  entirely  false  and  unjustifiable  idea  that 
the  object  of  the  last  period  of  the  campaign  of  1812  was  to 
cut  oft  and  to  capture  Napoleon  and  nis  marshals  and  his 
army. 

This  object  never  existed,  and  could  not  exist,  because  it 
had  no  sense,  and  it  was  absolutely  impossible  of  attainment. 

The  object  had  no  sense,  in  the  first  place,  because  Napo- 
leon's demoralized  army  was  flying  from  Russia  with  all 
possible  speed :  in  other  words,  was  fulfilling  the  very  wish 
of  every  Russian.  What  reason  in  directing  various  military 
operations  against  the  French,  who  were  running  away  as  fast 
as  they  could  go  ? 

Secondly,  it  was  senseless  to  try  to  stop  men  who  were  em- 
ploying all  their  energy  in  getting  away. 


180  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

In  the  third  place,  it  was  senseless  to  sacrifice  troops  in 
destroying  the  French  armies^  who  were  going  to  destTuction 
without  external  causes,  and  at  such  a  rate  that  even  when 
every  road  was  given  them  undisputed,  they  could  cany 
across  the  frontier  only  the  small  number  that  remained  to 
them  in  the  month  of  December  — a  hundredth  part  of  their 
whole  army. 

In  the  fourth  place,  it  was  senseless  to  wish  to  make  piis- 
oners  of  the  emperor,  the  kings,  and  the  marshals,  and  the 
men,  for  their  captivity  would  have  been  to  the  highest 
degree  embarrassing  to  the  Russians,  as  was  recognized  by 
the  ablest  diplomatists  of  the  time,  J.  Maistre  and  others. 

Still  more  senseless  was  the  desire  to  capture  whole 
regiments  of  the  French,  when  the  Russian  army  had  been 
reduced  one-half  by  the  time  it  reached  Krasnoye,  and  whde 
divisions  would  have  been  needed  to  guard  the  troops  of  pris- 
oners, and  when  their  own  soldiers  were  not  all  the  time 
receiving  full  rations,  and  when  the  French  already  captured 
were  dying  of  starvation ! 

All  of  this  profound  plan  of  cutting  off  and  seizing  Napo- 
leon and  his  army  was  like  the  plan  of  the  gardener  who,  in 
trying  to  drive  out  of  his  enclosure  the  cattle  that  were  tramp- 
ling down  his  garden,  should  run  to  the  gates  and  strike  them 
on  the  head  when  they  passed  out.  The  only  thing  that  could 
be  said  in  the  gardener's  justification  would  be  that  he  was  very 
angry.  But  this  excuse  could  not  be  made  for  those  who 
devised  this  plan,  for  they  were  not  the  ones  who  suffered 
from  the  trampled  garden. 

The  idea  of  cutting  off  Napoleon  and  his  army,  beside  being 
senseless,  was  impossible. 

It  was  impossible,  first,  because,  since  experience  has  shown 
that  the  inovement  of  columns  of  soldiers  in  battle  for  a 
distance  of  five  versts  can  never  be  made  in  accordance  with 
plans,  the  probability  that  Chitchagof,  Kutuzof,  and  Witt- 
genstein would  effect  a  junction  at  a  designated  place  on 
time  was  so  slight  that  it  amounted  to  an  impossibility,  bs 
Kutuzof  felt,  who,  on  receiving  the  sovereign's  pbuiy  de- 
clared that  operations  at  great  distances  never  gave  the 
desired  results. 

Secondly,  it  was  impossible  because,  in  order  to  neutralize 
that  momentum  with  which  Napoleon's  army  was  recoiling, 
incomparably  larger  forces  would  have  been  necessary  than 
those  which  the  Russians  had. 

Thirdly,  it  was  impossible  because  the  militaiy  phrase  *^to 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  181 

bnt  oft  *^  an  enemy  has  no  sense.    We  may  cut  off  a  piece  of 
bread,  but  not  an  army. 

To  cut  off  an  army,  to  dispute  its  road,  is  never  possible, 
for  there  are  always  many  places  where  detours  can  be  made, 
and  there  is  the  night,  wnen  nothing  can  be  seen,  as  military 
students  may  conyince  themselves  from  the  example  of  what 
took  place  at  Krasnoye  or  the  Beresina. 

It  is  just  as  impossible  to  take  a  person  prisoner,  unless  the 
person  taken  prisoner  consents  to  be  seized,  as  it  is  to  catch  a 
swallow,  unless  it  come  and  light  on  your  hand. 

Armies  can  be  captured  only  when  they  surrender,  as  the 
Germans  do  —  according  to  the  rules  of  strategy  and  tactics. 
But  the  French  troops,  with  perfect  correctness,  found  this 
unfit,  since  death  by  cold  and  starvation  awaited  them  alike  in 
flight  and  in  captivity. 

Fourthly,  —  and  chiefly,  —  this  was  impossible  because 
never  since  the  world  began  was  there  a  war  under  such 
terrible  conditions  as  those  which  characterized  the  campaign 
of  1812;  and  the  Russian  troops,  in  pursuing  the  French, 
strained  every  effort,  and  could  do  no  more  without  going  to 
destruction  themselves. 

During  the  movement  of  the  Russian  army  from  Tarutino 
to  Krasnoye  fifty  thousand  men  —  in  other  words,  a  number 
equivalent  to  the  population  of  a  large  provincial  city  —  were 
sick  and  disabled. 

Half  of  the  men  left  the  army  without  a  battle. 

And  in  regard  to  this  period  of  the  campaign,  —  when  the 
troops,  without  boots  or  great-coats,  with  insufficient  food,  and 
without  vodka,  for  months  spent  the  nights  in  the  snow,  in  a 
temperature  fifteen  degrees  below  freezing;  when  the  days 
were  only  seven  or  eight  hours  long,  and  all  the  rest  of  tne 
twenty-four  were  night,  discipline  being  in  such  circumstances 
impossible  ;  when,  not  as  in  battle,  men  for  a  few  hours  only 
enter  the  domain  of  death  where  there  was  no  discipline,  but 
lived  for  months  in  an  incessant  struggle  with  death  from  cold 
and  starvation ;  when  in  a  single  month  half  of  the  army  per- 
ished,—  in  regard  to  this  period  of  the  campaign,  historians 
tell  us  how  Miloradovitch  ought  to  have  made  a  flank  move- 
ment in  this  direction,  and  Tormasof  in  that,  and  Chitchagof 
in  another  (struggling  through  snow  that  was  knee-deep),  and 
how  such  and  sucn  a  one  "destroyed"  and  "cut  off" — and  so 
on,  and  so  on  ! 

The  Russians,  of  whom  one-half  perished,  accomplished  all 
that  they  could  or  ought  to  have  done  to  attain  an  end  worthy 


182  WAR  AND  PJSACB. 

of  the  people,  and  they  are  not  to  blame  if  other  Bussiaas, 
Bitting  ^war^  apartments,  proposed  what  it  was  imposstt^ 
to  do. 

All  this  strange  and  at  the  present  time  incomprehensible 
contradiction  between  the  fact  and  the  historical  accomit 
arises  simply  from  this :  the  historians  who  have  wntten 
about  these  events  have  described  the  fine  sentiments  and  the 
fint?  speeches  of  different  generals,  and  not  the  history  of  the 
event. 

Very  important  to  them  seem  the  speeches  of  Milorado- 
vitch,  the  rewards  received  by  this,  that,  and  the  other  gen- 
eral, and  their  proposals;  but  the  question  about  the  fifty 
thousand  Russian  soldiers  who  were  left  behind  in  hospitals 
or  in  nameless  graves  does  not  interest  them,  because  it  is 
outside  of  their  studies. 

And  yet  all  it  requires  is  for  them  to  turn  their  attention 
from  the  study  of  the  repoi*ts  and  plans  of  the  generals,  and 
to  follow  the  movements  of  these  hundred  thousand  men  who 
took  an  active,  immediate  part  in  the  event,  and  all  the  ques- 
tions that  before  seemed  insolvable  will  at  once  be  solved 
with  extraordinary  ease  and  simplicity. 

The  aim  of  cutting  off  the  retreat  oi  Napoleon  and  his  army 
never  existed  except  in  the  imaginations  of  a  dozen  mea 
It  could  not  exist,  because  it  was  absurd  and  its  realization 
impracticable. 

The  Russian  people  had  only  one  object  in  yiew:  to  rid 
their  soil  of  the  invaders. 

The  object  was  attained,  in  the  first  place,  of  its  own 
accord,  because  the  French  ran  away,  and  afterwards  it  was 
only  necessary  not  to  check  that  movement.  In  the  second 
place,  this  object  was  attained  by  means  of  that  popular  warfare 
which  destroyed  the  Fi'ench ;  and,  in  the  third  place,  because  the 
great  Russian  army  followed  the  enemy,  ready  to  employ  fofce 
in  case  the  movement  of  the  French  was  suspended. 

The  Russian  army  acted  like  the  knout  on  a  running 
animal.  And  the  exj^erienced  cattle-driver  knew  that  it  was 
most  advantageous  to  threaten  it  with  upraised  whip,  but  not 
to  strike  the  running  animal  on  the  head. 


Mrt  fourth. 

CHAPTER  L 

When  a  man  sees  a  dying  animal,  horror  seized  liim :  wliat 
he  himself  is,  —  his  own  essence,  —  is  evidently  perishing  be- 
fore his  very  eyes,  —  ceasing  to  exist. 

But  when  the  dying  one  is  a  human  being,  and  a  person 
beloved  and  tenderly  cherished,  then,  over  and  above  the 
horror  at  the  cessation  of  the  life^  there  is  felt  a  rending  and 
wounding  of  the  soul.  This  wound,  like  a  physical  wound, 
sometimes  kills,  sometimes  heals,  but  it  is  always  sore,  and 
shrinks  from  any  external,  irritating  touch. 

After  Prince  Andrei's  death,  Natasha  and  the  Princess 
Mariya  felt  this  in  the  same  way.  Their  souls  had  quailed 
and  bowed  under  the  threatening  cloud  of  death  that  hung 
over  them,  and  they  dared  not  look  into  the  face  of  life.  They 
were  extremely  cautious  not  to  expose  their  wounds  to  humili- 
ating, painful  contact. 

Everything  —  a  swiftly  passing  carriage  on  the  street,  the 
announcement  of  dinner,  the  maid's  question  as  to  what  dresses 
she  should  get  ready  for  them;  still  worse,  a  word  of  per* 
functory,  feeble  sympathy  —  made  the  wound  throb  painfully, 
seemed  an  affront,  and  profaned  that  urgent  silence  in  which 
they  both  were  striving  to  listen  to  that  stern,  terrible  choir 
which  ceased  not,  in  their  imagination,  to  chant,  and  prevented 
them  from  looking  into  those  mysterious,  infinite  distances 
which,  for  an  instant,  opened  out  before  them. 

Only  when  they  were  together  alone,  they  felt  no  sense  of 
pain  and  humiliation.  They  talked  together  very  little* 
When  they  talked,  it  was  on  the  most  insignificant  topics* 
And  both  of  them  alike  avoided  all  reference  to  anything  con^ 
ceming  the  future. 

To  recognize  the  possibility  of  a  future  seemed  to  them  an 
olfence  to  his  memory.  All  the  more  sedulously  they  avoided 
in  their  talk  everything  that  had  reference  to  the  departed* 
It  seemed  to  them  that  what  they  experienced  and  felt  could 
not  be  expressed  in  words.    It  seemed  to  them  that  every 

183 


184  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

verbal  reference  to  the  separate  events  ot  his  life  dlsiorbed 
the  majesty  and  sacredness  of  the  mystery  which  had  been 
accomplished  before  their  eyes. 

Their  continual  self-restraint,  their  constant,  strenuous 
avoidance  of  all  that  might  lead  to  mention  of  him,  these 
halting-places  which  stood  in  the  way  of  every  possible  ap- 
proach to  the  subject  which  they  had  tacitly  agreed  to  leave 
untouched,  brought  up  before  their  imaginations  with  all  the 
greater  clearness  and  distinctness  that  which  they  felt 

But  pure,  unmitigated  grief  is  as  impossible  as  pure  and  un- 
mitigated joy. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  by  her  position  as  sole  and  inde- 
pendent mistress  of  her  fate,  as  guardian  and  instructor  of  her 
nephew,  was  the  first  to  be  brought,  by  the  exigencies  of  real 
life,  forth  from  that  world  of  tribulation  in  which  she  had 
been  living  for  the  past  fortnight.  She  received  letters  from 
her  relatives,  which  had  to  be  answered;  the  room  which 
Nikolushka  occupied  was  damp,  and  he  began  to  have  a 
cough.  Alpatuitch  came  from  Yaroslavl  with  nis  accounts  to 
be  rectified,  and  with  his  proposal  and  advice  for  her  to  go 
back  to  Moscow,  to  her  house  on  the  Vozdvizhenka,  which 
had  remained  intact  and  needed  only  small  repairs. 

Life  would  not  stand  still,  and  it  was  necessary  to  live. 

Hard  as  it  was  for  the  Princess  Mariya  to  emerge  from  that 
world  of  solitary  contemplation  in  which  she  had  been  living 
till  then,  sorry  as  she  was,  and  almost  conscience-stricken,  to 
leave  Natasha  alone,  the  labors  of  life  demanded  her  partici- 
pation, and  she,  in  spite  of  herself,  had  to  give  way. 

She  verified  Alpatuitch's  accounts,  consulted  with  Dessalles 
in  regard  to  her  nephew,  and  made  arrangements  and  prep- 
arations for  her  journey  to  Moscow. 

Natasha  had  been  left  to  herself,  and,  since  the  Princess 
Mariya  began  to  get  ready  for  her  departure,  avoided  even 
her. 

The  Princess  Mariya  proposed  to  the  countess  to  let 
Natasha  go  to  Moscow  witn  her,  and  both  father  and  mother 
gladly  consented,  since  each  day  they  noticed  a  decline  in 
their  daughter's  physical  vigor,  and  hoped  that  a  change  of 
scene  would  do  her  good,  and  that  the  pnysicians  of  Moscow 
would  help  her. 

"  I  will  go  nowhere,"  replied  Natasha,  when  this  matter  was 
proposed  to  her.  "  All  I  ask  is  to  be  left  in  peace,*'  said  she, 
and  she  hastened  from  the  room,  scarcely  able  to  restrain  her 
tears,  —  tears  not  so  much  of  grief  as  of  vexation  and  anger. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  185 

Since  she  had  felt  herself  abandoned  by  the  Princess 
lM!ariyay  and  left  alone  with  her  grief,  Natasha,  for  the  most 
of  the  time,  sat  in  her  room  with  her  feet  in  the  comer  of  the 
Bofa,  and,  while  her  slender,  nervous  fingers  kept  tearing  or 
bending  something  or  other,  her  eyes  would  remain  obstinately 
fixed  on  whatever  happened  to  attract  her  attention. 

This  solitude  exhausted,  tortured  her;  but  it  was  some- 
thing that  she  could  not  help.  As  soon  as  any  one  came  to 
her,  she  would  quickly  get  up,  change  her  position  and  the 
expression  of  her  eyes,  and  ta^e  up  her  book  or  her  sewing, 
and  make  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  desire  that  the  one  who 
came  to  disturb  her  should  go. 

It  constantly  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  on  the  very  point 
of  discovering,  of  penetrating  that  terrible,  unendurable 
problem  on  which  her  mental  eye  was  directed. 

About  the  beginning  of  January,  Natasha,  thin  and  pale, 
and  dressed  in  a  black  woollen  dress,  with  her  braid  carelessly 
knotted  up  in  a  pug,  was  sitting  with  her  feet  up  on  the  sofa, 
concentratedly  puckering  and  folding  out  the  ends  of  her  sash, 
and  gazing  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  door. 

She  was  looking  at  the  place  where  he  had  vanished,  at  that 
side  of  life.  And  that  side  of  life,  of  which  she  had  never 
thought  in  the  days  gone  by,  which  hitherto  had  always 
seemed  to  her  so  distant  and  unreal,  was  now  nearer  and  more 
familiar,  more  comprehensible,  than  the  ordinary  side  of  life, 
where  everything  was  either  emptiness  and  decay,  or  suffering 
and  humiliation. 

She  looked  at  the  place  where  she  knew  he  had  been ;  but 
she  could  not  make  it  out  that  he  was  not  there  still.  She 
saw  him  once  more  as  he  had  been  at  Muitishchi,  at  Troi'tsa, 
at  Yaroslavl. 

She  saw  his  face,  heard  his  voice,  repeated  his  words  and 
the  words  which  she  had  said  to  him,  and  sometimes  she  im- 
agined words  that  they  might  have  spoken. 

There  he  is  lying  in  the  easy-chair,  in  his  velvet  shubka, 
with  his  head  leaning  on  his  thin  white  hand.  His  chest  is 
terribly  sunken  and  his  shoulders  raised.  His  lips  are  firmly 
set,  his  eyes  are  gleaming,  and  on  his  pallid  brow  a  wrinkle 
comes  and  goes.  One  leg  trembles  almost  imperceptibly  with 
a  rapid  motion. 

Natasha  knew  that  he  was  struggling  with  tormenting  pain. 
"  What  is  that  pain  like  ?  Why  that  pain  ?  How  does  he 
feel  ?    How  does  it  pain  him  ?  "  she  wonders. 

He  noticed  her  fixed  gaze,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  without  a 
trace  of  a  smile  began  to  speak :  — 


186  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

'^  There  is  one  thing  terrible,"  said  he,  '^to  be  bound  for- 
ever to  a  suffering  man.  This  is  eternal  torment ! "  And  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  scrutinizing  glance.  Natasha  replied 
then,  as  she  always  did,  before  she  had  time  to  think  what  she 
should  reply.  She  said:  '^This  cannot  continue  so,  it  wiU 
not  be  so  always ;  you  will  get  weiU  —  entirely  welL" 

She  now  saw  him  as  he  had  been  from  the  first,  and  lived 
over  in  her  memory  all  that  she  had  then  experienced.  She 
recalled  that  long,  melancholy,  stem  look  which  he  had  given 
her  at  those  words,  and  she  realized  the  significance  of  the 
reproach  and  despair  expressed  in  this  protracted  look. 

''I  agreed  with  him,"  said  Natasha  to  herself,  'Hhat  it 
would  be  terrible  if  he  should  remain  always  suffering  so.  I 
said  this  at  that  time,  simply  because  I  meant  that  for  him  it 
would  be  terrible,  but  he  understood  it  in  a  different  way. 
He  thought  that  it  would  be  terrible  for  me.  At  that  time  he 
was  still  anxious  to  live,  was  afraid  to  die.  And  I  said  this  so 
crudely,  so  stupidly!  I  did  not  think  of  that.  I  meant 
something  entirely  different.  If  I  had  said  what  I  meant,  I 
should  have  said :  '  If  he  were  to  perish  by  a  living  death 
before  my  eyes,  I  should  be  happy  in  comparison  with  what  I 
feel  now.'  Now — there  is  no  one,  nothing !  Could  he  have 
known  this  ?  No !  He  knew  it  not,  and  he  will  never  know ! 
And  now  it  is  too  late^  too  late  to  set  this  right." 

And  once  more  he  said  to  her  those  same  words,  but  this 
time  Natasha*,  in  her  imagination,  answered  him  in  a  different 
way.  She  stopped  him  and  said:  "Terrible  for  you,  but  not 
for  me.  You  know  that  for  me  life  without  you  would  be 
nothing,  and  to  suffer  with  you  is  the  dearest  happiness." 

And  he  seized  her  hand  and  pressed  it  just  as  he  had 
pressed  it  that  terrible  evening  four  days  before  he  died. 
And  in  her  imagination  she  spoke  to  him  still  other  tender, 
loving  words  which  she  might  have  uttered  then,  but  did  not, 
and  which  now  she  could  and  did  say:  —  "I  love  thee!  — 
thee  I  love,  I  love ! "  she  repeated,  convulsively  wringing  her 
hands,  clinching  her  teeth,  with  set  determination. 

And  the  bitter  sweetness  of  grief  took  possession  of  her, 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  suddenly  she  asked  herself 
to  whom  she  was  saying  that.  "  Where  is  he  and  what  is  he 
now  ?  "  And  once  more  everything  grew  dark  with  hard  and 
cruel  doubt,  and,  ouce  more  closely  drawing  her  brows  into  a 
frown,  she  looked  at  the  place  where  he  had  been.  And  now, 
now  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  going  to  fathom  the  mys — 

But  at  the  very  instant  when  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  in- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  187 

compTehensible  was  already  about  to  reveal  itself  to  her,  a 
loud  rattling  of  the  door-knob  painfully  struck  upon  her  ears. 
With  hasty^  incautious  steps,  with  a  frightened  expression 
never  before  seen  on  her  face,  Dunyasha  the  maid  came  run- 
ning into  the  room. 

'<  Please  come  to  your  papa  as  quick  as  possible,"  said  Dun- 
yasha, with  that  peculiar  and  excited  look.  ''Bad  news 
about  Piotr  Dyitch  —  a  letter,"  she  cried  with  a  sob. 


CHAPTEK  IL 

Besides  the  general  feeling  of  aversion  for  all  people, 
Natasha  at  this  time  experienced  a  peculiar  feeling  of  aversion 
for  the  members  of  her  own  family.  All  her  relatives — father, 
mother,  Sony  a — were  so  near  to  her,  so  familiar,  so  everyday, 
that  all  their  words,  their  sentiments,  seemed  to  her  a  disre- 
spect to  that  world  in  which  she  had  been  lately  living,  and 
she  looked  upon  them  not  only  with  indifferent  but  even 
hostile  eyes.  She  heard  Dunyasha's  words  about  Piotr 
Uyitch,  about  bad  news,  but  she  did  not  take  them  in. 

"  What  misfortune  can  have  happened  to  them  ?  what  bad 
news  can  it  be  ?  Everything  with  them  goes  on  calmly,  as  it 
always  has,"  said  Natasha  mentally. 

As  she  went  into  the  hall  her  father  was  coming  hastily  out 
of  the  countess's  room.  He  was  evidently  hastening  from 
her  room  so  as  to  give  free  course  to  the  affliction  that  over- 
mastered him.  His  face  was  wrinkled  and  wet  with  tears. 
When  he  saw  Natasha  he  waved  his  hands  in  despair,  and 
burst  into  x>stinfully  convulsive  sobs,  which  distorted  his 
round,  placid  face. 

"  Pet  —  Petya — go  to  her,  go  —  she  —  she  is  —  calling  for 
you  "  — 

And,  crying  like  a  child,  swiftly  shuffling  along  on  his 
feeble  legs,  he  went  to  a  chair  and  almost  fell  into  it,  burying 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

Suddenly  something  like  an  electric  shock  ran  over  Nata- 
sha's whole  being.  A  terribly  acute  pain  struck  her  heart. 
She  experienced  a  cruel  agony.  It  seemed  to  her  that  some- 
thing within  her  snapped  and  that  she  was  dying.  But  im- 
mediately succeeding  this  agony  there  came  a  sense  of 
deliverance  from  the  torpor  which  had  been  weighing  down 
her  life.     Seeing  her  father,  and  hearing  her  mother's  terribly 


188  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

agonized  cry  in  the  next  room,  she  instantly  forgot  herself 
and  her  own  sorrow. 

She  ran  up  to  her  father,  but  he,  listlessly  waving  his  arm, 
pointed  to  her  mother's  door. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  with  her  lower  jaw  trembling,  came 
out  of  the  room  and  took  Natasha  by  the  hand  and  said  some- 
thing to  her. 

Natasha  saw  her  not,  heard  her  not.  With  swift  steps  she 
parsed  through  the  door,  paused  for  an  instant,  as  though 
struggling  with  her  own  inclinations,  and  ran  to  her  mother. 

The  countess  lay  in  her  easy-chair,  in  a  strangely  awkward 
and  stiff  position,  and  was  beating  her  head  against  the  wall. 
Sonya  and  the  maids  were  holding  her  by  the  arms. 

''Natasha!  Natasha!"  cried  the  countess.  "It  is  fake! 
false  !  —  He  lies!  —  Natasha!"  she  cried,  tiying  to  tear  her- 
self away  from  those  holding  her  —  "Go  away  all  of  you.  Ik 
isfalse!    Killed?  — Ha!  ha!  ha!  — Tis  false!" 

Natasha  leaned  her  knee  on  the  chair,  bent  over  her  mother, 
threw  her  arms  around  her,  lifted  her  up  with  unexpected 
strength,  turned  her  face  around,  and  pressed  her  cheeks 
against  hers. 

"  Mdmenka !  —  Darling ! — I  am  here,  dearest !  Mamenka ! " 
she  kept  whispering,  without  a  second's  intermission. 

She  kept  her  arms  firmly  aroimd  her  mother,  gently 
struggled  with  her,  called  for  cushions  and  water,  and  unbut- 
toned and  undid  her  mother's  dress. 

"  Darling,  dearest  —  m&menka  —  dearest  heart ! "  *  she  kept 
all  the  time  whispering  while  she  kissed  her  head,  hands,  and 
face,  and  felt  how  her  tears,  like  rivulets,  tickling  her  nose 
and  her  cheeks,  kept  flowing. 

The  countess  pressed  her  daughter's  hand,  closed  her  eyes, 
and  was  calm  for  an  instant.  Then  suddenly,  with  unnatoial 
swiftness,  she  raised  herself  up,  glared  around  wildly,  and, 
seeing  Natasha,  pressed  her  hand  with  all  her  might.  Then 
she  turned  toward  her  Natasha's  face,  convulsed  with  the  pain, 
and  long  scrutinized  it. 

"Natasha,  you  love  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  confidential 
whisper,  "ifatasha,  you  would  not  deceive  me?  Tell  me 
the  whole  truth." 

Natasha  looked  at  her  with  eyes  brimming  with  tears,  and 
her  face  expressed  only  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  and  love. 

"  Dearest,  mdmenka,"  she  repeated,  exerting  all  the  energies 
of  her  love,  in  order  to  take  upon  herself  some  of  the  excess  of 

*  Druk  molt  golubu&hkCt  mdmtnka^  dAthenha* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  189 

woe  that  had  come  too  heavy  for  her  mother  to  bear.  And 
again,  in  that  unequal  struggle  against  the  reality,  the  mother, 
refusing  to  believe  that  she  could  still  exist  when  her  darling 
boy,  treasured  far  more  than  life,  was  killed,  she  relapsed 
from  the  reality  into  the  world  of  unreason. 

Natasha  could  not  have  told  how  that  first  day  passed,  that 
night,  the  following  day,  and  the  following  night.  She  did 
not  sleep,  and  did  not  leave  her  mother's  side.  Natasha's 
love,  faithful,  patient,  every  second,  as  it  were,  wrapped  the 
countess  round  about  not  with  consolation,  not  with  explana- 
tion, but  with  something  like  a  summons  back  to  life. 

On  the  third  night  the  countess  grew  calm  for  several  min- 
utes, and  Natasha  closed  her  eyes,  and  rested  her  head  on  the 
arm  of  the  chair.  The  bed  creaked;  Natasha  opened  her 
eyes.  The  countess  was  sitting  on  the  bed,  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone:  — 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  have  come !  You  are  tired ; 
wouldn't  you  like  some  tea  ?  " 

Natasha  went  to  her. 

"  You  have  grown  handsome  and  strong !  '*  continued  the 
countess,  taking  her  daughter's  hand. 

"  Mamenka,  what  are  you  saying  ?  "  — 

"  Natasha !  he  is  dead,  he  is  dead ! "  And,  throwing  her 
arms  around  her  daughter,  the  countess  for  the  first  time 
began  to  weep. 


CHAPTER  TIL 

The  Princess  Mariya  had  postponed  her  departure. 

Sonya  and  the  count  tried  to  take  Natasha's  place,  but  they 
found  it  impossible.  They  saw  that  she  was  the  only  one 
who  could  keep  the  mother  from  wild  despair.  For  three 
weeks  Natasha  lived  constantly  by  her  mother's  side,  slept  in 
her  chair  in  her  room,  gave  her  food  and  drink,  and  talked  to 
her  unceasingly,  talked  because  her  tender,  caressing  voice 
was  the  only  thing  that  calmed  the  countess. 

A  wound  in  the  heart  of  a  mother  cannot  heal.  Petya's 
death  had  torn  away  the  half  of  her  life.  At  the  end  of  a 
month,  after  the  news  of  Petya's  death  had  arrived,  though  it 
had  found  her  a  fresh  and  well-preserved  woman  of  fifty,  she 
crept  out  of  her  room  an  old  woman,  half  dead,  and  no  longer 
taking  any  interest  in  life.  But  the  same  wound  which  had 
half  killed  the  countess^  —  this  new  wound  brought  Natashai 
back  to  life. 


190  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  spiritual  wound,  aiLsing  from  the  laceration  of  tke 
spiritual  body,  exactly  like  a  physical  wound,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  after  the  deep  wound  has  cicatrized,  and  its  edges 
have  come  together,  —  the  spiritual  wound,  like  the  physical 
one,  heals  only  through  the  inward  working  of  the  forces  of 
life. 

Thus  healed  Natasha's  wound.  She  thought  that  life  for 
her  was  finished.  But  suddenly  her  love  for  her  mother 
proved  to  her  that  the  essence  of  her  life  —  love  —  was  still 
alive  within  her.    Love  awoke  and  life  awoke. 

Prince  Andrei's  last  days  had  brought  Natasha  and  tbe 
Princess  Mariya  close  together.  This  new  misfortune  still 
more  united  them.  The  Princess  Mariya  postponed  her  de- 
parture, and  for  three  weeks  she  tended  Natasha  like  an 
ailing  child.  The  weeks  spent  by  her  in  her  mother's  room 
had  been  a  severe  drain  on  her  physical  energies. 

One  time,  toward  noon,  the  Princess  Mariya,  observing  that 
Natasha  was  trembling  as  though  she  had  a  fever,  took  her  to 
her  room,  and  made  her  lie  down  on  her  bed.  Natasha  laj 
down,  but  when  the  princess,  pulling  down  the  blinds,  started 
to  go,  Natasha  called  her  back. 

'^  I  don't  care  to  sleep,  Marie ;  sit  down  with  me ! " 

"You  are  tired ;  try  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  No,  no !  Why  did  you  bring  me  away  ?  She  will  be 
asking  for  me  ! " 

"  She  is  much  better.  She  talked  so  naturally  to-day,"  said 
the  Princess  Mariya. 

Natasha  lay  on  the  bed,  and  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
room  studied  the  Princess  Mariya's  face. 

<<Is  she  like  him?"  Natasha  asked  herself.  '^Tes,  like 
him  and  not  like  him.  But  she  is  peculiar,  strange,  entirely 
original,  unlike  anybody  else.  And  she  loves  me  !  What  is 
in  her  heart  ?  Nothing  but  goodness !  But  what,  what  does 
she  think  of  me  ?  How  does  she  regard  me  ?  Yes,  she  is 
beautiful!" 

<^  Masha ! "  said  she  timidly,  drawing  her  hand  to  her. 
"  Masha,  don't  think  that  I  am  bad.  You  don't,  do  you  ? 
Masha !  darling,  how  I  love  you  I  Let  us  always,  always  be 
friends ! " 

And  Natasha,  throwing  her  arms  around  the  Princess  Ha* 
riya,  began  to  kiss  her  hands  and  face.  The  princess  was 
both  embarrassed  and  delighted  at  this  expression  of  Natasha's 
feelings. 

From  that  day  forth  began  between  the  Princess  Mariya 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  191 

and  Natasha  that  passionate  and  tender  friendship  which  only 
exists  between  women. 

They  were  constantly  kissing  each  other,  calling  each  other 
affectionate  names,  and  spent  the  larger  part  of  the  time 
together.  If  one  sighed,  the  other  was  anxious,  and  hastened 
to  rejoin  her  friend.  Each  felt  more  at  peace  with  herself 
when  the  two  were  together  than  when  they  were  alone. 
There  existed  between  them  a  stronger  feeling  than  friend- 
ship :  this  was  that  exclusive  feeling  that  life  was  only  pos- 
sible when  they  were  together. 

Sometimes  they  sat  without  speaking  for  hours  at  a  time ; 
sometimes  while  in  bed  they  would  begin  to  talk  and  talk  till 
morning.  Their  conversation  ran  mainly  on  their  earliest  recol- 
lections. 

The  Princess  Mariya  would  tell  about  her  childhood,  about 
her  mother,  about  her  father,  about  her  hopes  and  fancies ; 
and  Natasha,  who  in  times  gone  by,  through  her  easy  lack  of 
comprehension,  would  have  been  repelled  by  this  life  of  devoo 
tion,  of  humility,  by  this  poetry  of  Christian  self-sacrifice, 
now  feeling  herself  bound  in  affection  to  the  princess,  loved 
also  the  princess's  past  life,  and  began  to  comprehend  the 
hitherto  incomprehensible  side  of  her  life. 

She  had  no  idea  of  applying  in  her  own  case  the  principles 
of  this  humility  and  self-abnegation,  because  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  find  other  pleasures,  but  she  comprehended  and 
loved  in  her  friend  this  formerly  incomprehensible  virtue. 

For  the  Princess  Mariya  also,  when  she  heard  Natasha^g 
stories  of  her  childhood  and  early  youth,  a  formerly  incom- 
prehensible phase  of  life  —  faith  in  life  itself  and  in  the  joys 
of  life  —  was  revealed. 

Neither  of  them  liked  to  speak  of  him,  for  fear  they  should 
in  words  desecrate  what  seemed  to  them  those  lofty  heights 
of  feeling  which  were  in  their  hearts ;  but  this  reticence 
concerning  him  was  causing  them,  little  by  little,  —  though 
they  would  not  have  believed  it,  —  to  forget  him. 

Natasha  grew  thin  and  pale,  and  physically  she  became  so 
feeble  that  her  health  was  a  constant  topic  of  conversation, 
but  this  was  agreeable  to  her.  But  sometimes,  unexpectedly, 
there  came  over  her  not  so  much  a  fear  of  death  as  a  fear  of 
pain,  weakness,  loss  of  beauty ;  and,  in  spite  of  herself,  she 
sometimes  attentively  contemplated  her  bare  arm,  marvelling 
at  its  thinness,  or  in  the  morning  she  gazed  into  the  mirror  at 
her  pinched  and,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  wretched-looking  face. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  this  had  to  be  so,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  filled  her  with  terror  and  melancholy. 


192  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

One  time  she  ran  quickly  upstairs,  and  found  herself 
breathing  hard.  She  immediately,  in  spite  of  herself,  invented 
some  excuse  to  go  down  again,  and  then  once  more  ran  up- 
stairs to  test  her  strength  and  see  what  she  could  do. 

Another  time  she  called  Dunyasha,  and  her  voic«  sounded 
weak.  She  tried  it  once  more ;  she  called  her,  although  slie 
heard  her  coming  —  called  her  in  those  chest  tones  which  she 
used  to  use  in  singing,  and  listened  to  them. 

She  did  not  know  it ;  she  would  not  have  believed  it ;  bok 
under  what  seemed  to  her  the  impenetrable  crust  of  mould 
with  which  her  soul  was  covered,  already  the  delicate,  tender, 
young  shoots  of  grass  were  starting,  which  were  bound  to 
grow,  and  thus,  by  their  life-giving,  victorious  force,  hide 
from  sight  the  sorrow  which  she  had  suffered,  so  that  it  woaU 
soon  be  forgotten. 

The  wound  was  healing  inwardly.  Toward  the  beginning 
of  February  the  Princess  Mariya  went  to  Moscow,  and  the 
count  insisted  upon  Natasha  going  with  her,  so  as  to  oonsQlt 
with  the  doctors. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  i  RR  the  encounter  at  Yiazma,  where  Kutuzof  could  not 
restrain  his  troops  from  the  desire  to  overthrow,  to  cut  off  the 
enemy,  the  further  movement  of  the  fleeing  French  and  the 
pursuing  Russians  took  place  without  a  battle  until  they 
reached  Krasnoye. 

The  flight  of  the  French  was  so  rapid  that  the  Russian 
army  chasing  them  could  not  catch  up  with  them,  that  the 
horses  in  the  cavalry  and  artillery  came  to  a  standstill,  and 
that  information  in  regard  to  the  movements  of  the  French 
was  always  untrustworthy. 

The  men  of  the  Russian  army  were  so  worn  out  by  these 
uninterrupted  marches  of  forty  versts  a  day,  that  they  could 
not  move  onward  any  faster. 

To  appreciate  the  degree  of  exhaustion  which  the  Russian 
army  suffered,  it  is  only  necessary  to  realize  the  significaooe 
of  tiiis  fact,  that,  while  the  Russian  army,  on  leaying  Tarn* 
tino,  had  a  hundred  thousand  men,  and  lost  during  the  whole 
march  not  more  than  Ave  thousand  in  killed  and  wounded, 
and  less  than  a  hundred  taken  prisoners,  they  had  only  fifty 
thousand  men  when  they  got  to  Krasnoye. 

The  swift  pursuit  of  the  Russians  after  the  French  was  a^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  198 

destractive  in  its  effect  on  them  as  the  retreat  was  to  the 
French.  The  difPerence  was  only  that  the  Russian  army 
moTed  at  will,  without  that  threat  of  destruction  which  hung 
over  the  French  army,  and  that,  while  the  stragglers  and  the 
sick  from  among  the  French  would  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  enemy,  the  Russians  who  were  left  behind  were  at  home. 

The  principal  cause  of  the  diminution  of  Napoleon's  army 
was  the  rapidity  of  its  flight,  and  indubitable  proof  of  this  is 
famished  by  the  corresponding  diminution  of  the  Russian 
troops. 

All  Kutuzof  s  efforts,  just  as  had  been  the  case  at  Tarutino 
and  at  Viazma,.were  directed  —  so  far  as  lay  in  his  power  — 
solely  to  the  preventing  of  interference  with  that  destructive 
movement  of  the  French  (though  this  was  contrary  to  desires 
expressed  in  Petersburg  and  in  the  Russian  army  by  his  own 
generals),  but  to  co-operate  with  it,  and  to  render  the  move- 
ment of  his  own  troops  as  easy  as  possible. 

But,  moreover,  ever  since  the  troops  had  begun  to  suffer 
from  fatigue,  and  from  the  tremendous  losses  due  to  the 
rapidity  of  the  movement,  Kutuzof  had  discovered  still  another 
reason  for  slackening  the  exertions  of  the  army,  and  for 
delay.  The  object  of  tbe  Russian  troops  was  pursuit  of  the 
French.  The  route  of  the  French  was  unknown,  and  there- 
fore the  more  closely  our  troops  followed  on  their  heels,  the 
more  separated  they  became.  Only  by  following  at  some  dis- 
tance was  it  possible  (by  the  most  direct  road)  to  avoid  the 
zigzags  made  by  the  French. 

All  the  intricate  manoeuvres  proposed  by  the  generals  in- 
volved an  increase  for  the  troops  in  their  marches,  while  the 
only  reasonable  course  was  to  minimize  these  marches ;  and, 
to  this  end,  all  Kutuzofs  efforts  were  directed  throughout  the 
campaign  from  Moscow  to  Vilno,  not  as  a  matter  of  accident 
or  caprice,  but  so  consistently  that  he  did  not  for  a  moment 
relax  them. 

Kutuzof  knew,  not  by  reason  or  science,  but  by  his  whole 
Russian  nature,  -^  knew  and  felt  what  every  Russian  soldier 
felt,  that  the  French  were  conquered,  that  the  enemy  were 
running  away,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  escort  them ;  but 
at  the  same  time  he  felt  with  his  soldiers  the  burden  of  a 
campaign  unprecedented  for  the  rapidity  of  the  marches  and 
the  time  of  the  year. 

But  it  seemed  to  the  other  generals,  especially  those  who 
were  not  Russian, — being  anxious  to  distinguish  themselves, 
to  astonish  the  world,  for  some  reason  or  other  to  take  some 
yoL.4.  — 13. 


194  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

duke  or  king  prisoner,  —  it  seemed  to  these  generals  that  now, 
when  any  battle  was  odious  and  absurd,  it  was  the  very  goldea 
time  to  give  battle  and  conquer  some  one. 

Kutuzof  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders  when,  one  after 
another,  they  laid  before  him  their  plans  for  manoeuvres  to  be 
accomplished  by  these  badly  shod,  half-famished  soldieis, 
without  great-coats,  who,  during  a  month,  had  be«n  reduced 
one-half,  though  they  had  not  fought  a  battle,  and  with  whouu 
under  the  most  favorable  conditions  of  a  prolonged  retreat,  he 
must  go  to  the  frontier^  — a  distance  greater  than  that  alieadj 
traversed. 

This  desire  to  gain  personal  distinction,  to  manoeuvre,  to 
harass  and  cut  off  the  enemy,  was  especially  manifested  when 
Russian  troops  encountered  French  troops. 

That  was  the  case  at  Krasnoye,  where  the  Russian  generals 
thought  that  they  had  found  one  of  the  three  columns  of  the 
French,  and  hurled  themselves  upon  Kapoleon  himself  with 
sixteen  thousand  men.  In  spite  of  all  the  means  employed  by 
Kutuzof  to  avoid  this  destructive  engagement  and  to  save  his 
troops,  for  three  days  an  indiscriminate  attack  on  the  de- 
moralized mob  of  the  French  was  kept  up  by  the  weary  troop$ 
of  the  Russian  army. 

Toll  wrote  out  a  plan, —  "  Die  erste  Colonne  marsekirtf  The 
flrst  column  will  march,*'  etc.,  —  and,  as  always  happ^is, 
everything  took  place  contrary  to  the  plan. 

Prince  Eugene  of  Wurttemberg  saw  from  a  hill-top  a  number 
of  French  fugitives  fleeing  past  him  down  the  road,  and  asked 
for  re-enforcements,  which  did  not  arrive. 

That  night  the  Fi-ench,  managing  to  avoid  the  Russians, 
scattered  and  hid  through  the  woods,  and  made  their  way  on- 
ward as  best  they  could. 

Miloradovitch,  who  declared  that  he  cared  nothing  what- 
ever about  the  provisioning  of  his  troops,  who  could  never 
be  found  when  he  was  wanted,  — a  "  chevaJier  sans  peur  et  «wf 
reproche"  as  he  called  himself,  —  and  was  fond  of  talking  with 
the  French,  sent  a  flag  of  truce,  offering  terms  of  surrender, 
and  lost  time  and  failed  to  execute  the  orders  intrusted  to 
him. 

"  I  make  you  a  present  of  that  column,  my  children,"  he 
said,  riding  up  to  his  troops,  and  pointing  out  the  French  to 
his  cavalry. 

And  his  troops,  mounted  upon  horses  tha^  could  barely 
move,  urged  them  with  spur  and  sword-pricks  into  a  trot,  and, 
after  intense  efforts,  adv^Dced  upon  the  column  which  had 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  19/) 

b^on  given  to  them,  —  in  other  words,  npon  a  crowd  of  be- 
numbed Frenchmen  half  dead  with  hanger  and  cold ;  and  this 
column,  which  had  been  given  to  them,  threw  down  its  arms 
and  surrendered,  —  as  it  long  had  been  wishing  to  do ! 

At  Krasnoye  they  took  twenty-six  thousand  prisoners,  and 
captured  hundreds  of  cannon  and  a  kind  of  a  stick  which  they 
called  "  the  marshal's  baton ;  "  and  they  quarrelled  as  to  who 
had  distinguished  themselves,  and  they  were  contented  with 
this,  but  much  regretted  that  they  had  not  captured  Napoleon 
or  some  hero,  some  one  of  the  marshals,  and  they  blamed  each 
another,  and  especially  Kutuzof. 

These  men,  carried  away  by  their  passions,  were  only  the 
blind  agents  of  the  most  grievous  law  of  necessity,  but  they 
considered  themselves  heroes,  and  imagined  that  what  they 
had  done  was  a  most  worthy  and  noble  work. 

They  blamed  Kutuzof,  and  declared  that  ever  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  campaign  he  had  prevented  them  from  con- 
quering Napoleon,  and  thought  only  of  his  own  personal 
pleasui-es,  and  that  he  had  been  unwilling  to  leave  Polotniaiii 
Zavodui  because  he  was  comfortable  there  ;  that  at  Krasnoye 
he  stopped  the  movement  because,  on  learning  that  Napoleon 
was  there,  he  had  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  that  it  was 
quite  supposable  that  he  had  an  understanding  with  Napoleon, 
that  he  had  been  bought  over,  etc.* 

Because  contemporaries,  carried  away  by  their  passions, 
spoke  thus,  Kutuzof  is  regarded  by  posterity  and  history 
(which  call  Napoleon  "  g^eat "),  by  foreigners,  —  only  as  a  sly, 
weak,  and  debauched  old  courtier;  by  Russians,  as  an  inde fi- 
nite sort  of  person,  a  puppet  useful  because  of  his  Russian 
name. 

CHAPTER  V. 

In  1812-1813,  Kutuzof  was  openly  accused  of  serious  mis- 
takes. 

The  sovereign  was  displeased  with  him ;  and  in  the  history 
of  the  campaign,  written  not  long  since,  by  imperial  orders, t 
it  is  declared  that  Kutuzof  was  a  crafty  courtier  and  liar,  who 
trembled  at  the  name  of  Napoleon,  and  who,  by  his  blunders 
at  Krasnoye  and  the  Beresina,  deprived  the  Russian  troops  of 
the  glory  of  a  complete  victory  over  the  French. 

•  Wilson's  Memoir. 

t  "  Historr  of  the  Tear  1812/'  Bogdandvitch;  characteristics  of  Katozof* 
and  dissertation  on  the  unsatisfactory  results  of  the  battles  at  Krasnoye. 


196  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  men  who  are  not  greai  —  not  grawi 
ft^mme — or,  since  the  Russian  intellect  never  recognizes  them, 
such  the  fate  of  those  rare  and  always  solitary  men  who,  being 
able  to  comprehend  the  will  of  Providence,  subordinate  their 
own  wills  to  it. 

The  hatred  and  scoru  of  the  multitude  punish  these  meo' 
for  their  comprehension  of  the  higher  laws. 

To  Russian  historians  —  a  strange  and  terrible  thing  to  say !' 

—  Napoleon,  that  iiisignilicant  instrument  of  history,  who 
never  anywhere,  even  in  exile,  showed  human  dignity,  — Napo- 
leon is  the  object  of  admiration  and  enthusiasm :  he  is  great 

—  grand! 

Kutuzof,  on  the  other  hand,  the  man  who  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  his  active  life  in  1812,  from  Borodino  U> 
Vilno,  not  once,  by  a  single  act  or  word,  proved  a  traitor  to 
himself,  but  offers  an  example  unique  in  history,  of  self- 
sacrifice  and  present  insight  into  the  future  significance  of  aa 
event,  —  Kutuzof  is  to  them  something  vague  and  pitiable,  and 
when  they  speak  of  him  and  of  1812  they  seem  to  be  some- 
what ashamed. 

And  yet  it  is  hard  to  conceive  an  historical  personage  whose 
activity  was  so  faithfully  and  so  constantly  devoted  to  a  single 
aim.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  an  aim  more  worthy  or  which. 
better  coincided  with  the  will  of  a  whole  people. 

Still  more  difficult  it  would  be  to  discover  another  example^ 
in  history,  where  an  aim  set  by  an  historical  personage  was  so 
completely  realized  as  the  aim  to  the  attainment  of  which 
Kutuzof  s  whole  activity  was  devoted  in  1812. 

Kutuzof  never  talked  about  the  forty  centuries  that  looked 
down  from  the  Pyramids,  of  the  sacrifices  he  had  made  for 
his  country,  of  what  he  intended  to  accomplish  or  had  already 
accomplished. 

As  a  general  thing,  he  spoke  little  of  himself,  never  played 
any  part,  seemed  always  a  most  simple  and  ordinary  man,  and 
said  only  the  most  simple  and  the  most  ordinary  things. 

He  wrote  letters  to  his  daughters  and  to  Madame  Stahl,* 
read  romances,  liked  the  society  of  pretty  women,  jested  with 
generals,  officers,  and  soldiers,  and  never  contradicted  anybody 
who  tried  to  prove  anything  to  him. 

When  Count  Rostopchin  galloped  across  the  Yaoza  bridge 
up  to  Kutuzof  and  loaded  him  with  personal  reproaches  for 
the  loss  of  MOSCOW;  and  said,  ''You  promised  not  to  give  up. 

*  De  Stael? 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  197 

Moscow  without  a  battle,"  Kutuzof  replied,  although  Moscow 
was  already  abandoned,  — 

"  I  shall  not  give  up  Moscow  without  a  battle." 

When  Arakcheyef  came  to  him  from  the  sovereign  and  said 
that  Yermolof  must  be  appointed  chief  of  artillery,  Kutuzof 
replied,  although  a  few  moments  before  he  had  expressed 
himself  quite  differently,  — 

"Yes.    I  only  just  now  proposed  that  myself." 

What  was  it  to  him,  who  alone  amid  the  foolish  throng 
about  him  understood  all  the  mighty  significance  of  the  event, 
what  was  it  to  him  whether  Count  Rostopchin  attributed  to 
him  or  any  one  else  the  desertion  of  Moscow  ?  Still  less  could 
he  be  concerned  with  the  question  who  should  be  named  chief 
of  artillery. 

Not  only  in  these  circumstances,  but  on  all  occasions,  this 
old  man,  who  by  experience  of  life  had  come  to  the  conviction 
that  thoughts,  and  the  words  whereby  thoughts  are  expressed, 
do  not  stir  men  to  action,  spoke  words  absolutely  without 
meaning,  saying  whatever  came  into  his  head. 

But  this  same  man,  who  so  scorned  speech,  never  once, 
throughout  the  whole  period  of  his  activity,  uttered  a  single 
word  which  would  not  have  agreed  with  the  one  object  toward 
the  attainment  of  which  he  moved  throughout  the  course  of 
the  war. 

It  was  with  evident  reluctance,  with  a  painful  assurance 
that  he  would  not  be  understood,  that  again  and  again  in  the 
most  varied  circumstances  he  expressed  his  thoughts. 

From  the  time  of  the  battle  of  Borodino,  when  his  quarrel 
with  those  around  him  began,  he  alone  declared  that  the  battle 
of  Borodino  was  a  victory ,  and  he  repeated  it  both  orally  and  in 
his  letters,  as  well  as  in  his  reports,  till  the  very  end  of  his  life. 

He  alone  declared  that  the  loss  of  Moscow  wa^  not  the  loss  of 
Mussia. 

He,  in  reply  to  Lauriston,  who  was  sent  to  offer  terms  of 
peace,  said  that  peace  could  not  be  made,  because  such  was 
fwt  the  will  of  the  people. 

He  alone,  during  the  retreat  of  the  French,  declared  that 
cUl  our  manceuvres  were  useless,  that  everything  would  come  out 
of  itself  better  than  we  could  wish,  that  it  was  only  necessary  to 
give  the  enemy  the  "  golden  bridge  ;  "  *  that  neither  the  battle  of 
Tarutino,  nor  that  of  Krasnoye,  nor  that  of  Viazmu  was  neces- 
sary;  that  if  they  must  reach  the  frontier,  they  must  have  troops  y 

*  TbaX  is,  give  them  eveiy  faoili^  to  destroy  themselves. 


198  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

that  he  would  not  sacrifice  a  single  Russian  soldier  for  ten 
henchmen. 

And  he  alone,  thid  deceitful  courtier,  as  he  is  represented 
to  us,  this  man  who  to  please  his  sovereign  lied  to  Aiak- 
cheyef,  he  alone,  this  courtier,  at  the  risk  of  winning  his  sov* 
eipeign*8  ill  will,  declared,  at  Vilno,  that  war  beyond  the  frontier 
would  be  dangeivus  and  tiseless. 

But  words  alone  would  not  prove  that  he  grasped  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  event.  His  acts  —  all  without  the  slightest 
variation  —  all  were  directed  to  one  and  the  same  threefold 
object ; — 

1.  To  concentrate  all  his  forces  for  any  encounter  with  the 
French. 

2.  To  vanquish  them,  and 

3.  To  drive  them  from  Russia,  while  alleviating,  so  far  as 
was  possible,  the  sufferings  of  the  people  and  the  troops. 

He,  this  Kutuzof,  the  temporizer,  whose  device  was  "pa- 
tience and  time,"  the  enemy  of  decisive  actions,  he  gives 
battle  at  Borodino,  clothing  the  preparation  for  it  with  un- 
exampled solemnity. 

He,  this  Kutuzof,  who  at  Austerlitz,  before  the  battle  began, 
declares  that  it  will  be  lost ;  and  at  Borodino,  in  spite  of  the 
conviction  of  the  generals  that  it  was  a  defeat,  protests  up  to 
the  time  of  his  death  that  the  battle  of  Borodino  was  a  vic- 
tory, though  the  example  of  an  army  winning  a  victory,  but 
being  obliged  to  retreat,  was  unheard  of  in  history,  — he  alone, 
during  all  the  time  of  the  retreat,  insists  upon  refraining 
from  further  battles,  since  they  were  now  useless — from 
beginning  a  new  war,  and  from  crossing  the  frontier. 

It  is  easy  at  the  present  time  to  comprehend  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  event,  provided  we  do  not  concern  ourselves  with 
the  mass  of  plans  fermenting  in  the  heads  of  a  dozen  men, 
since  the  great  event,  with  all  its  consequences,  lies  before  ns. 

But  how  was  it  that  at  that  time  this  old  man,  alone,  against 
the  opinions  of  many,  was  able  to  divine  so  accurately  the 
significance  of  the  national  impression  of  the  event,  that  he  did 
not  once  through  his  whole  activity  prove  false  to  it  ? 

This  extraordinary  power  of  insight  into  the  import  of  the 
events  accomplishing  had  its  source  in  that  national  sentiment 
which  he  carried  in  his  heart  in  all  its  purity  and  vigor. 

Only  the  recognition  of  this  sentiment  in  Kutuzof  compelled 
the  people  by  such  strange  paths  to  choose  this  old  man,  in 
disgrace  as  he  was,  against  the  will  of  the  sovereign,  to  be 
their  representative  in  the  national  war. 


WAR  A2fD  PEACS.  I9d 

And  only  this  sentiment  elevated  Kutuzof  to  the  high  pinna- 
cle of  humanity  from  which  he,  the  general-in-chief,  employed 
all  his  efforts,  not  to  kill  and  exterminate  men,  but  to  save 
and  have  pity  upon  them. 

This  simple,  modest,  and  therefore  truly  grand  figure  could 
not  be  cast  in  the  counterfeit  mould  employed  by  history  for 
the  European  hero  who  is  supposed  to  govern  the  nations. 

For  the  valet  there  can  be  no  great  man,  because  the  valet 
has  his  own  conception  of  greatness. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  seventeenth  of  November  was  the  first  day  of  the  so- 
called  battle  of  Krasnoye.  Before  dark,  when  after  many 
disputes  and  blunders  caused  by  generals  who  did  not  reach 
the  places  where  they  should  have  been,  after  much  galloping 
about  of  adjutants  with  commands  and  counter-commands, 
when  it  was  already  self-evident  that  the  enemy  were  every- 
where running  away,  and  that  a  battle  could  not  and  would 
not  take  place,  Kutuzof  set  forth  from  Krasnoye  and  rode  to 
Dobroye,  where  headquarters  had  been  established  that  same 
day. 

The  day  was  clear  and  frosty.  Kutuzof,  with  a  big  suite  of 
generals  most  of  whom  were  dissatisfied  with  him  and  were 
whispering  behind  his  back,  rode  to  Dobroye,  mounted  on  his 
stout  white  cob. 

The  road  all  along  was  crowded  with  a  party  of  French 
prisoners  captured  that  day  —  seven  thousand  of  them  had 
been  taken — who  were  trying  to  warm  themselves  around  the 
bivouac  fires. 

Not  far  from  Dobroye  a  huge  throng  of  ragged  prisoners, 
wearing  whatever  they  happened  to  have  laid  their  hands  on, 
were  loudly  talking,  as  they  stood  in  the  road  near  a  long  row 
of  unlimbered  cannon. 

As  the  commander-in-chief  approached,  the  talking  quieted 
down,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  Kutuzof,  who,  in  his  white 
hat  with  red  band,  and  wadded  capote  hunched  upon  his 
stooping  shoulders,  slowly  moved  along  the  road.  One  of  the 
generals  reported  to  Kutuzof  where  the  prisoners  and  cannon 
had  been  captured. 

Kutuzof  seemed  pre-occupied  and  did  not  hear  the  general's 
words.  He  involuntarily  blinked  his  eyes,  and  kept  gazing 
attentively  and  fixedly  at  the  figures  of  the  prisoners,  who 


200  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

m 

presented  a  particularly  melancholy  spectacle.  The  most  of 
the  French  soldiers  were  maimed,  with  frost-bitten  noses  aDd 
cheeks,  and  almost  all  of  them  had  red,  swollen,  and  matteiy 
eyes.  One  clump  of  the  French  were  near  the  roadside,  and 
two  soldiers  —  the  face  of  one  was  covered  by  sears  —  were 
tearing  a  piece  of  raw  meat.  There  was  something  tertible 
and  bestial  in  the  wild  glances  which  they  cast  on  the  new- 
comers and  in  the  ugly  expression  with  which  the  scarred 
soldier,  after  gazing  at  Kutuzof,  immediately  turned  away 
and  went  on  with  his  operations. 

Kutuzof  gazed  long  and  attentively  at  these  two  soldiers; 
frowning  still  more  portentously^  he  blinked  his  eyes  and 
thoughtfully  shook  his  head. 

In  another  place  he  observed  a  Russian  soldier,  who,  with 
a  laugh,  gave  a  Frenchman  a  slap  on  the  shoulder  and  made 
some  friendly  remark  to  him.  Kutuzof,  again  with  the  same 
expression,  shook  his  head. 

"  What  were  you  saying  ?  "  he  demanded  of  the  genenl 
who  had  gone  on  with  his  report  and  was  calling  the  com- 
mander-in-chief's attention  to  the  captured  French  colors  that 
were  bunched  in  fi'ont  of  the  Preobrazhensky  regiment 

<'  Oh,  the  colors,"  said  Kutuzof,  finding  it  evidently  hard  to 
turn  his  mind  from  the  object  that  attracted  his  attention. 
He  looked  around  absent-mindedly.  Thousands  of  eyes,  from 
every  side,  looked  at  him,  expecting  his  reply. 

He  reined  in  his  horse  in  front  of  the  l^obrazhensky  regi- 
ment, drew  a  heavy  sigh,  and  closed  his  eyes.  One  of  ti^ 
suite  made  a  signal  to  the  soldiers  who  had  charge  of  the 
standards  to  advance  and  group  the  flagstaffs  around  the  oom- 
niander-in-chief. 

Kutuzof  said  nothing  for  some  seconds ;  and  then,  with  evi- 
dent reluctance,  yielding  to  the  necessity  of  his  position, 
raised  his  head  and  began  to  speak. 

The  officers  gathered  around  him  in  throngs.  With  an 
attentive  glance  he  surveyed  the  circle  of  officers,  some  of 
whom  he  recognized. 

"  I  thank  you  all,"  he  said,  addressing^  the  soldiers  and  then 
the  officers  again.  In  the  silence  which  reigned  around  him 
his  slowly  spoken  words  were  perfectly  distinct.  "  I  thank 
you  all  for  your  hard  and  faithful  service.  The  victory  is 
complete,  and  Russia  will  not  forget  you.  Your  glory  will  be 
eternal." 

He  was  silent  and  looked  around. 

^^Bend  down,  bend  down  his  head!"  said  he  to  the  soldiar 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  201 

\rho  held  the  French  eagle  and  had  unexpectedly  inclined  it 
toward  the  Preobrazhensky  standard.  "  Lower,  lower  still,  — 
thaf  B  the  way.  Hurrah,  children  ! "  he  cried,  with  a  quick 
movement  of  his  chin,  turning  to  the  soldiers. 

"  Hurrah,  rah-rah ! "  roared  forth  from  thousands  of  voices. ' 

While  the  soldiers  were  cheering,  Kutuzof  bent  down  to  his 
Saddle,  inclined  his  head,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  a  gentle, 
perceptibly  ironical  gleam. 

"  Well,  boys ! "  *  he  began  when  the  cheering  had  ceased. 

And  suddenly  his  voice  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
changed ;  it  was  no  longer  the  commander-in-chief  who  spoke, 
but  simply  an  old  man,  who  evidently  had  something  of  im- 
portance to  communicate  to  his  companions  in  arms. 

Through  the  crowd  of  officers  and  the  ranks  of  the  soldiers 
ran  a  stir,  as  they  pressed  forward  to  hear  more  distinctly 
what  he  should  now  have  to  say :  — 

"  Well,  boys !  I  know  it's  hard  for  you,  but  what's  to  be 
done  ?  Have  patience ;  it  is  not  for  long.  When  we  have 
escorted  our  guests  out  of  the  country  we  will  rest.  The  tsar 
will  not  forget  your  labors,  will  not  forget  you.  It  is  hard 
for  you,  but  you  are  at  home  all  this  time,  while  they  —  see 
what  they  have  come  to,"  said  he,  indicating  the  prisoners,  — 
"  worse  than  the  lowest  beggars.  While  they  were  strong  we 
had  no  pity  on  them,  but  now  we  may  pity  them.  *  They,  too, 
are  men.    Isn't  that  so,  children  ?  " 

He  glanced  around  him,  and  in  the  earnest,  respectfully 
perplexed  glances  &ced  upon  him  he  read  their  sympathy  in 
what  he  had  said.  His  face  was  constantly  more  and  more 
illumined  by  the  benevolent  smile  of  old  age,  by  the  star-like 
lines  irradiating  from  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  eyes. 

He  remained  silent  for  a  little,  and  in  seeming  perplexity 
f  dropped  his  head. 

'^  Of  course  it  may  be  said,  who  invited  them  to  come  to 

.us?   They  deserve  it,  by "  said  he,  suddenly  raising  his 

head.  And,  cracking  his  whip,  he  rode  off  at  a  gallop,  for  the 
first  time  in  the  whole  campaign  followed  by  roars  of  laugh- 
ter and  a  terrific  hurrah  ringing  down  the  long  lines  of  the 
;  soldiers  as  they  broke  ranks. 

The  words  spoken  by  Kutuzof  could  have  been  scarcely 
understood  by  tne  troops.  No  one  would  have  been  able  to 
report  accurately,  either  the  solemn  words  which  the  field- 
marshal  had  spoken  first,  or  the  kindly  simplicity  of  the  old 
man's  words  at  the  last ;  but  not  only  was  the  tone  of  sincerity 


202  WAR  ATfD  PEACE. 

that  rang  through  the  whole  speech  comprehensible,  but  thai 
peculiar  sense  of  majestic  solemnity  in  union  with  compassion 
for  their  enemies,  and  with  the  feeling  of  the  righteousnesa 
of  their  cause,  expressed,  if  in  nothing  else,  in  that  old-fash- 
ioned, good-natured  execration,  this  feeling  found  an  echo  in 
every  man's  breast,  and  found  utterance  in  that  joyful,  long 
undying  shout. 

When  afterwards  one  of  the  generals  came  and  asked 
Kutuzof  if  he  would  not  prefer  to  ride  in  his  calash,  in  his 
reply  he  unexpectedly  broke  into  sobs,  evidently  being  over- 
come by  the  greatest  emotion. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

< 

On  the  twentieth  of  November,  the  last  day  of  the  battles 
of  Krasnoye,  it  was  already  twilight  when  the  troops  reached 
their  halting-place  for  the  night.  The  whole  day  had  been 
calm  and  cold  with  an  occasional  light  fall  of  snow.  Toward 
evening  it  had  begun  to  clear  off.  Even  while  the  last  flakes 
were  falling  the  dark  purple  starry  sky  could  be  seen  and  the 
cold  grew  more  intense. 

A  regiment  of  musketeers,  which  had  left  Tarutino  three 
thousand  strong,  and  now  mustered  nine  hundred,  was  one  of 
the  first  to  reach  the  place  of  bivouac,  —  a  village  on  the  high- 
road. 

The  billeters,  who  met  the  regiment,  explained  that  all  the 
cottages  were  occupied  by  sick  and  dying  Frenchmen,  cavalry- 
men, and  staff  officers.  There  was  only  one  izbd  for  the  regi- 
mental commander. 

The  regimental  commander  went  to  his  quarters.  The  regi- 
ment marched  through  the  village  and  stacked  their  arms  near 
the  last  houses  on  the  high-road. 

Like  a  monstrous  many-limbed  animal,  the  regiment  at  once 
set  to  work  to  provide  for  itself  a  lair  and  food.  One  sqnad 
of  the  men,  ploughing  through  snow  above  their  knees,  went 
to  a  birch  grove,  at  the  right  of  the  road,  and  immediately 
from  the  grove  were  heard  the  sounds  of  axes,  cutlasses,  the 
crashing  of  falling  limbs,  and  gay  voices. 

A  second  detachment  were  gathered  around  the  place  where 
the  regiment's  carts  and  horses  were  drawn  up,  noisily  busy  in 
getting  out  kettles  and  hardtack  and  in  foddering  the  horses. 

A  third  detachment  were  scattered  through  the  village,  pre- 
paring quarters  for  the  staff  officers;  clearing  away  the  dead 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  208 

bodies  of  the  French  that  lay  in  the  izbds,  and  dragging  off 
beams,  dry  wood,  and  straw  from  the  roofs  for  their  fires,  and 
wattled  hedges  for  shelter.  A  dozen  or  more  soldiers  behind 
a  row  of  cottages  at  the  extreme  edge  of  the  village,  with  a 
jocund  shout,  were  pulling  at  the  high  wattling  of  a  shed  from 
which  the  roof  had  already  been  torn. 

"  Now  then  !  once  more,  all  together ! "  cried  the  voices,  and 
under  the  darkness  of  the  night  the  fabric  of  the  hedge,  laden 
with  snow,  rocked  with  a  frosty,  crackling  sound. 

The  lower  posts  gave  way  more  and  more,  and  at  last  the 
wattling  started  to  give  way,  taking  with  it  the  soldiers  who 
were  pushing  against  it.  There  were  heard  loud,  coarse  shouts 
and  laughter. 

"Look  out  there,  you  two  I"  —  "Give  the  hand-spike* 
here ! " 

"  There,  that's  the  way  ! " 

"  What  are  you  climbing  up  there  for  ?  " 

"  Now,  all  together.    Now  wait,  boys !  —  With  a  chorus ! " 

All  became  silent,  and  a  mellow,  velvety,  sweet  voice  struck 
up  the  song.  At  the  end  of  the  third  stanza,  as  the  last  note 
died  away,  a  score  of  voices  took  up  the  refrain  in  unison,  — 

"  U  —  u  —  u  —  u/  idyot !  Eaz&m  !  Navdlis  dyHki  I  "  — 
"She  falls!  once  more — a  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull, 
boys ! " 

But,  in  spite  of  their  united  efforts,  the  wattling  gave  but 
little,  and  in  the  silence  that  ensued  was  heard  their  heavy 
breathing. 

"  Ho  there.  Company  Six  !  Fiends !  Devils !  Lend  a  band  I 
We'll  do  as  much  for  you  some  day  ! " 

A  score  of  men  from  Company  Six,  who  were  passing 
through  the  village,  joined  forces  with  the  others,  and  the 
wattling,  five  sazhens  long  and  a  sazhen,  or  seven  feet,  wide, 
bending  under  its  own  weight,  and  crushing  and  bruising  the 
shoulders  of  the  panting  soldiers  who  carried  it,  moved  along 
the  village  street.  "  Keep  step  there  !  — There  you  are  stum- 
bling !    Can't  you  keep  your  balance  ?  " 

There  was  no  cessation  of  the  jovial  though  sometimes 
coarse  objurgation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  suddenly  rang  out  the 
imperious  voice  of  a  soldier,  who  came  hastening  toward 
them. 

"There  are  gentlemen  here  I    The  anaral,  himself,  is  in 

*  The  speaker,  a  man  from  Tala  perhaps,  says  rctchag  instead  Qt  ruitchd^. 


204  WAR  AND  PEACB. 

that  izbsy  but  you  are  devils,  fiends  incamatey  foul-moatked 
wretches !  I'll  give  it  to  you ! ''  yelled  the  sergeant,  and,  with 
all  his  might,  he  struck  the  first  soldier  he  encoiintered  a  blow 
on  the  back.    "  Can't  you  keep  quiet  ?  " 

The  soldiers  ceased  their  noise.  The  soldier  who  had  been* 
struck  grunted,  and  began  to  rub  his  face,  which  was  coreied 
with  blood  from  being  knocked  head  first  into  the  wattled 
branches  of  the  hedge,  which  had  lacerated  it. 

'^  The  devil !  How  he  made  me  smart  for  it !  See  how  it 
made  my  whole  mug  bleed ! "  said  he,  in  a  timid  whisperj 
when  the  sergeant  had  gone  back. 

^'  And  so  you  don't  like  it ! "  said  a  mocking  voice,  and, 
moderating  their  tones,  the  soldiers  went  on  their  way.  When 
once  they  were  beyond  the  village,  they  once  more  began  to 
talk  as  loud  as  ever,  punctuating  their  conversation  with  the 
same  aimless  objurgations. 

In  the  cottage  by  which  the  soldiers  had  been  passing  were 
collected  some  of  the  higher  officers,  and,  as  they  drank  their 
tea,  the  conversation  waxed  lively  over  the  events  of  the  past 
day  and  the  proposed  manoeuvres  of  the  following  day.  It 
was  proposed  to  make  a  flank  march  to  the  left,  to  cut  off  the 
viceroy  and  take  him  prisoner. 

When  the  soldiers  brought  in  the  wattled  hedge,  already  in 
various  directions  the  fires  for  cooking  were  merrily  burning. 
The  wood  was  snapping,  the  snow  melted,  and  the  dark 
shadows  of  soldiers  were  moving  up  and  down  over  the  whole 
space,  trampling  down  the  snow. 

Axes  and  cutlasses  were  busy  at  work  in  various  directions. 
Everything  was  done  without  special  orders.  Wood  was 
brought  for  the  night  supply ;  wigwams  were  prepared  for  the 
officers,  kettles  were  set  to  boiling,  arms  and  ammunition  were 
put  into  order. 

The  hedge  brought  in  by  the  men  of  the  Eighth  Company 
was  set  up  in  the  form  of  a  semicircular  screen  toward  the 
north,  and  propped  up  with  stakes  while  the  fire  was  kindled 
under  its  shelter.  The  drums  beat  the  tattoo,  the  roll  was 
called,  the  men  took  their  supper  and  disposed  themselves  for 
the  night  around  the  bivouac  fires  —  one  repairing  his  fooit- 
gear,  another  smoking  his  pipe,  another  (stripped  to  the  skin) 
roasting  his  lice ! 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  206 


CHAPTER  VnL 

It  wotild  seem  as  if  in  those  almost  unima^nably  difficult 
oonditions  of  existence  in  which  the  Russian  soldiers  were 
brought  at  this  time,  lacking  warm  boots,  lacking  overcoats, 
without  shelter  over  their  heads,  in  the  snow  with  the  tem- 
perature at  eighteen  degrees  below  zero,  lacking  a  sufficiency 
of  provisions,  which  frequently  failed  to  arrive,  —  it  would 
seem  as  if  these  soldiers  might  by  good  rights  have  presented 
a  most  pitiable  and  melancholy  spectacle. 

On  the  contrary,  never,  even  in  the  veiy  most  favorable 
material  conditions,  did  the  army  present  a  more  gay  and  ani- 
mated spectacle.  It  was  due  to  the  fact  that  each  day  the 
army  lost  out  of  its  ranks  all  those  who  began  to  show  signs 
of  wesikness  or  depression,  all  who  were  physically  or  morally 
feeble  had  long  since  been  left  behind ;  the  very  flower  of  the 
army  remained — through  strength  of  spirit  and  of  body. 

The  Eighth  Company,  who  had  set  up  the  shelter  of  the  wat- 
tling, had  more  than  its  share  of  men.  Two  sergeant-majors 
had  come  behind  it,  and  their  fire  blazed  up  brighter  than  any 
of  the  others. — They  demanded  in  exchange  for  the  right  to 
sit  behind  the  shelter  an  offering  of  firewood. 

"  Hey,  Makayef !  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Did  you 
get  lost,  or  did  the  wolves  eat  you  ?  Bring  us  some  wood," 
cried  one,  a  rubicund-faced,  red-haired  soldier,  scowling  and 
winking  from  the  smoke,  but  not  offering  to  stir  from  the 
fire.  "  Come  here,  you  crow,  bring  us  some  wood,"  cried  this 
soldier,  addressing  another. 

The  red-headed  man  was  neither  a  non-commissioned  officer 
nor  a  corporal,  but  was  simply  a  sound,  healthy  private, 
and  therefore  he  ordered  around  those  who  were  weaker  than 
he. 

A  thin  little  soldier  with  a  sharp  nose,  the  one  they  called 
"  Crow,"  —  Vorona,  —  submissively  got  up  and  stsurted  to 
obey  the  command ;  but  at  this  time  the  firelight  fell  on  the 
slender,  graceful  figure  of  a  soldier  lugging  an  armful  of 
fagots. 

"  Give  it  here,  that's  first-rate." 

The  wood  was  broken  up  and  thrown  on,  and  the  men  blew 
it  with  their  mouths  and  fanned  it  with  their  coat-tails,  and 
the  flame  began  to  hiss  and  crackle.  The  soldiers,  gathering 
ploser,  lighted  their  pipes,  — The  handsome  young  soldier  who 


206  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

had  brought  the  fagots  put  his  arms  akimbo  and  began 
swiftly  and  skilfully  to  dance  a  shuffle  where  he  stood  to 
warm  his  frozen  feet. 

''  Akh^  mdmenkaf 
kholddnaya  rosd 
Da  khoroshd — 
Daf  mushkatera,* 

''But  the  musketeer,"  he  added,  apparently  hiccoughing  at 
every  syllable  of  the  song. 

"  Hey,  there,  your  soles  are  flying  off,"  cried  the  red-haired 
man,  observing  that  one  of  the  young  soldier's  soles  was  hang- 
ing loose.     "  It's  poison  to  dance." 

The  dancer  paused,  tore  off  the  loose  leather  and  flung  it 
into  the  fire. 

''  That's  so,  brother,"  said  he,  and,  sitting  down,  he  got  out 
of  his  knapsack  a  piece  of  blue  French  cloth  and  proceeded  to 
wrap  it  around  his  foot  and  leg.  ''  It  will  do  for  a  pair,"  he 
added,  stretching  his  feet  out  toward  the  fire.  ''We'll  soon 
have  new  ones.  They  say,  when  we've  killed  'em  all  off,  well 
have  enough  for  a  couple  of  pairs." 

"But,  say,  did  you  see  that  son  of  a  dog  Petrof  ?  He 
straggled  behind,  didn't  he  ? "  asked  one  of  the  sergeant* 
majors. 

"  I  saw  him  some  time  ago,"  said  another. 

"  So,  then,  the  soldier  boy  "  — 

"  They  say  that  in  the  Third  Company  yesterday  nine  men 
missed  roll-call." 

'^  Well,  but  how's  a  man  to  walk  when  his  feet  are  frozen 
off,  tell  me  that ! " 

"Eh,  it's  idle  to  talk  about  it,"  said  the  sergeant-major. 

"  Well,  how  would  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  an  old  soldier  i^ 
proachfuUy,  addressing  the  one  who  had  spoken  about  feel 
being  frozen  off. 

**  What's  your  idea  about  it  ? "  suddenly  getting  up  from 
the  farther  side  of  the  fire,  cried,  in  a  shrill,  trembling  voice, 
the  sharp-nosed  soldier  whom  they  called  Vordna,  the  ctov. 
"  The  fat  grows  lean,  and  lean  ones  has  to  die.  That's  my 
case.  My  strength's  all  gone,"  said  he,  suddenly  taking  a 
resolute  tone  and  addressing  the  sergeant-major.  "  Have  me 
sent  to  the  hospital.  The  rheumatiz  has  got  the  upper  hand 
o'  me.    And,  besides,  what  difference  does  it  make  ?  '* 

*  "  Ah,  dear  Uttle  mother,  cold  Is  the  dew,  but  tiie  miuk«|eer  "  -* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  207 

^*  Theie^  now^  that'll  do,  that'll  do,"  said  the  sergeant-major 
calmly. 

The  little  soldier  relapsed  into  silence,  and  the  general 
conversation  went  on. 

"  To-day  they  took  a  good  number  of  these  Frenchmen,  but, 
as  for  boots,  it's  safe  to  say  not  one  had  any  good  for  any- 
thing —  not  one  worthy  of  the  name,"  began  one  of  the  sol- 
diers, with  the  purpose  of  starting  a  new  subject. 

^^  The  Cossacks  got  all  their  boots.  When  they  cleaned  out 
the  izba  for  the  colonel,  they  dragged  'em  out.  It  was  a  pity 
to  see,  boys,"  said  the  dancer.  ''How  they  flung  them 
airound.  One  was  so  alive  that,  would  you  believe  it,  he 
muttered  something  in  his  own  language!  A  wonderful 
people." 

"  They're  a  clean  people,  boys,"  said  the  first.  "  White  as 
a  white  birch,  and  some  fine  fellows  among  them,  I  tell  you,  — 
noblemen." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  there  be?  They've  recruited  all 
sorts." 

"  But  they  can't  talk  with  us  in  our  language,"  said  the 
dancer  with  a  smile  of  perplexity.  ''  I  say  to  one  of  'em, 
'  Under  what  crown  —  ehei  koronui? '  and  he  talks  back  in  his 
own  gibberish.    A  wonderful  people ! " 

"There's  something  odd  about  it,  brothers,"  pursued  the 
one  who  had  been  amazed  at  the  whiteness  of  their  skins, 
"  the  peasants  told  me  at  Mozhaisk  that  when  they  started  to 
clear  up  the  dead  where  the  battle  was  and  where  their  bodies 
had  been  laying  most  a  month,  and  what  do  you  think,  says 
he,  theirs  was  as  white  as  white  paper  and  just  as  clean,  and 
there  wasn't  the  slightest  bit  of  smell  about  them." 

"Well,  don't  you  suppose  'twas  from  the  cold?"  suggested 
one  man.  

"  Well,  you  are  smart !  From  the  cold  I  Why,  it  was  hot 
weather.  Besides,  if  it  had  been  from  the  freezing,  then  ours 
wouldn't  have  spoiled  either.  But  no,  says  he,  when  they 
came  to  one  of  ours,  he'd  be  all  eaten  up  with  worms,  says  he. 
And  so,  says  he,  we  had  to  put  a  handkerchief  round  our 
noses  and  turn  away  our  heads  and  get  'em  off — couldn't 
stand  it.  But  theirs,  says  he,  was  like  white  paper ;  and  not 
a  grain  of  smell  about  'em." 

All  were  silent. 

"Must  be  from  their  victuals,"  said  the  sergeant-major. 
"They  feed  like  gentlemen." 

No  one  replied  to  this. 


£08  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

^<Thi%  muzhik  told  me  at  MozhaiBk  that  they  eaae  oat 
from  a  dozen  villages  and  worked  twenty  days  carting  'em 
off,  and  didn't  get  the  job  done  even  th^i — the  dead,  I  mean 
—  The  wolves  too,  says  he  "  — 

<'  That  battle  amounted  to  something,"  said  an  old  soldier. 
*'  That  was  a  thing  to  remember ;  but  those  since,  why,  they've 
been  nothing  but  a  torment  to  the  boys." 

"  Well,  little  uncle,  day  before  yesterday,  we  gave  it  to 
*em.  But  they  won't  let  us  catch  up  with  *em.  They've  been 
throwing  down  their  muskets  lively.  Down  on  their  knees ! 
*  Pardon,*  they  say.  Kow  take  one  example.  Platof  twice 
took  Toleou  himself.  He  did  not  know  a  word  about  it.  Ee 
gets  him,  gets  him.  That's  the  way,  has  the  bird  in  his  bands, 
lets  him  go  —  and  off  he  flies,  off  he  flies.  And  so  no  chaaoe 
to  kill  him." 

''  What  a  healthy  liar  you  are,  Kiselef.  Fm  looking  at 
you." 

"  Why  liar  ?    Honest  truth  ! " 

'^  If  rd  had  the  chance,  I'd  given  it  to  him.  I'd  knocked 
him  down  with  an  aspen  cudgel.     See  how  he's  ruined  us.** 

"We'll  do  it  before  w^e  get  through.  No  way  of  his  eseap- 
ing,"  said  the  old  soldier,  yawning. 

The  conversation  died  away :  the  soldiers  began  to  get  ready 
for  the  night. 

"  Just  see  the  stars,  terrible  lot  of  them !  One  would  say 
the  women  had  been  spreading  out  clothes,"  said  a  soldier, 
pointing  to  the  Milky  Way. 

"Signs  of  a  good  year,  boys." 

^  Will  any  more  fuel  be  needed  ?  " 

"  My  back's  scorching,  but  my  belly's  frozen.  Qaeer  things 
happen." 

"  0  Lord  "  — 

"What  are  you  jabbering  about?  Are  you  the  only  one, 
pray,  that's  burning  ?     There  — stretch  yourself  out." 

Amid  the  gradually  established  silence  was  heard  the  snor- 
ing of  several  sleepers ;  the  rest  kept  turning  from  side  to 
side  in  their  efforts  to  keep  warm,  and  occasionally  uttered 
exclamations. 

From  a  bivouac  iire  a  hundred  paces  distant  was  heaid  a 
burst  of  jovial,  good-natured  laughter. 

"  Hark !  What  a  noise  they're  making  in  the  Fifth  Ooib- 
pany,"  said  one  soldier.     "  And  what  a  terrible  lot  of  men !" 

One  soldier  got  up  and  went  over  to  Company  Five. 

"  Great  fun ! "  said  he,  when  he  came  bsMck.    **  They've  got 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  209 

a  coaple  of  Frenchmen:  *  one's  half  frozen;  bat  t'other  one's 
lively  enough.     He's  singing." 

"  O-o  ?   let's  go  and  see !  " 

Several  of  the  soldiers  went  over  to  Company  Five. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Fifth  Company  were  stationed  near  the  grove.  A  huge 
bivouac  fire  was  brightly  blazing  in  the  midst  of  the  snow, 
casting  its  light  on  the  branches  of  the  trees,  weighed  down 
with  their  burden  of  frost. 

In  the  midst  of  the  night  the  soldiers  of  Company  Five 
had  heard  steps  in  the  snow,  and  the  cracking  of  dry  branches 
in  the  forest. 

"  Boys,  a  bear ! "  f  cried  one  soldier. 

All  raised  their  heads  and  listened;  and  forth  from  the 
forest,  into  the  bright  light  of  the  fire,  pushed  two  human 
forms,  strangely  clad  and  holding  by  each  other's  hands. 

They  were  two  Frenchmen,  who  had  hidden  in  the  forest. 
Hoarsely  speaking  something  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  the 
soldiers,  they  approached  the  tire. 

One  was  tall  and  wore  an  officer's  hat,  and  seemed  perfectly 
fagged.  Approaching  the  fire,  he  tried  to  sit  down,  but  fell 
flat. 

The  other,  a  small,  dumpy  private,  with  his  ears  tied  up  in 
a  handkerchief,  was  stronger.  He  lifted  his  comrade,  and, 
pointing  to  his  mouth,  said  something. 

The  soldiers  gathered  arouud  the  Frenchman,  spread  down 
a  cloak  for  the  sick  one,  and  gave  them  both  kashargruel  and 
vodka. 

The  enfeebled  French  officer  was  Ram  ball;  the  one  with 
the  handkerchief  tied  aroiuid  his  ears  was  his  servant  Morel. 

When  Morel  had  drunk  the  vodka  and  eaten  a  small  kettle 
of  kasha,  he  suddenly  grew  painfully  jolly,  and  kept  talking 
all  the  time,  though  the  soldiers  could  not  understand  a  word 
he  said. 

Ramball  refused  the  food,  and  lay  silently  leaning  on  his 
elbow  by  the  fire,  with  dull  red  eyes,  staring  at  the  Russians. 
Occasionally  he  uttered  a  long,  low  groan,  and  then  relapsed 
into  silence. 

*  KhrarUsiisa. 

i  Rebydta,  vyedm^cP  !  The  speaker  is  from  Southern  Knasia,  and  says 
vy^dmid^  Sot  medvpHT. 

VOL.  4.  — 14.  • 


210  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Morel,  pointing  to  his  shoulders,  made  the  soldiers  under- 
stand that  he  was  an  officer,  and  that  he  needed  to  be  warmed. 

A  Russian  officer  who  came  up  to  the  bivouac  fire  sent  to 
ask  the  colonel  if  he  would  not  take  in  a  French  officer ;  aod 
when  the  messenger  said  that  the  colonel  ordered  the  officer 
to  be  brought  to  him,  Eamball  was  invited  to  go. 

He  got  up  and  tried  to  walk,  but  tottered,  and  would  have 
fallen  if  a  soldier  who  happened  to  be  standing  near  had  not 
supported  him. 

"  What  ?  Can't  you  come  it  ?  "  asked  one  soldier,  tuming 
to  Eamball  with  a  wink  and  a  grin. 

"  Oh,  you  idiot !  durak ! "  —  "  Can't  you  have  some  decency  ?  " 
—  *'Wliat  a  muzhik!  Truly  a  muzhik!"  were  heard  in 
accents  of  reproach  to  the  jesting  soldier. 

They  gathered  round  Ramball;  two  of  them  lifted  him  ap 
in  their  arms  and  bore  him  to  the  izba.  He  threw  his  arms 
around  their  necks  and  kept  repeating  in  piteous  tones :  -- 
^'  Oh  /  mes  braves,  oh  mes  bona,  mes  bans  amis  /  Voila  des 
hommesf  oh  mes  braves,  mes  bons  amis/"  and  like  a  child 
rested  his  head  on  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  soldiers. 

Meantime  Morel  sat  in  the  seat  of  honor,  surrounded  by 
the  soldiers. 

Morel,  a  little  squat  Frenchman,  with  inflamed,  teaiy  eyes, 
with  a  woman's  handkerchief  tied  over  his  cap,  was  dressed 
in  a  woman's  shabby  sheepskin  shubydnka.  The  vodka  had 
evidently  gone  to  his  head,  and  he,  while  holding  the  hand  of 
the  soldier  who  sat  next  him,  was  singing,  in  a  hoarse,  broken 
voice,  a  French  song. 

The  soldiers  held  their  sides  as  they  looked  at  him. 

'^Now  then,  now  then,  teach  us  that.  How  does  it  go? 
I'll  catch  it  in  a  moment.  How  is  it  ? "  asked  the  jester, 
who  was  a  singer,  and  whose  hand  Morel  had  seized* 

"  Vive  Henri  Quatre ! 
Vive  ce  rot  vaillant  I " 

sang  Morel,  winking  one  eye. 

*' Ce  diahle  h  quatre  I  .  .  ."• 

"  Vivarikd  Vif  sertivaru  f  SidiobliakA  /  "  repeated  the  sol- 
dier, beating  time  with  his  hand,  and  actually  catching  the 
tune.      "  See   how  clever !     ho  !  —  ho  !  —  ho !  —  ho  !  —  ho ! " 

*  "  Liye  Heniy  lY, !    Long  live  the  gaUant  king,"  etc.    (Frendi  ■oag 4 


War  and  peace.  211 

ftiose  tlie  coarse,  jocund  laughter  from  every  side.    Morel, 
frowning,  laughed  also. 

"  Well,  give  us  some  more,  more ! '' 

'*  Qui  etU  le  triple  talent 
Be  hoirey  de  battrey 
Et  WHre  un  pert  galant  /  "  * 

*^  Kow  that  goes  well,  too ! "  —  "  Now,  then,  Zaletayef  I " 

"Kiu/*^  repeated  Zaletayef,  with  a  will,  —  "Hw  —  iu  — 
iu^'  —  he  dwelt  on  the  diphthong,  trying  to  stick  out  his 
lips,  —  "  letriptala  de  bu  deha  i  detravagala^^  he  sang. 

"  Ai  1  splendid !     He's  a  real  Frenchy  ! " 

"Oi! — ho!  ho!  ho!  ho!" — "Don't  you  want  something 
more  to  eat  ?  " 

'^Give  him  some  more  kasha !  It^ll  take  some  time  to  fill 
up  his  hunger." 

They  gave  him  another  bowl  of  the  gruel,  and  then  Morel, 
laughing,  took  still  a  third.  Jovial  smiles  broadened  the  faces 
of  ail  the  young  soldiers  as  they  looked  at  Morel.  The  old 
veterans,  counting  it  unseemly  to  descend  to  such  trivialities, 
lay  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  but  occasionally  raised  them- 
selves on  their  elbows  and  stared  at  Morel. 

"They're  men  like  us,"  said  one  of  them,  as  he  wrapped 
himself  up  in  his  cloak.  "  Even  wormwood  has  roots  to  grow 
by."  —  "  Oo !  Lord !  Lord !  What  a  terrible  lot  of  stars !  It's 
going  to  be  a  cold  night." 

And  all  grew  silent  again. 

The  stars,  as  though  knowing  that  now  no  one  was  looking 
at  them,  played  merrily  in  the  dark  sky.  Now  flashing  out, 
now  dying  down  again,  now  twinkling,  they  seemed  to  be 
busily  engaged  in  communing  among  themselves  concerning 
something  pleasant  but  mysterious. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  French  troops  melted  away  in  a  regular  mathematical 
progression. 

Even  this  passage  of  the  Beresina,  about  which  so  much  has 
been  written,  was  only  one  of  the  intermediate  steps  in  the 
destruction  of  the  French  army,  and  not  at  all  a  decisive  epi- 
sode of  the  campaign. 

•  «  Who  had  the  threefold  talent  of  drinking,  of  fighting,  and  of  being 
loved." 


212  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

If  80  much  has  been  written  and  still  is  written  about  the 
Beresina,  it  is,  so  far  as  concerns  the  French,  simply  because 
the  misfortunes  which  the  French  army  had,  up  to  that  time, 
endured  coming  steadily,  here  suddenly  accumulated  in  one 
moment  at  the  broken  bridge  on  the  river  —  one  tragic  disas- 
ter, which  remained  in  the  memory  of  alL 

On  the  part  of  the  Russians  much  has  been  talked  and 
written  about  the  Beresina,  simply  because  at  Petersburg,  (mi 
away  from  the  theatre  of  war,  a  plan  was  made  (by  Pfuhl)  for 
drawing  Napoleon  into  a  strategical  snare  on  the  river  Beresina 

All  were  persuaded  that  everything  would  be  carried  out  in 
conformity  with  the  plan,  and  thei*efore  they  insisted  thai 
the  passage  of  the  Beresina  was  the  destruction  of  the  French. 

In  reality,  the  results  of  the  passage  of  the  Beresina  wef8 
far  less  disastrous  to  the  French  in  loss  of  artillery  and  prison- 
ers than  the  battle  of  Krasnoye,  as  is  proved  by  statistics. 

The  sole  significance  of  the  passage  of  the  Beresina  lies  in 
this,  that  it  proved  beyond  a  doubt  the  absurdity  of  all  plans 
for  cutting  off  the  retreat  of  the  French,  and  the  correctness 
of  the  only  feasible  operation,  that  demanded  by  Kutuzof 
and  all  the  troops  (as  a  whole),  — the  idea  of  simply  pursuing 
the  enemy. 

The  throngs  of  the  French  huri'ied  on  with  constantly  in- 
creasing velocity,  with  all  their  energies  concentrated  upon 
reaching  their  goal.  They  fled  like  a  wounded  animal,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  stop  them  in  their  course. 

This  is  proved  not  so  much  by  the  arrangements  made  for 
the  passage  as  by  what  occurrea  at  the  bridges. 

When  the  bridges  were  destroyed,  —  soldiers  witboot 
weapons,  natives  of  Moscow,  women  and  children,  who  were 
in  convoy  of  the  French,  all  carried  away  by  the  force  of 
inertia,  instead  of  giving  themselves  up,  pushed  on,  throwing 
themselves  into  the  boats  or  into  the  icy  waters. 

This  impetus  was  a  matter  of  course. 

The  situation  of  the  fugitives  and  of  the  pursuers  was 
equally  bad.  Each  one  being  in  company  with  his  fellows 
in  misfortune  had  hope  of  their  help  from  the  definite  place 
which  he  held  among  his  fellows. 

If  he  surrendered  to  the  Russians,  he  would  be  in  the  same 
condition  of  wretchedness,  would  indeed  be  far  worse  off  as 
far  as  all  the  requirements  of  living  were  concerned. 

The  French  did  not  need  exact  information  of  the  fact  that 
half  of  the  prisoners  whom  the  Russians  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with,  in  spite  of  their  desires  to  save  them,  had  died 
of  hunger  and  starvation. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  218 

The  most  compassionate  Russian  generals,  those  well  dis- 
posed toward  the  French,  Frenchmen  in  the  Russian  service, 
could  do  nothing  for  the  prisoner.  The  French  perished  of 
the  miseries  which  attended  the  Russian  armv. 

It  was  an  impossibility  to  take  from  their  famished  soldiers 
bread  and  clothes  in  order  to  give  them  to  the  French,  how- 
ever inoffensive,  friendly,  and  even  innocent  they  might  be; 

A  few  even  did  this,  but  they  were  only  exceptions. 

Behind  the  French  was  certain  destruction;  before  therii 
was  hope.  They  had  burned  their  ships,  there  was  no  othet 
safety  than  in  associated  flight ;  and  upon  this  associated  flight 
all  the  energies  of  the  French  were  concentrated. 

The  farther  the  French  fled  and  the  more  pitiable  the  condi- 
tion of  their  remnants  became,  especially  after  the  Bei*esina,  — 
on  which,  in  consequence  of  the  Petersburg  plan,  especial 
hopes  were  rested,  —  the  more  frantically  excited  waxed  the 
passions  of  the  Russian  generals,  who  indulged  in  recrimina- 
tions of  each  other  and  especially  of  Kutus^f. 

Taking  for  granted  that  the  failure  of  the  Petersburg  plan 
at  the  Beresina  would  be  attributed  to  him,  their  discontent 
with  him,  their  scorn  of  him,  and  their  sarcasms  at  his  ex- 
pense were  expressed  with  greater  and  greater  violence. 
Their  sarcasms  and  scorn,  of  course,  were  couched  under  the 
form  of  respect,  so  that  Kutuzof  could  not  demand  in  what 
way  and  why  he  was  blamed. 

They  never  talked  with  him  seriously  j  while  making  their 
reports  to  him  and  asking  his  advice,  they  affected  to  conform 
with  the  gravest  ceremony,  but  behind  his  back  they  winked  at 
each  other  and  at  every  step  tried  to  deceive  him. 

All  these  men,  from  the  very  reason  that  they  could  not 
understand  him,  were  convinced  that  there  was  nothing  to  be 
said  to  this  old  man,  that  he  would  never  penetrate  into  all 
the  wisdom  of  their  plans,  that  he  would  simply  repeat  his 
phrases  —  it  seemed  to  them  they  were  nothing  out  phrases  — 
about  '^the  golden  bridge,"  and  that  he  could  not  think  of. 
crossing  the  border  with  a  troop  of  vagabonds. 

This  was  all  that  he  had  ever  been  heard  to  say.  And  all 
that  he  said,  —  for  example,  that  it  was  necessary  to  wait  for 
provisions,  that  the  men  were  unprovided  with  boots,  —  all  this 
was  so  simple,  and  all  that  they  proposed  was  so  complicated 
and  deep,  that  it  was  a  self-evident  truth  for  them  that  he  was 
stupid  and  old,  and  they  were  the  commanders  of  genius,  who 
were  only  lacking  in  power. 

Especially  after  that  brilliant  admiral  and  hero,  Wittgen- 


214  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

steiii)  from  Petersburg,  joined  the  army,  this  disposition  and 
this  disaffection  reached  its  height.  Rutuzof  saw  it,  and,  sigh- 
ing, simply  shrugged  his  shoulders.  But  one  time  —  after  the 
Beresina — he  lost  his  temper,  and  wrote  the  following  note 
to  Wittgenstein,  who  had  made  a  special  report  to  the  so?- 
ereign. 

*'  Owing  to  your  severe  attacks  of  illness,  your  excellency  *  will  be  kind 
enough  on  receipt  of  this  to  retire  to  Kaluga,  where  you  will  await  bi5 
Imperial  majesty's  further  commands  and  orders.'* 

But  after  the  retirement  of  Benigsen  came  the  Grand  Dnke 
Konstantin  Pavlovitch,  who  had  been  present  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  campaign  and  had  been  removed  from  Kutuzofs 
army.  Now  the  grand  duke,  on  reaching  the  army,  assured 
Kutuzof  of  the  dissatisfaction  of  his  majesty  the  emperor  at 
the  insufficient  successes  of  our  troops  and  the  slowness  of 
our  movements,  and  informed  him  that  his  majesty  the 
emperor,  himself,  intended  shortly  to  be  present  with  the 
armv. 

This  old  man,  who  was  no  less  experienced  in  the  affairs 
of  courts  than  in  affairs  military,  this  Kutuzof,  who  had  been 
appointed  commander-in-chief  the  previous  August  against 
the  sovereign's  will,  this  man  who  sent  the  heir-apparent 
and  the  ^^rand  duke  away  from  the  army,  who  by  the  power 
invested  m  him  had  signed  the  abandonment  of  Moscow,  this 
same  Kutuzof  now  instantly  realized  that  his  time  was  come, 
that  his  part  was  played,  and  that  the  semblance  of  power 
which  he  had  held  was  his  no  more. 

And  not  by  his  court  instinct  alone  did  he  realize  this.  On 
the  one  hand,  he  saw  that  the  war  in  which  he  had  played  his 
part  was  ended,  and  he  felt  that  his  calling  was  fulfilled.  On 
the  other  hand,  at  the  same  time,  he  began  to  feel  physical 
weariness  in  his  old  frame  and  the  absolute  need  of  physical 
rest, 

Kutuzof,  on  the  eleventh  of  December,  arrived  at  Vilno — 
^  his  good  Vilno,"  as  he  called  it.  Twice  during  his  career 
Kutuzof  had  been  governor  of  Vilno,  In  the  rich  city,  which 
had  not  suffered  from  the  devastation  of  war,  Kutuzof  found, 
besides  the  amenities  of  life,  of  which  he  had  been  deprived 
80  long,  old  friends  and  pleasant  recollections.  And  suddenly, 
casting  off  all  military  and  governmental  cares,  he  plunged 
into  this  calm,  equable  life  so  far  as  he  was  allowed  to  do  so 
by  the  passions  seething  around  him,  as  though  all  that  was 

*  Vashe  vuisokoprevoskhodUyeUtvo, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  216 

OGCorring  and  about  to  occur  in  the  historical  world  concerned 
him  not. 

Chitchagof,  one  of  the  most  disaffected  and  volatile  of  men^ 
—  Chitchagof,  who  had  at  first  been  anxious  to  make  a  diver- 
sion into  Greece  and  afterwards  against  Warsaw,  though  he 
was  never  willing  to  go  where  he  was  sent,  —  Chitchagof,  who 
was  famous  for  his  audacious  speech  to  the  sovereign,  —  Chi- 
tchagof, who  considered  himself  Kutuzof's  benefactor,  because 
when,  in  1811^  he  had  been  sent  to  conclude  peace  with  Turkey, 
without  Kutuzof's  knowledge,  he,  on  discovering  that  the 
peace  was  already  concluded,  acknowledged  before  the  sover- 
eign that  the  credit  of  concluding  the  peace  belonged  to  Kutu- 
zof,  —  this  same  Chitchagof  was  the  first  to  meet  Kutuzof 
at  the  castle  of  Yilno,  where  Kutuzof  was  to  be  lodged. 
Chitchagof,  in  naval  undress  uniform,  holding  his  forage  cap 
under  his  arm,  gave  Kutuzof  his  repoi*t  and  handed  him  the 
keys  of  the  city. 

That  scornfully  respectful  demeanor  of  the  young  to  Kutu- 
zof, who  was  regarded  as  in  his  dotage,  was  shown  in  the 
highest  degree  in  all  the  behavior  of  Chitchagof,  who  knew  of 
the  charges  made  against  his  senior. 

While  engaged  in  conversation  with  Chitchagof,  he  told  him, 
among  other  things,  that  the  carriages  with  plate  which  had 
been  captured  from  him  at  Borisovo  were  safe  and  would  be 
restored  to  him. 

"  You  wish  to  inform  me  that  I  have  nothing  to  eat  on.  — 
On  the  contrary,  I  can  furnish  you  with  everything  even  in 
case  you  should  wish  to  give  dinner-parties,"*  replied  Chi- 
tchagof angrily,  in  every  word  that  he  spoke  wishing  to  prove 
his  correctness  of  style,  and  therefore  supposing  that  Kutuzof 
was  occupied  with  the  same. 

Kutuzof  smiled  his  peculiar,  shrewd  smile,  and,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  replied,  "  Ce  n^est  que  pour  dire  ce  que  je  vans 
dis,^^  —  "  It  was  only  to  tell  you  that  I  told  you." 

Kutuzof,  contrary  to  the  sovereign's  wish,  kept  the  larger 
part  of  the  army  at  Yilno.  Kutuzof,  according  to  those  who 
had  most  to  do  with  him,  was  greatly  shaken  and  was  very 
weak  physically  during  his  stay  at  Vilno.  It  was  with  a 
very  bad  grace  that  he  occupied  himself  with  military  affairs ; 
he  intrusted  everything  to  his  generals,  and,  while  waiting  for 
the  sovereign,  gave  himself  up  to  a  life  of  dissipation. 

*  "  CTest  pour  me  dire  queje  n^ai  pas  9ur  quoi  manger  ...  JepuU  au  co?^ 
trcUre  vous  fournir  de  tout  dans  le  cos  meme  ok  voiis  voudriez  donner  des 
diners." 


216  WAR  AITD  PKACS. 

When,  on  the  twenty-third  of  December,  the  sovereign  with 
his  suite,  —  Count  Tolstoi,  Prince  Volkonsky,  Arakcheye^  and 
others,  —  after  a  four  days'  journey  from  Petersburg,  reached 
Vilno,  he  drove  in  his  travelling  sledge  directly  to  the  castk. 
In  spite  of  the  severe  cold,  a  hundred  generals  and  staff  offi- 
cers, in  full-diess  uniform,  and  the  guard  of  honor  of  the 
Semyonovsky  regiment,  were  waiting  at  the  castle. 

A  courier,  dashing  up  to  the  castle  in  a  sledge  drawn  hj  a 
sweaty  troika,  cried,  "  He's  coming ! "  Konovnitsuin  hurned 
into  the  vestibule  to  inform  Kutuzof,  who  was  expecting  him 
in  the  small  room  of  the  concierge. 

At  the  end  of  a  moment  the  old  general's  stout,  portly  form, 
in  full-dress  uniform,  his  full  regalia  covering  his  chest,  and 
with  a  scarf  tied  around  his  abdomen,  came  tottering  and 
swaying  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Kutuzof  put  his  three- 
cornered  hat  on,  point  front,  took  his  gloves  in  his  hand,  and, 
letting  himself  painfully,  toilsomely  sideways  down  the  steps, 
stepped  forth  and  took  in  his  hand  the  report  which  had  baen 
prepared  to  give  to  the  sovereign. 

There  was  a  running  to  and  fro,  a  sound  of  hurried  talking, 
another  troika  came  unexpectedly  flying  by,  and  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  a  sledge  that  came  flying  along,  in  which  conld  be 
already  seen  the  figures  of  the  sovereign  and  Volkonsky. 

All  this  had  its  physically  exciting  effect  on  the  old  geneTal, 
though  he  had  been  used  to  it  for  half  a  century.  With  a 
hasty,  nervous  movement  he  adjusted  his  decorations  and 
straightened  his  hat,  and  the  instant  that  the  sovereigpa,  step- 
ping out  of  the  sledge,  raised  his  eyes  to  him,  taking  courage 
and  lifting  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  he  handed  him 
the  report  and  began  to  speak  in  his  measured,  ingratiating 
voice. 

The  sovereign,  with  a  swift  glance,  measured  Kutuzof  from 
head  to  feet,  frowned  for  an  instant,  but,  instantly  mastering 
himself,  stepped  forward,  and,  stretching  out  his  arms,  embraced 
the  old  general. 

Once  more,  owing  to  the  old  familiar  impression  and  to  tlie 
thoughts  that  came  surging  into  his  mind,  this  embrace  had 
its  usual  effect  upon  Kutuzof:  he  sobbed. 

The  sovereign  greeted  the  officers  and  the  Semyonovsky 
Guard,  and,  having  once  more  shaken  hands  with  the  oM 
general,  he  went  with  him  into  the  castle. 

After  the  sovereign  was  left  alone  with  his  field^marshal, 
he  freely  expressed  his  dissatisfaction  with  the  slowness  of 
the  pursuit,  with  the  mistakes  made  at  Krasnoye  and  on  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  217 

Beresind^  and  gare  him  his  ideas  as  to  what  should  be  the 
ooming  campaign  beyond  the  frontier. 

Kutnzof  made  no  reply  or  remark.  That  same  submissive 
and  stupid  expression  with  which  seven  years  before  he  had 
listened  to  his  sovereign's  comments  on  the  field  of  Austerlitz 
rested  now  on  his  face. 

When  Kutuzof  left  the  cabinet  and  was  passing  along  the 
hall  with  his  heavy,  plunging  gait  and  with  sunken  head,  some 
one's  voice  called  him  back. 

"  Your  serene  highness,"  cried  some  one. 

Kutuzof  raised  his  head  and  looked  long  into  the  eyes  of 
Count  Tolstoi,  who  with  a  small  trinket  on  a  silver  platter 
stood  before  him. 

Kutuzof  apparently  knew  not  what  was  wanted  of  him. 

Suddenly  he  came  to  himself;  a  scarcely  perceptible  smile 
flashed  across  his  pudgy  face,  and,  making  a  low  and  respect- 
ful bow,  he  took  the  object  lying  on  the  platter. 

It  was  '^the  George  "  of  the  &8t  degree. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  next  day  the  field-marshal  gave  a  dinner  and  a  ball 
which  the  sovereign  honored  with  his  presence. 

Kutuzof  had  received  the  George  or  the  first  degree ;  the 
sovereign  had  paid  him  the  highest  honors  ;  but  the  sover- 
eign's dissatisfaction  toward  the  field-marshal  was  noticeable 
to  every  one.  The  proprieties  were  strictly  observed,  and  the 
sovereign  set  the  first  example  of  this  ;  but  all  knew  that  the 
old  general  was  considered  blameworthy  and  unfit  for  further 
employment. 

When,  at  the  ball,  Kutuzof,  in  accordance  with  an  old  cus- 
tom of  Catherine's  time,  commanded  the  standards  captured 
from  the  enemy  to  be  inclined  before  the  sovereign  as  he 
entered  the  ball-room,  the  sovereign  frowned  with  annoyance, 
and  muttered  certain  words,  among  which  some  overheard  the 
expression,  —  "  Stdrui  Komedidnt — the  old  actor ! " 

The  sovereign's  dissatisfaction  with  Kutuzof  was  increased  in 
Vilno,  especially  because  Kutuzof  evidently  would  not  or  could 
not  understand  the  significance  of  the  campaign  before  him. 

When,  on  the  following  morning,  the  sovereign  said  to  the 
officers  who  came  to  pay  their  respects  to  him,  "  You  have 
saved  not  Russia  alone ;  you  have  saved  all  Europe,"  every 
one  very  well  understood  that  the  war  was  not  ended. 


Sis  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Kutuzof  was  the  only  one  who  would  not  see  this,  and  hd 
openly  expressed  his  opinion  that  a  new  war  could  not  im- 
prove the  position  or  increase  the  glory  of  Russia,  but  could 
only  weaken  her  position  and  diminish  the  already  lofty  pin- 
nacle of  glory  on  which  Russia,  in  his  opinion,  was  now  stand- 
ing. He  endeavored  to  show  the  sovereign  the  impossibility 
of  recruiting  fresh  armies ;  he  spoke  about  the  difficult  posi- 
tion of  the  inhabitants,  and  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  failure 
and  the  like. 

Having  such  ideas,  the  field-marshal  naturally  made  himself 
only  a  hinderance  and  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  the  war 
then  beginning. 

In  order  to  avoid  collisions  with  the  old  general,  a  conven- 
ient way  presented  itself,  which  was :  — just  as  at  Austerlitz, 
and  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign  when  Barclay  was 
commander-in-chief,  to  take  out  from  under  the  commander- 
in-chief  the  ground  of  the  power  whereon  he  stood,  without 
disturbing  him,  or  even  letting  him  realize  it,  and  to  transfer 
it  to  the  sovereign  himself. 

With  this  end  in  view,  the  staff  was  gradually  re-formed, 
and  all  that  constituted  the  strength  of  KutuzoFs  staff  was 
destroyed  or  transferred  to  the  sovereign's. 

Toll,  Konovnitsuin,  Yermolof,  received  other  appointments. 
All  openly  expressed  the  opinion  that  the  field-marshal  was 
becoming  very  weak,  and  that  his  health  was  in  a  precarious 
condition. 

It  was  necessary  for  him  to  be  in  ''  weak  health,"  so  that  he 
might  transfer  his  place  to  his  successor.  And  the  truth  was 
his  health  was  feeble. 

Just  as  naturally  and  simply  and  gradually  as  Kutuzof  had 
been  summoned  from  Turkey  to  appear  in  the  court  of  the 
exchequer  at  Petersburg  to  take  charge  of  the,  landwehr  and 
afterwards  of  the  army,  so  now  when  it  was  necessary  it  came 
about  just  as  naturally,  gradually,  and  simply,  when  Kutuzofs 
part  had  been  played  to  the  end,  that  his  pliuoe  should  be  filled 
by  the  new  actor  that  was  required. 

The  war  of  1812,  besides  accomplishing  the  national  object 
so  dear  to  every  Russian  heart,  was  destined  to  have  anotiier 
significance  still :  —  one  European. 

The  movements  of  the  nations  from  west  to  east  was  to  be 
followed  by  a  movement  from  east  to  west,  and  for  this  new 
war  a  new  actor  was  needed,  who  had  other  qualities  and  views 
from  those  of  Kutuzof,  and  was  moved  by  other  impulses. 

Alexander  the  First  was  as  necessary  to  move  tne  nations 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  219 

from  east  to  west  and  to  establish  the  boundaries  of  the 
nations  as  Eutozof  had  been  for  the  salvation  and  glory  of 
Kussia. 

Kutuzof  had  no  notion  of  the  meaning  of  Europe,  the 
Balance  of  Power,  Napoleon.  He  could  not  understand  this. 
For  the  representative  of  the  Eussian  people,  after  the  enemy 
had  been  annihilated,  Russia  saved  and  established  on  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  her  glory,  for  him  a  Russian,  as  a  Russian, 
there  was  nothing  left  to  do.  For  the  representative  of  the 
national  war  there  was  nothing  left  except  death. 

And  he  died. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PiERRS,  as  is  generally  the  case,  felt  the  whole  burden  of 
his  physical  deprivations,  and  the  long  strain  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected  while  a  prisoner,  only  when  the  strain  and  the 
privations  were  at  an  end. 

After  his  liberation  he  went  to  Orel ;  *  and  on  the  second 
day  after  his  arrival,  just  as  he  was  about  to  start  for  Kief^ 
he  was  taken  ill,  and  remained  in  Orel  for  three  months. 

He  had  what  the  doctors  called  bilious  fever. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  doctors  treated  him,  bled  him, 
and  made  him  swallow  drugs,  he  nevertheless  recovered. 

All  that  had  happened  to  him  between  the  time  of  his  lib- 
eration and  his  sickness  left  scarcely  the  faintest  impression 
upon  him.  He  remembered  only  gray  melancholy,  sometimes 
rainy,  sometimes  snowy  days,  internal  physical  distress,  pain 
in  his  legs,  in  his  side ;  he  had  a  general  impression  of  un- 
happy, suffering  people ;  he  recollected  the  annoying  inquisi- 
tiveness  of  officers  and  generals,  who  asked  him  all  soiiis  of 
questions  ;  his  difficulties  in  iinding  carriages  and  horses ;  and, 
above  all,  he  recalled  his  disconnected  thoughts  and  his  feel- 
ings at  the  time. 

On  the  day  that  he  was  liberated,  he  saw  Petya  Rostof's 
dead  body.  On  the  same  day  he  learned  that  Prince  Andrei 
had  lived  more  than  a  month  after  the  battle  of  Borodino,  and 
had  died  only  a  short  time  previously,  at  Yaroslavl,  at  the 
Rostofs'  house. 

On  that  same  day,  also,  Benisof,  who  had  given  Pierre  this 
piece  of  news,  spoke  of  Ellen's  death,  supposing  that  Pierre 
had  known  about  it  long  before. 

^Ptonounoed  AxydL 


220  WAR  AND  PRICE. 

All  this,  at  that  time,  had  merely  seemed  strange  to  Pierre. 
He  felt  that  he  could  not  take  ia  the  significanoe  of  all  thia 
news. 

His  sole  desire  at  that  time  was  to  get  away  as  speedily  as 
possible  from  those  places  where  men  were  killing  each  otiier, 
to  some  quiet  refuge,  and  there  to  collect  his  senses,  to  rest, 
and  to  think  over  all  that  was  so  strange  and  new  that  he  had 
learned  in  those  days. 

But  as  soon  as  he  reached  Orel  he  was  taken  ilL  When  he 
regained  his  consciousness,  he  saw  two  of  his  servants,— 
Terentii  and  Vaska,  —  who  had  come  from  Moscow^  and  the 
oldest  of  the  princesses,  who  had  been  residing  at  Yelets,  on 
one  of  Pierre's  estates,  and,  hearing  of  his  liberation  and  ill- 
ness, had  come  to  take  care  of  him. 

During  his  convalescence,  Pierre  only  gradually  got  rid  of 
the  impressions  which  the  preceding  months  had  made  upon 
him,  and  accustomed  himself  to  the  thought  that  no  one  would 
drive  him  forth  the  next  morning,  that  no  one  would  dis- 
possess him  of  his  warm  bed,  and  that  he  was  certain  to  have 
dinner  and  tea  and  supper.  But  in  his  dreams  he  still,  for  a 
long  time,  continued  to  see  himself  in  the  same  conditions  of 
captivity. 

In  the  same  way  Pierre  gradually  came  back  to  realization 
of  the  news  which  he  had  heard  on  the  day  of  his  liberation : 
Prince  Andrei's  death,  the  destruction  of  the  French. 

The  jovous  feeling  of  freedom,  that  perfect,  inalienable 
freedom  inherent  in  man,  a  realizing  sense  of  which  he  had 
for  the  first  time  experienced  at  the  first  halting-place,  when 
he  was  carried  away  from  Moscow,  filled  Pierre's  soul  during 
his  convalescence.  He  was  amazed  that  this  inner  fireedom, 
independent  of  all  external  circumstances,  now,  as  it  were, 
surrounded  him  with  an  excess,  with  a  luxury  of  external 
freedom. 

He  was  alone  in  a  strange  city,  where  he  had  no  acquaint- 
ances. No  one  wanted  anything  of  him,  no  one  forced  him  to 
go  anywhere  against  his  will.  He  had  everything  that  he 
wanted ;  the  thought  about  his  wife,  that  had  formerly  toi^ 
mented  him,  had  vanished  as  though  s^e  had  never  existed. 

'^  Ah,  how  good !  how  splendid  I "  he  would  say  to  himself^ 
when  a  table  with  a  clean  cloth  was  moved  up  to  him  with 
fragrant  bouillon,  or  when,  at  night,  he  lay  stretched  out  on 
the  soft,  clean  bed,  or  when  he  remembered  that  his  wife  and 
the  French  no  longer  existed.  '^Ah!  how  good!  how  splen- 
did ! "    And  out  of  old  habit  he  wouM  ask  himself  the  ques- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  221 

tions :  "Well,  what  is  to  be  ?  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?  '^  and 
instantly  he  would  answer  himself,  "  Nothing  at  all !  I'm 
going  to  live.     Akh !  how  glorious ! " 

The  very  thing  that  he  had  formerly  tormented  himself 
about,  and  constantly  sought  in  vain,  —  an  object  in  life,  — 
now  no  longer  existed  for  him. 

This  long-sought-for  object  of  life  was  not  merely  absent 
by  chance  for  the  time  being,  but  he  felt  that  it  did  not  exist 
and  could  not  exist.  And  it  was  precisely  this  absence  of  an 
object  in  life  which  at  this  time  constituted  his  happiness. 

He  oould  have  no  object,  because  now  he  had  a  faith  —  not 
a  faith  in  any  rules  or  creed  or  dogmas,  but  faith  in  a  living, 
everywhere  perceptible  God. 

Hitherto  he  had  sought  for  God  in  objects  which  he  had  set 
for  himself.  This  searching  for  the  object  was  only  the  seek- 
ing for  Grod,  and  suddenly,  during  his  captivity,  he  had  learned, 
not  from  words,  not  from  reasoning,  but  from  his  immediate 
consciousness,  what  his  old  nurse  had  used  long,  long  before 
to  say,  that  God  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

He  had  learned,  during  his  captivity,  that  God  in  Karatayef 
was  more  majestic,  endless,  and  past  iinding  out,  than  in  what 
the  Masons  called  the  Architect  of  the  Universe. 

He  had  a  similar  experienoe  to  that  of  the  man  who  should 
find  under  his  very  ^t  the  object  of  his  search,  when  he 
had  been  straining  his  eyes  in  looking  at  a  great  distance. 
All  his  life  long  he  had  been  looking  away  over  the  heads  of 
the  surrounding  people,  while  all  the  time  there  had  been  no 
need  to  strain  his  eyes,  but  merely  to  look  straight  ahead. 

He  had  not  been  able  hitherto  to  see  the  Great,  the  Incom- 
prehensible, the  Infinite  in  anything.  He  had  only  felt  that 
It  ought  to  be  somewhere,  and  he  had  searched  for  it. 

In  all  that  was  near  and  comprehensible,  he  had  seen  only 
what  was  limited,  the  narrow,  finite,  meaningless.  He  had 
provided  himself  with  a  mental  telescope,  and  looked  out  into 
the  distance,  yonder,  where  this  narrow,  finite  object,  concealed 
in  the  murky  distance,  seemed  to  him  great  and  infinite, 
simply  because  it  was  not  clearly  seen. 

In  this  way  European  life,  politics.  Masonry,  philosophy, 
philanthropy,  had  presented  themselves  to  him. 

But  at  the  very  moments  when  he  had  accounted  himself 
most  weak  his  mind  had  leapt  foith  into  that  same  distance, 
and  then  he  had  seen  how  small  and  narrow,  how  finite  and 
meaningless,  it  all  was. 

Now,  however,  he  had  learned  to  see  the  Great,  the  Etemal| 


222  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

and  the  Infinite  in  everything,  and  therefore,  naturally,  in 
order  to  see  it,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  contemplation  of  it,  he 
had  thrown  away  his  telescope,  through  which  he  had,  till 
then,  been  looking  over  men's  heads,  and  joyfully  contem- 
plated the  ever  changing,  incomprehensible,  and  eternal  life 
all  around  him.  And  the  more  closely  he  looked,  the  more 
serene  and  happy  he  became. 

The  terrible  question  which  hitherto  had  overturned  all  Ids 
mental  edifices  —  the  question  Whi/  —  no  longer  tormented 
him.  His  mind  had  always  ready  the  simple  answer :  Because 
Ood  is,  that  God  without  whose  will  not  a  hair  falls  from  the 
head  of  a  human  being. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PiEBBB  had  scarcely  changed  in  his  outward  habits. 

At  first  sight  he  was  just  the  same  as  he  had  been  before. 
Just  as  before  he  was  absent-minded,  and  seemed  inly  absorbed, 
not  in  what  was  before  his  eyes,  but  in  his  own  thoughts. 
The  difference  between  his  former  and  his  present  self  lay  in 
this :  hitherto,  when  he  had  forgotten  what  was  before  him,  or 
paid  no  attention  to  what  was  said  to  him,  he  would  wrinkle 
his  brows  with  a  martyr-like  air,  as  though  striving,  but  without 
success,  to  study  into  something  that  was  far  away.  Now  in 
the  same  way  he  was  inattentive  to  what  was  said  to  him,  and 
oblivious  of  what  was  before  him ;  but  now  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible,  what  one  might  almost  think  a  satirical,  smile,  he 
looked  at  what  was  before  him,  he  listened  to  what  was  said 
to  him,  although  it  was  evident  that  his  eyes  and  his  mind 
were  concerned  with  something  entirely  different. 

Hitherto  he  had  seemed  to  be  a  good  man,  but  unhappy, 
and  therefore  people  could  not  help  being  repelled  by  him. 
Now  a  smile,  called  forth  by  the  mere  pleasure  of  living,  con- 
stantly played  around  his  mouth,  and  his  eyes  were  lighted 
up  by  a  sympathetic  interest  in  people,  —  in  the  question 
"  Were  they  as  happy  as  he  was  ?  " 

And  people  liked  to  be  with  him. 

Hitherto  he  had  talked  much,  got  easily  excited,  and  was  a 
poor  listener ;  now  he  was  rarely  carried  away  by  the  heat  of 
an  argument,  and  had  become  such  a  good  listener  that  people 
were  glad  to  tell  him  the  deepest  secrets  of  their  hearts. 

The  princess,  who  had  never  liked  Pierre  and  had  cherished 
a  peculiar  feeling  of  animosity  against  him  ever  sinoe  that 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  223 

time  when  after  the  count's  death  she  had  found  herself  under 
obligations  to  him,  greatly  to  her  annoyance  and  surprise, 
after  a  short  stay  at  Orel,  whither  she  came  with  the  inten- 
tion of  showing  Pierre  that,  in  spite  of  his  "  iugi-atitude,"  she 
considered  it  her  duty  to  take  care  of  him,  —  the  princess 
quickly  felt  that  she  was  growing  fond  of  him. 

Pierre  did  nothing  for  the  sake  of  winning  her  good  graces. 
He  merely  studied  her  with  curiosity.  Hitherto  the  princess 
had  felt  that  only  indifference  and  irony  were  expressed  in 
his  view  of  her,  and  she  shrank  into  herself  before  him,  just 
as  she  did  in  the  presence  of  other  people,  and  showed  only 
her  harsh  and  disagreeable  side ;  while  now  she  at  first  witn 
distrust,  but  afterwards  with  gratitude,  showed  him  the  good 
side  of  her  character,  which  she  had  kept  hidden. 

The  craftiest  of  men  could  not  have  been  more  skilful  in 
winning  the  princess's  confidence,  than  he  was  in  eliciting  her 
recollections  of  the  happiest  days  of  her  youth,  and  express- 
ing his  sympathy.  But  all  the  time  Pierre's  whole  craft  con- 
sisted in  his  seeking  his  own  pleasure  in  calling  out  humane 
feelings  in  the  spiteful,  acidulous  princess,  who  had  her  own 
measure  of  pride. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  very,  very  good  man  when  he  is  under  the  influ- 
ence of  people  who  are  not  bad  —  of  people  like  myself,"  said 
the  princess  to  herself. 

The  change  that  had  taken  place  in  Pierre  was  remarked,  in 
their  own  way,  by  his  servants  Terentii  and  Vaska.  They 
found  that  he  had  grown  vastly  more  simple. 

Terentii  oftentimes,  while  undressing  his  barin,  and  while 
he  had  his  boots  and  his  clothes  in  his  hand,  and  had  wished 
him  good-night,  would  hesitate  about  leaving  the  room,  think- 
ing that  his  barin  might  like  to  engage  him  in  conversation. 
And  it  was  a  very  common  occurrence  for  Pierre  to  call 
Terentii  back,  noticing  that  he  was  in  a  mood  for  talking. 

"  Well,  now,  tell  me  —  how  did  you  manage  to  get  anything 
to  eat  ?  "  he  would  ask. 

And  Terentii  would  begin  to  relate  about  the  destruction  of 
Moscow,  or  about  the  late  count,  and  would  stand  for  a  long 
time  with  the  clothes  in  his  hand,  telling  stories,  or  sometimes 
listening  to  Pierre's  yams,  and  then,  with  a  pleasing  sense  of 
nearness  to  his  barin  and  of  friendliness  to  him,  go  into  the 
anteroom. 

The  doctor  who  had  charge  of  Pierre's  case,  and  who  visited 
him  every  day,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that,  in  accordance  with  the 
custom  of  doctors^  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  assume  the  mien  of  a 


224  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

raan  every  minute  of  whose  time  was  precious  in  the  care  of 
suffering  humanity,  would  spend  hours  with  Pierre,  relating 
his  favorite  stories  and  making  his  observations  on  the  pecul- 
iarities of  the  sick  in  general,  and  the  ladies  in  particular. 

"Yes,  there  is  something  delightful  in  talking  with  such  a 
man  —  very  different  from  what  one  finds  in  the  provinces,*' 
he  would  say. 

In  Orel  there  were  several  French  officers  who  liad  been 
taken  prisoner,  and  the  doctor  brought  one  of  them,  a 
young  Italian,  to  see  Pierre. 

This  officer  began  to  be  a  frequent  visitor,  and  the  princess 
laughed  at  the  sentimental  affection  which  the  Italian  cod- 
ceived  for  Pierre. 

The  Italian  was  happy  only  when  he  could  be  with  Pierre 
and  talk  with  him,  and  tell  him  about  his  past,  about  his 
home  life,  about  his  love  affairs,  and  j)our  out  in  his  ears  Ws 
indignation  against  the  French  and  particularly  against  Napo- 
leon. 

"  If  all  the  Eussians  are  in  the  least  like  you,''  he  would 
say  to  Pierre,  "  it  is  a  sacrilege  to  wage  war  on  a  people  like 
yours  —  c'est  un  sacrilege  que  de  faire  la  (fiterre  d  un  peupie 
comme  le  voire  !  Though  you  have  suffered  so  much  from  the 
Fi'ench,  yet  you  seem  to  have  no  ill  will  against  them." 

This  passionate  love  shown  by  the  Italian,  Pierre  had  won 
only  because  he  had  brought  out  in  him  the  best  side  of  his 
nature  and  took  pleasure  in  him. 

During  the  latter  part  of  Pierre's  stay  in  Orel,  he  received 
a  visit  from  his  old  acquaintance,  the  Freemason  Count  Vil- 
larsky  —  the  same  one  who  had  introduced  him  into  the  lodge 
in  1807.  Villarsky  had  married  a  rich  Russian  lady,  who  hid 
a  great  estate  in  the  government  of  Orel,  and  he  held  a  tem- 
porary position  in  the  commissariat  department  in  the  city. 

Learning  that  Bezukhoi  was  in  Orel,  Villarsky,  though  his 
acquaintance  with  him  had  been  far  from  intimate,  came  to 
call  upon  him  with  the  same  manifestations  of  friendship  and 
neighborliness  which  men  are  apt  to  show  each  other  when 
they  meet  in  a  wilderness.  Villarsky  was  bored  to  death  in 
Orel,  and  he  was  delighted  to  meet  a  man  of  the  same  social 
rank  as  himself,  and  with  similar  interests,  as  he  supposed. 
But  Villarsky  quickly  discovered,  to  his  amazement,  that 
Pierre  was  far  behind  the  times  and  had  fallen  into  a  state  of 
apathy  and  egotism,  as  he  expressed  it  in  criticising  Pierre  to 
himself. 

''  Youi   V0U8  encrouteZf   inon   cher — you  ar^  becoming  a 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  226 

fossil,"  he  would  say  to  him.  Nevertheless  Villareky  was 
more  at  home  with  Pierre  than  he  had  ever  been  in  times  past, 
and  he  came  to  see  him  every  day. 

As  Pierre  looked  at  Yillarsky  and  listened  to  him  now,  it 
was  strange  and  almost  incredible  to  think  that  he  himself 
had  been  like  him  only  such  a  short  time  before. 

Yillarsky  was  a  married,  family  man,  occupied  with  the  busi- 
ness connected  with  his  wife's  estate,  and  with  his  public 
duties  and  with  his  family.  He  looked  upon  all  these  occu- 
pations as  a  hinderance  to  life,  and  felt  that  they  were  all 
worthy  of  contempt,  because  their  end  and  aim  was  the  per- 
sonal advantage  of  himself  and  his  wife.  Military,  administra- 
tive, political,  and  Miisonic  affairs  constantly  engrossed  his 
attention.  And  Pierre,  without  making  any  effort  to  change 
Villarsky's  views,  and  not  blaming  him,  studied  this  strange 
but  only  too  well-known  phenomenon  with  his  now  constantly 
gentle  and  pleasant  smile  of  irony. 

In  Pierre's  relations  with  Yillarsky,  with  the  princess,  with 
the  doctor,  with  all  the  people  with  whom  he  was  now  brought 
in  contact,  he  displayed  a  new  characteristic,  which  won  for 
him  the  good  will  of  all  men :  —  this  was  the  recognition  of 
the  possibility  of  every  one  to  think  and  feel  for  himself,  and 
to  look  upon  things  in  his  own  way ;  the  recognition  of  the 
impossibility  of  convincing  any  one  of  anything  by  mere 
words :  this  legitimate,  lawful  prerogative  of  every  man,  which 
formerly  had  excited  and  annoyed  him,  now  gave  him  ground  for 
the  sympathy  and  interest  which  he  felt  in  people.  The 
variance  and  sometimes  the  perfect  contradiction  between  the 
views  of  people  and  his  life,  and  among  themselves,  delighted 
Pierre,  and  brought  to  his  lips  a  gentle,  satirical  smile. 

In  practical  affairs  Pierre  now  unexpectedly  felt  that  he 
had  a  centre  of  gravity,  that  had  been  lacking  before.  Hith- 
erto, every  question  concerning  finance,  especially  demands 
upon  him  for  money,  to  which,  like  every  rich  man,  he  was 
often  subjected,  aroused  in  him  helpless  worry  and  perplexity. 

To  give,  or  not  to  give  ?  that  was  the  question  with  him.  "  I 
have  it  and  he  need^  it.  But  another  one  needs  it  still  more. 
Which  needs  it  the  most?    But  perhaps  both  are  frauds." 

And  in  days  gone  by,  out  of  all  these  hypotheses  he  had 
found  no  exit,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  to  all  indiscrimi- 
nately, so  long  as  he  had  anything  to  give.  He  used  to  find 
himself  in  precisely  the  same  quandary  at  every  question 
which  concerned  his  estate,  when  one  would  say  that  he  must 
do  this  way,  and  another  would  recommend  another  way. 
yox..  4.  — X5, 


226  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Kow  he  found,  to  his  amazement,  that  he  waa  troubled  no 
longer  with  doubts  and  perplexities.  He  now  seemed  to  have 
some  sense  of  judgment,  which,  deciding  by  some  laws  mh 
known  to  himself,  decided  what  was  necessary  and  what  wis 
unnecessary  for  him  to  do. 

He  was  no  less  than  before  indifferent  to  pecuniary  mat- 
ters ;  but  now  he  knew  infallibly  what  he  ought  to  do  and 
what  not.  The  first  time  that  this  new  sense  of  justice  had  to 
decide  a  question  was  in  the  case  of  one  of  the  prisoners, » 
French  colonel,  who  came  to  him,  told  him  many  stories  of  bis 
great  exploits,  and,  finally,  almost  demanded  that  Pierre 
should  give  him  four  thousand  francs  to  send  to  his  wife  and 
children. 

Pierre,  without  the  slightest  difficulty  or  effort,  refused  him, 
amazed  afterwards  to  find  how  simple  and  easy  it  was  to  do 
what  had  always  before  seemed  to  him  unutterably  difficult 

At  the  very  time,  however,  that  he  refused  the  colonel,  be 
made  up  his  mind  that  it  required  the  utmost  shrewdness  in 
order,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  from  Orel,  to  induce  the 
Italian  officer  to  take  some  money,  which  he  evidently  needed. 

A  new  proof  for  Pierre  of  the  greater  soundness  in  his 
views  of  practical  affairs  was  his  decision  of  the  question  con- 
cerning his  wife's  debts,  and  whether  his  house  in  Moscow  and 
his  Pod-Moskovnaya  datcha  or  villa  should  be  rebuilt  or  not 

While  he  was  at  Orel,  his  head  overseer  came  to  him,  and 
he  and  Pierre  made  out  a  general  schedule  of  his  altered  in- 
come. The  conflagration  of  Moscow  had  cost  Pierre,  accord- 
ing to  the  overseer's  reckoning,  about  two  millions. 

The  head  overseer,  as  a  measure  of  relief  for  his  losses,  pro- 
posed a  scheme  whereby,  notwithstanding  the  losses,  his 
income  would  be  not  only  not  diminished,  but  rather  in- 
creased, and  this  was  that  he  should  refuse  to  honor  the  debte 
left  by  the  late  countess,  for  which  he  was  not  accountable, 
and  should  not  rebuild  his  Moscow  house  and  Pod-Moskovnaya 
datcha,  which  cost  him,  to  keep  up,  eighty  thousand  a  year,  and 
brought  him  in  nothing. 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  true,"  said  Pierre,  gayly  smiling,  "Yes, 
yes,  I  don't  need  it  at  all.  The  fire  has  n^ide  me  vastly 
richer  I " 

But  in  January  Savelyitch  came  from  Moscow,  told  him 
about  the  condition  of  the  city,  about  the  estimate  which  the 
architect  had  made  for  rebuilding  the  Moscow  mansion  and 
the  Pod-Moskovnaya,  and  spoke  about  it  as  though  it  were  a 
matter  ^ready  decided, 


WAR  And  peac£.  227 

At  the  &ame  time  Pierre  received  letters  from  Prince  Yasili 
and  other  acquaintances  in  Petersburg.  These  letters  men- 
tioned his  wife's  debts.  And  Pierre  decided  that  the  scheme 
proposed  by  his  head  overseer,  which  had  pleased  him  so  much 
at  hrst,  was  not  right,  and  th^t  he  must  go  to  Petersburg  to 
wind  up  his  wife's  business  affairs,  and  settle  doWn  in  Mos- 
cow. Why  this  was  necessary  he  knew  hot ;  he  only  knew 
beyond  a  peradventUre  that  it  was  necessary.  His  income,  in 
consequence  of  this  decision,  would  bd  diminished  three- 
fourths  ;  but  it  was  a  case  of  necessity ;  he  felt  it. 

Villarsky  was  going  to  Moscow,  atid  they  decided  to  travel 
together. 

Pierre  had  experienced  during  all  the  time  of  his  convales- 
cence, in  Orel,^  a  sense  of  delight,  of  freedom,  of  life ;  but 
when,  during  his  journey,  he  came  out  into  the  free  world  and 
saw  hundreds  of  new  faces,  this  feeling  was  still  further  in- 
tensified. 

During  all  the  time  of  his  journey  he  felt  as  happy  as  a 
schoolboy  at  having  his  vacation.  All  the  faces, — the  pos^^ 
tilion,  the  watchman,*  the  peasants  along  the  road  or  in  the 
village,  —  aJl  had  a  new  meaning  for  him. 

The  presence  of  Villarsky,  with  his  observations  and  his 
constantly  expressed  regret  at  the  poverty,  barbarism,  and 
backwardness  of  Russia  compared  with  Europe,  only  height- 
ened Pierre's  delight. 

Where  Villarsky  saw  only  deadness,  Pierre  saw  the  extraor- 
dinary fecund  power  of  life,  that  power  which,  in  the  snow, 
in  that  expanse  of  plains,  upheld  the  life  of  this  united,  pecul- 
iar, and  unique  people.  He  did  not  contradict  Villarsky,  and 
affected  to  agree  with  him  —  since  pretended  agreement  was 
the  shortest  means  of  avoiding  arguments  from  which  there 
was  no  escape — and,  gayly  smiling,  listened  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Just  as  it  is  hard  to  explain  why  and  whither  the  ants  rush 
from  a  dismantled  ant-hill,  some  dragging  away  little  frag- 
ments, eggs,  and  dead  bodies,  others  hurrying  back  to  the  ant- 
hill again,  —  why  they  jostle  each  other,  push  each  other,  and 
fight, — so  would  it  be  hard  to  explain  the  causes  that  com- 
pelled the  Russian  people,  after  the  departure  of  the  French, 

*  TdnUhchik,  9matTUy€L 


228  WAR  And  peace. 

to  throng  back  to  that  place  which  had  formerly  been  called 
Moscow. 

But  just  as  when  one  looks  at  the  ants  tearing  in  wild  con- 
fusion around  their  despoiled  abode,  notwithstanding  the  com- 
plete destruction  of  the  ant-hill,  one  can  see  by  the  activity  and 
energy,  by  the  myriads  of  insects,  that  everything  is  utterly 
destroyed,  except  the  something  indestructible,  immaterial, 
which  constitutes  the  whole  strength  of  the  ant-hill,  —  so,  in 
Moscow,  in  the  month  of  October,  though  there  was  no  one  in 
authority,  no  churches  open,  no  priesthood,  no  riches,  no 
houses^  still  it  was  the  same  Moscow  that  it  had  been  the 
month  of  August. 

Everything  was  destroyed  except  the  something  immaterial 
but  potent  and  indestructible. 

The  motives  of  the  people  who  flocked  from  all  sides  into 
Moscow  after  its  evacuation  by  the  enemy,  were  the  most 
various  and  personal,  and,  for  the  most  part,  savage,  animal 
One  motive,  only,  was  common  to  all :  that  was  the  tendency 
toward  the  place  that  had  once  been  called  Moscow,  for  the 
employment  there  of  their  activity. 

Within  a  week  Moscow  already  had  fifteen  thousand 
inhabitants  ;  in  a  fortnight  twenty  thousand,  and  so  on.  Con- 
stantly rising  and  rising,  the  population,  by  the  autumn  of 
1813,  reached  a  figure  which  exceeded  that  which  it  had  in  1812. 

The  first  Bussians  to  enter  Moscow,  were  the  Cossacks  of 
Winzengerode's  division,  the  muzhiks  from  the  neighboring 
villages,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Moscow  who  had  fled  and  con- 
cealed themselves  in  the  environs. 

Returning  to  ruined  Moscow,  the  Russians,  finding  it  plun- 
dered, began  also  to  plunder.  They  continued  the  work  begun 
by  the  French.  Muzhiks  brought  in  carts,  in  order  to  cany 
back  to  their  villages  whatever  was  to  be  found  abandoned 
in  the  houdes  or  streets  of  ruined  Moscow. 

The  Cossacks  carried  off  what  they  could  to  their  tents; 
proprietors  of  houses  took  possession  of  whatever  they  could 
lay  their  hands  on  in  other  nouses,  and  carried  it  home  under 
the  pretext  that  it  was  their  own  property. 

But  the  first  comers  were  followed  by  other  plunderers,  auJ 
they  by  still  others ;  and  pillage  each  dlay,  in  proportion  as  the 
numbers  increased,  became  more  and  more  difficult,  and  was 
conducted  under  more  definite  forms. 

The  French  found  Moscow,  though  deserted,  yet  provided 
with  all  the  forms  of  a  city  the  life  of  which  flowed  in  accord- 
ance with  organic  laws,  with  its  various  functions  of  trade, 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  229 

handicraft,  Itucnry,  imperial  administration,  religion.  These 
forms  were  a  dead  letter,  but  they  still  existed.  There  were 
markets,  shops,  magazines,  grain  stores,  bazaars,  —  most  of 
them  provided  with  wares ;  there  were  manufactories  and 
workshops;  there  were  palaces,  noble  mansions  filled  with 
objects  of  luxury ;  there  were  hospitals,  prisons,  court-rooms, 
churches,  cathedrsds. 

The  longer  the  French  staid,  the  less  these  forms  of  city 
life  were  kept  up,  and  toward  the  end  everything  was  resolv- 
ing itself  into  one  common  dead  level  of  pillage. 

The  longer  the  pillage  conducted  by  the  French  continued, 
the  more  it  diminished  the  wealth  of  Moscow  and  the  strength 
of  the  pillagers. 

The  pillage  conducted  by  the  Russians  (and  the  occupation 
of  the  capital  by  the  Russians  began  with  this)  —  the  longer 
it  lasted,  and  the  more  freely  it  was  shared  by  the  people,  the 
more  rapidly  it  increased  the  wealth  of  Moscow  and  restored 
the  regular  life  of  the  city. 

Besides  the  pillagers,  the  most  varied  sort  of  people,  at- 
tracted, some  by  curiosity,  some  by  their  duties  in  the  service, 
some  by  interest,  —  householders,  clergymen,  high  and  low 
chinovniks,  tradesmen,  artisans,  muzhiks  from  various  direc- 
tions, —  flowed  back  into  Moscow  like  blood  to  the  heart. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  already,  peasants  who  drove  in  with 
empty  carts  in  order  to  carry  away  things,  were  halted  by  the 
authorities  and  compelled  to  carry  away  dead  bodies  from  the 
city. 

Other  muzhiks,  hearing  of  the  lack  of  commodities,  came  in 
with  wheat,  oats,  hay,  by  competition  with  each  other  redu- 
cing prices  even  lower  than  they  had  been  before.  Master 
carpenters,  hoping  for  fat  jobs,  each  day  flocked  to  Moscow, 
and  in  all  directions  new  houses  began  to  go  up  and  the  old 
burned  mansions  to  be  restored. 

Merchants  displayed  their  wares  in  huts.  Restaurants  and 
taverns  were  established  in  mansions  that  had  been  through 
the  flames.  The  clergy  conducted  divine  service  in  many 
churches  that  had  escaped  the  conflagration.  People  con- 
tributed ecclesiastical  furniture  that  had  been  stolen. 

Chinovniks  spread  their  tables  and  set  up  their  document- 
cupboards  in  little  rooms.  High  oflicials  and  the  police  made 
arrangements  for  restoring  property  that  had  been  abandoned 
by  the  French.  The  owners  of  houses  in  which  were  found 
many  articles  that  had  been  brought  from  other  houses,  com- 
plained of  the  injustice  of  the  order  to  bring  everything  to 


280  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  court  of  the  exchequer.  Others  urged  that,  as  the  French 
had  brought  things  from  different  houses  into  one  place,  it  was 
therefore  unfair  to  allow  the  owner  of  that  house  to  keep 
whatever  was  found  in  it.  They  abused  the  police;  they 
tried  to  bribe  them.  Estimates  were  received,  tenfold  too 
high,  for  building  crown  edifices  that  had  been  burned.  Pecu- 
niary assistance  was  asked  for.  Count  Rostopchin  began  to 
write  his  proclamations. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Toward  the  beginning  of  February,  Pierre  came  to  Moscow 
and  established  himself  in  the  fltigel  or  wing  that  remained 
intact.  He  paid  visits  to  Count  Kostopchin  and  various 
acquaintances  who  had  returned  to  Moscow,  and  he  planned 
to  go  a  couple  of  days  later  to  Petersburg. 

AH  were  enthusiastic  over  the  victory.  There  was  a  fer- 
ment of  life  in  the  ruined  and  revivified  capital.  All  welcomed 
Pierre  warmly.  All  were  anxious  to  meet  him,  and  plied  him 
with  questions  in  regard  to  all  that  he  had  seen. 

Pierre  felt  drawn  by  special  ties  of  sympathy  and  friend- 
ship to  all  whom  he  met;  but  he  now  treated  every  one 
guardedly,  so  as  not  to  bind  himself  to  any  one.  To  all  ques- 
tions which  he  was  asked  —  whether  important  or  the  most 
trivial  —  where  he  was  going  to  live?  was  he  going  to  re- 
build ?  when  was  he  going  to  Petersburg,  and  should  he  tiy 
to  take  his  trunk  with  him? — he  would  answer  "Yes," or 
*'  Perhaps  so,"  or  "  I  think  so,"  or  the  like. 

He  heard  that  the  Rostofs  were  in  Kostroma,  and  the 
thought  of  Natasha  rarely  occurred  to  him.  If  it  came  to  him, 
it  was  only  as  a  pleasant  recollection  of  something  long  past 
He  felt  himself  not  only  freed  from  the  conditions  of  life,  but 
also  from  that  sentiment  which,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had 
wittingly  allowed  himself  to  cherish. 

On  the  third  day  after  his  arrival  at  Moscow,  he  learned 
from  the  Drubetskois  that  the  Princess  Mariya  was  in  Moscow. 
Prince  Andrei's  death,  sufferings,  and  last  days  had  often 
recurred  to  Pierre's  mind,  and  now  they  came  back  to  him 
with  fresh  force.  When,  after  dinner,  he  learned  that  the 
Princess  Marina  was  in  Moscow,  and  was  residing  in  her 
own  house,  which  had  escaped  the  conflagration,  he  went,  that 
same  evening,  to  call  upon  her. 

On  the  way  to  the  mansion  on  the  Yozdvizhenka,  Pierre 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  681 

constantly  thought  about  Prince  Andrei^  about  his  friendship 
for  him,  about  his  various  meetings  with  him,  and  especially 
their  last  meeting  at  Borodino. 

'^  Can  he  have  died  in  that  same  sardonic  mood  in  which  he 
then  was  ?  Can  the  explanation  of  life  have  been  revealed  to 
him  before  his  death  ? ''  Pierre  asked  himself.  He  iremem- 
bered  Karatayef  and  his  death,  and  involuntarily  he  began 
to  compare  these  two  men,  so  antipodal,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  so  alike  in  the  love  which  he  had  felt  for  them,  and 
then  from  the  fact  that  both  had  lived  and  both  were  dead. 

In  the  most  serious  frame  of  mind,  Pierre  reached  the  old 
prince's  mansion.  This  house  remained  intact.  It  still  bore 
traces  of  wear  and  tear,  but  the  character  of  the  house  was 
the  same  as  before. 

Pierre  was  met  by  an  old  ofitsidnty  or  head  lackey,  with  a 
stem  face,  who,  by  his  face,  seemed  to  wish  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  the  prince's  absence  did  not  affect  the  strictness 
of  the  regime,  and  said  that  the  princess  had  been  pleased  to 
retire  to  her  room,  and  received  on  Sundays. 

« Carry  her  my  name ;  perhaps  she  will  receive  me,"  said 
Pierre. 

*' Slttshdyurs  —  I  obey,"  replied  the  lackey.  "Please  come 
to  the  portrait  gallery." 

In  a  few  moments,  the  ofitsidnt  returned  to  Pierre  with 
Dessalles.  Dessalles,  in  the  name  of  the  princess,  informed 
Pierre  that  she  would  be  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  begged 
him,  if  he  would  excuse  her  for  the  lack  of  ceremony,  to  come 
upstairs  to  her  room. 

In  the  low-studded  room,  lighted  by  a  single  candle,  the 
princess  was  sitting,  and  some  one  else  in  a  black  dress. 
Pierre  remembered  that  the  princess  had  always  with  her 
lady-companions,*  but  who  and  what  these  lady-companions 
were,  Pierre  knew  not  and  could  not  remember. 

"  That  is  one  of  her  lady-companions,"  he  said  to  himself, 
glancing  at  the  lady  in  the  black  dress. 

The  princess  quickly  arose,  came  forward  to  meet  him,  and 
shook  hands  with  him. 

^*  Yes,"  said  she  as  she  looked  into  his  altered  face,  after  he 
had  kissed  her  hand.  "  So  we  meet  again  at  last.  He  often 
used  to  speak  about  you  during  the  last  days  of  his  life,"  said 
she,  turning  her  eyes  from  Pierre  to  the  "kompanyonka"  with 
an  embarrassment  that  for  an  instant  struck  Pierre.    "I  was 

*  Kampany<fnki. 


282  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

so  glad  to  know  of  your  rescue.  That  was  truly  the  best  pieed 
of  news  we  had  received  for  a  long  time." 

Again  the  princess  looked  still  more  anxiously  at  the 
'^  kompanyonka,"  and  wanted  to  say  something,  bat  Pierre 
did  not  give  her  an  opportunity. 

"You  can  imagine  I  knew  nothing  about  it,"  said  he.  "I 
thought  he  was  killed.  All  that  I  knew,  I  knew  from  ethos, 
and  that  at  third  hand.  All  I  know  is  that  he  fell  in  with  the 
Kostofs.    What  a  strange  good  fortune  ! " 

Pierre  spoke  rapidly,  excitedly.  He  looked  once  into  tlie 
^'  kompanyouka's  "  face,  saw  an  apparently  flattering,  inquia* 
tive  glance  fastened  upon  him,  and,  as  often  happens  during 
a  conversation,  he  gathered  a  general  idea  that  this  '^koni- 
panyonka ''  in  the  black  dress  was  a  gentle,  kindly,  good  crea- 
ture, who  would  not  interfere  with  the  sincerity  and  cordiali^ 
of  his  conversation  with  the  Princess  Mariyau 

But  when  he  said  the  last  words  about  the  Bostofis,  the 
embarrassment  expressed  on  the  princess's  face  was  even 
more  noticeable  than  before.  She  again  turned  her  eyes 
from  Pierre's  face  to  the  face  of  the  lady  in  the  black  dress, 
and  said,  — 

"  But  don't  you  recognize  her  ?  " 

Pierre  once  more  looked  into  the  ^'  kompanyouka's  "  pale, 
delicate  f^ce,  with  the  dark  eyes  and  strange  mouth.  Some- 
thing near  and  dear,  something  long  forgotten  and  more  than 
kind,  was  looking  at  him  from  those  attentive  eyes. 

"But  no,  it  cannot  be,"  he  said  to  himsell  "That  &ce  so 
stern,  thin,  and  pale,  and  grown  so  old.  That  cannot  be  she ! 
It  is  only  something  that  reminds  me  of  her ! "  But  while  he 
was  thus  reasoning  with  himself,  the  Princess  Maiiya  said: 
"  Natasha ! " 

And  the  face  with  the  attentive  eyes,  with  difficulty,  with 
an  effort,  — just  as  a  rusty  door  opens,  —  smiled,  and  from  the 
opened  door  suddenly  breathed  forth  and  surrounded  Pierre 
the  perfume  of  that  long-forgotten  happiness,  of  which  he  had 
rarely  thought,  especisdly  of  late.  Forth  breathed  the  per- 
fume,  seized  his  senses  and  swallowed  him  up  entirely.  "Whea 
she  smiled,  all  doubt  ceased;  it  was  Natasha,  and  he  loved 
her! 

At  the  first  minute,  Pierre  involuntarily  told  both  her  and 
the  Princess  Mariya,  and  chief  of  all  his  own  heart,  the  secret 
that  he  long  had  not  confessed.  He  reddened  with  delight 
and  passionate  pain.  He  tried  to  hide  his  agitation.  But  the 
more  he  tried  to  hide  it,  the  more  distinctly  —  more  distinctly 


WAit    iNb  PEACE.  233 

than  in  tlie  most  definite  words  —  he  told  himself  and  her  and 
the  Princess  Mariya  that  he  loved  her ! 

"No,  of  course  it  is  only  from  the  surprise,"  said  Pierre  to 
himself ;  but  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  prolong  the  conversa- 
tion that  he  had  started  with  the  Princess  Mariya,  he  could 
not  help  looking  again  at  Natasha,  and  a  still  deeper  flush 
suffused  his  face,  and  a  still  deeper  agitation  of  joy  and  pain 
clutched  his  heart.  He  hesitated  in  his  speech,  and  stopped 
short  in  the  midst  of  what  he  was  sayintf* 

Pierre  had  not  remarked  Natasha  for  tne  teason  that  he  had 
never  expected  to  see  her  there,  but  the  reason  that  he  did  not 
recognize  her  was  because  of  the  immense  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  her  since  he  had  seen  her  last. 

She  had  grown  thin  and  pale.  But  it  was  not  that  that  had 
changed  her  identity ;  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  have 
recognized  her  on  the  first  moment  of  his  entrance,  because 
that  face  from  whose  eyes  hitherto  had  always  gleamed  forth 
the  secret  joy  of  living,  now  when  he  came  in  and  for  the  first 
time  glanced  at  her,  now  had  not  even  the  shadow  of  a  smile  ; 
they  were  merely  attentive,  kindly,  and  pathetically  question- 
ing eyes. 

Pierre's  confusion  did  not  waken  any  answering  confusion 
in  Natasha,  but  only  a  contentment  that  lighted  up  her  face 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  gleam. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  She  came  to  make  me  a  visit,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya. 
''The  count  and  countess  will  be  here  in  a  few  days.  The 
countess  is  in  a  terrible  state.  But  Natasha  herself  had  need 
of  consulting  the  doctor.  They  sent  her  with  me  by  main 
force." 

"  Yes,  is  there  a  family  without  its  own  special  sorrow  ?  " 
said  Pierre,  addressing  Natasha.  ''Yoa  know  that  it  hap- 
pened on  the  very  day  that  we  were  set  free.  I  saw  him. 
What  a  charming  boy  he  was  ! " 

Natasha  looked  at  him,  but  in  answer  to  his  words  her  eyes 
dilated  and  a  shade  crept  over  them. 

''What  consolation  can  be  given  in  either  thought  or  word  ?  " 
exclaimed  Pierre*  "  None  at  all !  Why  should  such  a  glori- 
ous young  fellow,  so  full  of  life,  be  called  upon  to  die  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  in  our  time  it  would  be  hard  to  live,  if  one 
had  not  faith,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya. 


284  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

''Yes,  yest  That  is  the  real  truth/'  interrapted  FifiEve 
hastily. 

''Why?''  asked  Katasha,  gazing  attentively  into  Piecre's 
eyes. 

''How  can  you  say  why?"  asked  the  PrincesB  Mariya. 
"The  mere  thought  of  what  awaits  us  there"  — 

Natasha,  without  hearing  the  Princess  Mariya  to  the  end, 
again  looked  with  questioning  eyes  to  Pierre. 

"Why,  because,"  continued  Pierre,  "only  that  man  who 
belieyes  that  there  is  a  Qod  who  directs  our  ways  oan  endure 
such  a  loss  as  hers -^  and  yours,"  added  Pierre. 

Natasha  had  her  lips  parted  to  say  something,  but  snddenly 
stopped.  Pierre  quickly  turned  from  her^  and  again  addressed 
the  princess  with  a  question  concerning  his  friend's  last  day& 

Pierre's  embarrassment  had  now  almost  disappeared,  bat  at 
the  same  time  he  felt  that  all  his  former  freedom  had  also 
disappeared.  He  felt  that  his  every  word  and  act  had  now  a 
critic,  a  judge  that  was  dearer  to  him  than  the  opinion  of  ail 
the  people  in  the  world. 

When  he  spoke  now,  he  measured  at  every  word  the  impres- 
sion which  his  words  produced  upon  Natasha.  He  purposely 
refrained  from  saying  what  would  have  pleased  her ;  but  what- 
ever he  said  he  judged  from  her  standpoint. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  reluctantly  at  first,  as  is  always  the 
case,  began  to  tell  him  about  the  state  in  which  she  had  found 
her  brother.  But  Pierre's  questions,  his  evidently  troubled 
eyes,  his  face  trembling  with  emotion,  gradually  induced  her 
to  enter  into  particulars  which  she  would  have  been  afraid  to 
call  back  to  her  recollection  for  her  own  sake. 

"Yes,  yes,  indeed  it  is  so,"  said  Pierre,  leaning  forward 
with  his  whole  body  toward  the  Princess  Mariya,  and  eagerly 
listening  to  her  story,  —  "Yes,  yes,  and  so  he  grew  calmer? 
more  softened  ?  He  so  earnestly  sought  with  aU  the  poweis 
of  his  soul  for  the  one  thing :  to  be  perfectly  good.  He  oould 
not  have  feared  death.  The  faults  that  he  had — if  he  had 
any — came  from  other  sources  than  himself.  And  so  he  grew 
softened?"  exclaimed  Pierre.  "What  good  fortune  that  he 
met  you  again,"  he  added,  turning  to  Natasha  and  looking  at 
her,  his  eyes  brimming  with  tears. 

Natasha's  face  twitched.  She  frowned,  and  for  an  instant 
dropped  her  eyes.  For  a  minute  she  hesitated ;  should  she 
speak,  or  not  speak. 

"  Yes,  it  was  good  fortune,"  said  she  in  a  low  chest  voice. 
"For  me  indeed  it  was   a  happiness."    She  became  silent 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  285 

'^And  he  —  he  —  he  said  that  it  was  the   yery  thing  that 
he  was  longing  for  when  I  went  to  him''— - 

Natasha's  voice  broke.  She  clasped  her  hands  together  on 
her  knees,  and  suddenly,  evidently  making  an  effort  to  con- 
tain herself,  raised  her  head  and  began  rapidly  to  speak :  — 

'^We  knew  nothing  about  it  when  we  left  Moscow.  I 
had  not  dared  to  ask  about  him.  And  suddenly  Sonya  told 
me  that  he  was  with  us.  I  had  no  idea,  I  could  not  ima- 
gine in  what  a  state  he  was.  I  only  wanted  one  thing  — 
to  see  him,  to  be  with  him,"  said  she,  trembling  and  chok- 
ing. And  without  letting  herself  be  interrupted,  she  related 
what  she  had  never  before  told  a  living  soul ;  all  that  she 
had  suffered  in  those  three  weeks  of  their  journey  and  their 
sojourn  at  Yaroslavl. 

Pierre  listened  to  her  with  open  mouth  and  without  tak- 
ing from  her  his  eyes  ftdl  of  tears.  In  listening  to  her  he 
thought  not  of  Prince  Andrei  or  of  death,  or  even  of  what 
she  was  telling  him.  He  heard  her  and  onl^  pitied  her  for 
the  suffering  which  she  underwent  now  in  telling  the  tale. 

The  princess,  frowning  with  her  endeavor  to  keep  back  her 
tears,  sat  next  Natasha,  and  listened  for  the  first  time  to 
the  story  of  these  last  days  that  her  brother  had  spent 
with  Natasha. 

This  tale,  so  fraught  with  pain  and  joy,  it  was  evidently 
necessary  for  Natasha  to  relate. 

She  spoke  commingling  the  most  insignificant  details  with 
the  intimate  secrets  of  the  heart,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she 
would  never  reach  an  end.  Several  times  she  repeated  the 
same  things. 

Dessalles's  voice  was  heard  outside  the  door,  asking  if  Niko- 
lushka  might  come  and  bid  them  good-night. 

'^And  so  that  is  all,  all" —  said  Natasha.  When  Niko- 
lushka  came  in  she  quickly  sprang  up  and  almost  ran  to  the 
door,  and,  hitting  her  head  against  the  door,  which  was  hidden 
by  a  portiere,  flew  from  the  room  with  a  groan  which  was 
caused  neither  by  pain  nor  grief, 

Pierre  gazed  at  the  door  through  which  she  had  disappeared, 
and  could  not  understand  why  he  seemed  suddenly  left  alone 
and  deserted  in  the  world. 

The  Princess  Mariya  aroused  him  from  his  fit  of  abstraction 
by  calling  his  attention  to  her  nephew,  who  had  come  into  the 
room, 

Nikolushka's  face,  which  resembled  his  father's,  had  such 
an  effect  upon  Pierre,  in  this  moment  pf  soul<^elt  emotion  into 


286  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

which  he  had  oome^  that  after  he  had  kissed  the  lad  he  quickly 
arose,  and,  getting  out  his  handkerchief,  went  to  the  windov. 

He  wanted  to  bid  the  Princess  Mariya  good-mght  and  go, 
but  she  detained  him. 

'^  No,  Natasha  and  I  often  sit  up  till  three  o'clock ;  please 
sta^  a  little  longer.  I  will  order  supper  served.  Go  down- 
stairs, we  will  follow  immediately." 

But  before  Pierre  left  the  room  the  princess  said  to  him,^ 

"  This  is  the  first  time  that  she  has  spoken  of  him.'' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PiERBE  was  conducted  into  the  large,  brightly  lighted  dining 
room.  In  a  few  minutes  steps  were  heard,  and  the  princess 
and  Natasha  came  into  the  room.  Natasha  was  now  calm, 
although  a  grave  expression,  untouched  with  a  smile,  still  re- 
mained on  her  face. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  Natasha,  and  Pierre  alike  experienced 
that  sense  of  awkwardness  which  is  sure  to  follow  after 
a  serious  and  intimate  conversation.  To  pursue  the  former 
subject  is  no  longer  possible ;  to  talk  about  trifles  does  not 
seem  right ;  and  silence  is  disagreeable  because  such  silence 
seems  hypocritical,  especially  if  one  wishes  to  talk. 

They  silently  came  to  the  table.  The  servants  drew  the 
chairs  back  and  pushed  them  forward.  Pierre  unfolded  his 
cold  napkin,  and,  making  up  his  mind  to  break  the  silence, 
looked  at  Natasha  and  the  Princess  Mariya. 

Each  of  them  had  evidently  at  the  same  time  made  the 
same  resolve  ;  the  eyes  of  both  shone  with  the  satisfaction  of 
life,  and  the  avowed  that  if  sorrow  exists,  so  also  joy  may 
abound, 

''  Will  you  have  vodka,  count  ?  "  asked  the  Princess  Mariya, 
and  these  words  suddenly  drove  away  the  shadows  of  the 
past, 

"  Tell  us  about  yourself,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya.  **  We 
have  heard  such  incredible  stories  about  you." 

*' Yes?"  replied  Pierre  with  that  smile  of  good-humored 
irony  which  was  now  habitual  with  him.  **  I  too  have  heard  most 
marvellous  things  about  myself — things  that  I  have  never 
even  dreamed  of  seeing.  Marya  Avramovna  invited  me  to 
her  house,  and  told  me  all  that  ever  happened  to  me  or  was 
supposed  to  have  happened.  Stepan  Step&nuitch  also  gave 
me  a  lesson  in  the  way  that  I  should  tell  my  story.    As  a 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  287 

general  thing,  I  have  observed  that  it  is  a  very  comfortable 
thing  to  be  an  '  interesting  person'  Q  am  now  an  interesting 
person  )  !  I  am  invited  out  and  made  the  subject  of  all  sorts 
of  stories/' 

Natasha  smiled,  and  started  to  say  something. 

"  We  were  told,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya,  forestalling  her, 
'^  that  you  lost  two  millions  here  in  Moscow.     Is  that  true  ?  '^ 

^'  But  still  it  made  me  three  times  as  rich  as  before,"  replied 
Pierre. 

Pierre,  in  spite  of  his  wife's  debts  and  the  necessity  upon 
him  of  rebuilding  his  houses,  which  would  alter  his  circum- 
stances, continued  to  tell  people  that  he  had  grown  three 
times  as  rich  as  before. 

"  What  I  have  undoubtedly  gained,"  said  he,  "  is  this  free- 
dom which  I  enjoy  "  —  he  had  begun  seriously,  but  he  hesi- 
tated about  continuing,  observing  that  the  topic  of  the  con- 
versation was  too  egotistical 

"  And  are  you  going  to  rebuild  ?" 

"  Yes  :  Savelyitch  advises  it." 

"Tell  me,  you  did  not  know  at  all  about  the  countess's 
death  when  you  were  in  Moscow  ? "  asked  the  Princess 
Mariya,  and  instantly  reddened,  noticing  that  in  having  put 
this  question  immediately  after  what  he  had  said  about  his 
freedom,  she  might  have  given  a  sense  to  his  words  which 
perhaps  they  had  not. 

"No,"  replied  Pierre,  evidently  not  discovering  anything 
awkward  in  the  interpretation  which  the  Princess  Mariya  had 
given  to  his  remark  about  his  freedom.  "  I  first  heard  about 
it  in  Orel,  and  you  cannot  imagine  how  it  surprised  me.  We 
were  not  a  model  husband  and  wife,"  he  quickly  added,  with 
a  glance  at  Natasha,  and  observing  in  her  face  a  gleam  of 
i^uriosity  as  to  what  he  would  have  to  say  about  his  wife. 
^'  But  her  death  gave  me  a  terrible  shock.  When  two  people 
quarrel,  always  both  are  at  fault.  And  a  person's  fault  sud- 
denly becomes  awfully  serious  when  the  other  party  comes  to 
die.  And  then  such  a  death  !  -^  without  friends,  without  con- 
solation !  I  felt  very,  very  porry  for  her,"  said  he,  in  conclu- 
sion, and  noticing  with  a  sense  of  satisfaction  a  look  of  glad 
approval  in  Natasha's  face, 

"Well,  and  so  jom  are  a  single  man  and  marriageable 
^ain,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya. 

Pierre's  face  suddenly  grew  livid,  and  for  long  he  tried  not 
to  look  at  Natasha.  When  at  length  he  had  the  courage  to 
look  at  her,  her  face  was  cold,  stem,  and  even  pcomful  as  it 
seemed  to  him. 


288  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

''And  did  you  really  see  Napoleon  and  talk  with  him? 
That's  the  story  they  tell  us/'  said  the  Princess  Mariya. 

Pierre  laughed. 

'<  Not  once,  never !  It  always  seems  to  every  one  that  to 
have  been  a  prisoner  was  to  have  been  Napoleon's  guest  I 
not  only  never  saw  him,  but  did  not  hear  him  talked  about  I 
was  in  far  too  humble  company." 

Supper  was  over,  and  Pierre,  who  at  first  refused  to  tell 
about  his  captivity,  was  little  by  little  drawn  into  stories 
about  it 

'<  But  it  is  true,  isn't  it,  that  you  remained  behind  for  tiie 
purpose  of  killing  Napoleon  ?  "  asked  Natasha,  with  a  slight 
smiL^.  '<  I  imagined  as  much  when  we  met  you  at  the  So- 
kharef  Tower,  —  do  you  remember  ?  " 

Pierre  acknowledged  that  this  was  true ;  and  with  this  ques- 
tion as  a  starting-point,  and  gradually  led  on  by  the  Princess 
Mariya's  questions,  and  especially  by  Natasha's,  Pierre  was 
brought  to  give  them  a  detailed  account  of  his  adventures. 

At  first  he  told  his  story  with  that  gentle,  ironical  expres- 
sion which  he  now  used  toward  other  people  and  especiaDj 
himself ;  but  afterwards,  when  h6  came  to  tell  about  the  hor- 
rors and  sufferings  which  he  had  beheld,  he,  without  being 
himself  aware  of  it,  was  carried  away,  and  began  to  talk  with 
the  restrained  excitement  of  a  man  who  was  reliving,  in  his 
recollections,  the  most  vivid  impressions. 

The  Princess  Mariva,  with  a  gentle  smile,  looked  now  at 
Pierre,  now  at  Natasha.  Throughout  all  this  narration,  she 
saw  only  Pierre  and  his  goodness. 

Natasha,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  with  her  face  re- 
flecting in  its  expression  all  the  varying  details  of  the  story, 
gazed  steadily  at  Pierre  without  once  taking  her  eyes  from 
him,  evidently  living  with  him  through  all  the  dreadful  scenes 
of  which  he  told. 

Not  only  her  looks,  but  her  exclamations  and  the  brief  ques- 
tions which  she  asked,  showed  Pierre  that,  from  his  story,  she 
took  to  heart  exactly  what  he  wanted  to  convey.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  understood  not  merely  what  he  told  her,  bat 
also  that  which  he  would  have  wished  but  was  unable  to  ex- 
press in  words. 

Concerning  his  adventure  with  the  child  and  the  woman 
the  protection  of  whom  had  led  to  his  arrest,  Pierre  told  in 
the  following  manner :  — 

''This  was  a  horrible  sight :  children  deserted,  some  in  the 
flames — one  child  was  dragged  out  before  my  veiy  eyes — 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  289 

women  who  were  robbed  of  their  possessionSi  their  ear-rings 
snatched  away  "  — 

Pierre  reddened  and  stammered. 

''  Then  came  the  patrol  and  arrested  all  those  who  were  not 
engaged  in  pillage  —  all  the  men.  —  And  myself ! " 

"  You  certainly  are  not  telling  the  whole  story ;  you  cer- 
tainly did  something/'  said  Natasha,  and  paused  a  moment, 
—  "  something  good ! " 

Pierre  went  on  with  his  narration.  When  he  came  to  tell 
about  the  execution,  he  wished  to  avoid  the  horrible  details, 
but  Natasha  insisted  that  he  should  not  omit  anything. 

Pierre  began  to  tell  about  Karatayef.  By  this  time  he  had 
risen  from  the  table,  and  was  walking  back  and  forth,  Na- 
tasha's eyes  following  him  all  the  time.  —  But  he  paused,  — 

''No,  you  cannot  understand  how  I  learned  from  that  illit- 
erate man  —  half  an  idiot ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on,"  cried  Natasha.  "  What  became  of 
him?" 

"  He  was  shot  sJmost  in  my  very  presence." 

And  Pierre  began  to  tell  about  the  last  period  of  the  re- 
treat of  the  French,  Karatayef  s  illness  (his  voice  constantly 
trembled)  and  his  death.  Pierre,  in  relating  his  adventures, 
found  that  they  came  back  to  him  in  an  entirely  new  light. 

He  now  found  what  seemed  to  be  a  new  significance  in  all 
that  he  had  experienced.  Now,  while  he  was  telling  all  this 
to  Natasha,  he  experienced  that  rare  delight  afforded  by 
women  — not  intellectual  women,  who,  in  listening,  try  either 
to  remember  what  is  said  for  the  sake  of  enriching  their 
minds,  and,  on  occasion,  of  giving  it  out  themselves,  or  to  apply 
what  is  said  to  their  own  cases,  and  to  communicate  with  all 
diligence  their  intellectual  remarks  elaborated  in  the  work- 
shops of  their  petty  brains  —  but  the  delight  afforded  by 
genuine  women  gifted  with  the  capacity  to  bring  out  and 
assimilate  all  that  is  best  in  a  man's  impulses. 

Natasha,  without  knowing  it,  was  all  attention:  she  did 
not  lose  a  word,  or  an  inflection  of  his  voice,  or  a  glance, 
or  the  quivering  of  a  muscle  in  his  face,  or  a  single  gesture 
that  he  made. 

She  caught  on  the  wing  the  word  as  yet  unspoken,  and  took 
it  straight  to  her  generous  heart,  divining  the  mysterious 
meaning  of  all  the  spiritual  travail  through  which  Pierre  had 
passed. 

The  Princess  Mariya  comprehended  his  story,  sympathized 
with  him,  but  now  she  saw  something  else  which  absorbed  all 


240  WAR  AND  PEACB. 

her  attention :  she  saw  the  possibility  of  lore  and  happiness 
for  Pierre  and  Natasha.  And  this  thought,  occurring  to  her 
for  the  first  time,  filled  her  heart  with  joy. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  serrantSy  with 
gloomy,  stern  faces,  came  to  bring  fresh  candles,  but  no  one 
heeded  them. 

Pierre  finished  his  story.  Natasha,  her  eyes  gleaming  witlk 
excitement,  continued  to  look  steadily  and  earnestly  at  Pierre, 
as  though  wishing  to  read  the  portions  of  his  story  that  be 
had  perhaps  not  told. 

Pierre,  with  a  shamefaced  but  joyous  sense  of  embarrsss- 
ment,  occasionally  looked  at  her,  and  wondered  what  to  saj 
next  in  order  to  change  the  conversation  to  some  other  topic. 

The  Princess  Mariya  was  silent.  It  occurred  to  none  of 
them  that  it  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  time  to  go 
to  bed. 

''We  talk  about  unhappiness,  sufferings/'  said  Pierre. 
"  Yet  if  now,  this  minute,  I  were  asked,  '  Would  you  remain 
what  you  were  before  your  imprisonment,  or  go  through  it  all 
again  ? '  I  should  say, '  For  God's  sake,  the  imprisonment  osoe 
more  and  the  horse-flesh.'  We  think  that  when  we  are 
driven  out  of  the  usual  path,  everything  is  all  over  for  us ; 
but  it  is  just  here  that  the  new  and  the  good  begins.  As 
long  as  there  is  life,  there  is  happiness.  There  is  much,  much 
before  us !    I  tell  you  so,"  said  he,  addressing  Natasha. 

''  Yes,  yes,"  said  she,  answering  something  entirely  differ- 
ent. ''  And  I  should  wish  nothing  better  thtm  to  live  my  life 
aJ}  over  again." 

Pierre  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"No,  I  could  ask  for  nothing  more." 

"  You  are  wrong,  you  are  wrong,"  cried  Pierre.  '*  I  am  not 
to  blame  because  I  am  alive  and  want  to  live ;  and  yon  also." 

Suddenly  Natasha  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  What  is  it,  Natasha  ?  "  asked  the  Princess  Mariya. 

"Nothing,  nothing."  She  smiled  at  Pierre  through  her 
tears. 

"  Good-by,  it  is  bed-time." 

Pierre  got  up  and  took  his  departure. 

The  Princess  Mariya  and  Natasha,  as  usual,  met  in  their 
sleeping-room.  They  talked  over  what  Pierre  had  told  them. 
The  princess  did  not  express  her  opinion  of  Pierre.  Neither 
did  Natasha  speak  of  him. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  241 

"Well,  good-uight,  Marie,"  said  Natasha.  "Do  you  know 
I  am  often  afraid  that  in  not  speaking  of  him  (Prince  Andrei) 
for  fear  of  doing  wrong  to  our  feelings,  we  may  forget  him  ?  " 

The  Princess  Mariya  drew  a  deep  sigh,  and  by  this  sigh 
confessed  to  the  justice  of  Natasha's  words ;  but  when  she 
spoke,  her  words  expressed  a  different  thought :  — "  How 
could  one  forget  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  was  so  good  for  me  to-day  to  talk  it  all  over;  and  hard 
too,  and  painful  and  good  —  very  good,"  said  Natasha.  "  I  was 
certain  that  he  loved  him  so.  That  was  why  I  told  him.  — 
There  was  no  harm  in  my  telling  him,  was  there  ?  "  she  asked, 
suddenly  reddening. 

"  To  Pierre  ?  Oh,  no !  What  a  fine  man  he  is  ! "  exclaimed 
the  Princess  Mariya. 

"  Do  you  know,  Marie,"  suddenly  broke  out  Natasha,  with 
a  roguish  smile,  which  the  Princess  Mariya  had  not  seen  for 
a  long  time  on  her  face,  "  he  has  grown  so  clean,  neat,  fresh, 
just  as  though  he  were  out  of  a  bath.  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  —  morally  out  of  a  bath !    Isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya.  "  He  has  gained  very 
much." 

"  And  his  jaunty  little  coat,*  and  his  neatly  cropped  hair ; 
just  exactly  —  yes,  just  exactly  as  papa  used  to  look  when  he 
was  fresh  from  his  bath  ! " 

"  I  remember  that  he  (Prince  Andrei)  liked  no  one  so  well 
as  Pierre,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya. 

"  Yes ;  and  yet  both  of  them  were  peculiar  in  their  own 
way.  They  say  that  men  are  better  friends  when  they  are 
not  alike.  It  must  be  so.  Don't  you  think  that  they  were 
very  different  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he's  splendid." 

"  Well,  good-night,"  replied  Natasha ;  and  the  same  mis- 
chievous smile  long  remained  in  her  face,  as  though  she  had 
forgotten  to  drive  it  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  was  long  before  Pierre  went  to  sleep  that  night.  He 
strode  back  and  forth  through  his  chamber,  now  scowling,  now 
burdening  himself  with  heavy  thoughts,  then  suddenly  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  and  starting,  and  then  again  smiling. 

He  was  thinking  about  Prince  Andrei,  about  Natasha,  and 

VOL.  4.  — 16. 


242  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  love  which  they  bore  each  other ;  and  sometimes  he  felt 
iealons  of  her  for  what  was  past,  sometimes  he  reproached 
nimself  for  it,  sometimes  he  justified  it. 

It  was  already  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  still  he  kept 
pacing  through  his  room. 

"  Well,  what's  to  be  done  ?  Is  it  still  impossible  ?  Wkat 
is  to  be  done  ?  Of  course  it  must  be  so,"  said  he  to  himselt 
and,  hastily  undressing,  he  got  into  bed,  happy  and  excited, 
but  free  from  doubt  and  irresolution.  "Yes,  strange  and 
impossible  as  this  happiness  seems,  I  must  do  everything, 
everything,  to  make  her  my  wife,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Several  days  previously,  Pierre  had  fixed  upon  Friday  far 
the  day  of  his  departure  for  Petersburg.  When  he  woke  up 
it  was  Thursday,  and  Savelyitch  came  to  him  for  oideis  in 
regard  to  the  packing  of  his  things  for  the  journey. 

"  Petersburg  ?  What  about  Petersburg  ?  Who  is  going  to 
Petersburg?"  he  could  not  help  asking  of  himself!  *'0h, 
yes,  some  time  ago,  before  ever  this  happened,  I  had  some 
such  thought  —  I  was  going  to  Petersburg  for  some  reason  or 
other,"  he  remembered.  "  Why  was  it  ?  Yes,  perhaps  I  shall 
go  as  it  is.  How  good  and  attentive  he  is !  How  he  remem- 
bers everything,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  looked  into  Savel- 
yitch's  old  face.     *'  And  what  a  pleasant  smile,"  he  thought 

"Aren't  you  always  longing  to  have  your  freedom,  Savel- 
yitch?"  demanded  Pierre. 

"  Why  should  I  wish  my  freedom,  your  illustrioiisness  ? 
While  the  late  count  was  alive — the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  be 
his  —  we  lived  with  him,  and  now  we  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of  from  you," 

"  Well,  but  your  children  ?  " 

"  The  children  will  live  also,  your  illustriousness :  one  can 
put  up  with  such  masters." 

"Yes,  but  my  heirs,"  suggested  Pierre.  "I  may  suddenly 
marry. — You  see,  that  might  happen,"  he  added,  with  an 
involuntary  smile. 

"  And  may  I  be  bold  enough  to  say,  a  very  good  thing,  too, 
your  illustriousness ! " 

"  How  easy  it  seems  to  him,"  thought  Pierre.  "  He  cannot 
know  how  terrible,  how  perilous  a  thing  it  is.  Too  soon  or 
too  late  —  terrible  I  " 

"  What  orders  do  you  please  to  give  ?  Do  you  wish  to 
start  to-morrow  ?  "   asked  Savelyitch. 

"No,  I  am  going  to  postpone  it  for  a  few  days.  I  will  tell 
you  when  the  time  comes.     Forgive  me  for  putting  you  to  so 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  248 

much  trouble,"  said  Pierre,  and,  as  he  saw  Savelyitch's  smile, 
he  said  to  himself,  '^  How  strange  it  is  that  he  doesn't  know 
that  Petersburg  is  now  nothing  to  me,  and  that  this  matter 
must  be  decided  before  anything  is.  Of  course  he  must  know 
—  he's  only  pretending!  Shall  I  talk  with  him  about  it? 
How  will  he  like  it  ?  "  wondered  Pierre.  "  No,  I  will  wait  a 
little." 

At  breakfast,  Pierre  informed  his  cousin,  the  princess,  that 
he  had  been  the  evening  before  to  call  upon  the  Princess 
Mariya,  and  whom  did  she  suppose  he  found  there  ?  Natasha 
Kostova ! 

The  princess  pretended  that  she  saw  nothing  more  extraor- 
dinary in  this  than  if  he  had  seen  Anna  Semyonovna. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  "  asked  Pierre. 

"I  have  met  the  princess,"  she  replied.  "I  have  heard 
that  she  has  become  engaged  to  young  Rostof.  That  would 
be  a  very  good  thing  for  the  Kostofs ;  they  say  their  affairs 
are  all  in  confusion." 

"  No,  but  do  you  know  the  Countess  Nataslia  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  something  about  her  story.     It's  very  sad." 

"  Either  she  does  not  understand,  or  she  is  pretending  not 
to  understand,"  said  Pierre  to  himself  j  "  I'd  better  not  tell 
her,  either." 

The  princess,  also,  had  been  making  some  preparations  for 
Pierre's  journey. 

"  How  kind  they  all  are,"  thought  Pierre,  "  when  now  there 
can  be  nothing  at  all  interesting  to  them  in  all  this,  to  take 
so  much  trouble  with  my  affairs.  And  all  for  me  !  truly  it's 
wonderful ! " 

On  that  same  day  Pierre  went  to  the  chief  of  police  to  tell 
him  that  he  would  send  a  trusty  servant  to  receive  the  prop- 
erty that  was  to  be  restored  to  the  citizens  that  day  at  the 
granamtaya  palatdy  or  court  of  the  exchequer. 

"  And  now  this  man,  also,"  thought  Pierre,  as  he  looked  into 
the  politsimS'ister^s  face.  "  What  a  splendid,  fine-looking 
officer,  and  how  kind  he  is !  Now  he  is  occupied  with  such 
triiles  !  And  yet  they  say  that  he  is  not  honest,  and  is  mak- 
ing use  of  his  opportunities !  What  nonsense  !  Besides,  why 
should  he  not  take  advantage  ?  He  was  educated  to  do  so. 
And  that's  the  way  they  all  do.  But  he  had  such  a  pleasant, 
good  face !  and  smiled  so  agreeably  when  he  looked  at  me." 

Pierre  went  that  evening  to  dine  at  the  Princess  Mariya's. 

As  he  went  along  the  streets,  lined  with  the  blackened  ruins 
of  houses,  he  was  amazed  at  the  beauty  that  he  discovered  in 


244  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

these  ruins.  The  chimney-stacks,  the  fallen  Walls,  vividlv  re- 
minding Pierre  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Colosseaniy  stretched 
along  one  behind  the  others,  all  through  the  burnt  districts. 
The  hack-drivers  and  passers-by,  the  carpenters  hewing  tim- 
bers, merchants  and  shop-keepers,  all  with  jovial,  shining  faoeB, 
gazed  at  Pierre,  and  seemed  to  say,  —  ^^  Ah,  there  he  goes. 
Let  us  see  what  will  come  of  it." 

Before  he  reached  the  Princess  Mariya's,  the  doubt  oocuned 
to  Pierre's  mind  whether  it  were  true  that  he  had  been  there 
the  evening  before,  and  seen  Natasha  and  talked  with  her. 

'<  Perhaps  I  was  dreaming  ?  Perhaps  I  shall  go  in  and  find 
no  one." 

But  he  had  no  sooner  entered  the  room,  than,  in  his  whoie 
being,  by  the  instantaneous  loss  of  his  freedom,  he  realized 
her  presence.  She  wore  the  same  black  dress  with  soft  folds, 
and  her  hair  was  done  up  in  the  same  way  as  the  evening  be- 
fore, but  she  herself  was  entirely  different.  If  she  hail  been 
like  that  the  evening  before,  when  he  went  into  the  room,  be 
could  not  have  failed,  for  a  single  instant,  to  recognize  her. 

She  was  just  the  same  as  she  had  been  when  almost  a  child, 
and  afterwards,  when  she  was  Prince  Andrei's  affianced  bride. 
A  merry,  questioning  gleam  flashed  in  her  eyes ;  her  face  had 
a  genial  and  strangely  roguish  expression. 

Pierre  dined  with  them,  and  would  have  spent  the  whole 
evening,  but  the  Princess  Mariya  was  going  to  vespers,  and 
Pierre  accompanied  them. 

The  following  day,  Pierre  went  early,  dined  with  them,  and 
spent  the  whole  evening. 

Although  the  Princess  Mariya  and  Natasha  were  evidently 
glad  of  his  company,  although  all  the  interest  of  Pierre's  life 
was  now  concentrated  in  this  house,  still,  as  the  evening  wore 
away,  they  had  talked  everything  out,  and  the  conversation 
constantly  lagged  from  one  trivial  subject  to  another,  and 
often  flagged  altogether. 

Pierre  staid  that  evening  so  late  that  the  Princess  Mariya 
and  Natasha  exchanged  glances,  evidently  feeling  anxious  for 
him  to  go.  Pierre  saw  it,  and  yet  could  not  tear  himself 
away.  lie  felt  embarrassed  and  awkward,  but  still  he  staid 
because  he  could  not  get  up  to  go. 

The  Princess  Mariya,  not  seeing  any  end  to  it,  was  the  first 
to  get  up,  and,  pleading  migraine  as  an  excuse,  started  to  Hd 
him  good-night. 

"  And  so  you"  are  going  to  Petersburg  to-morrow  ?  '*  she 
asked. 


War  and  peac^.  246 

"No,  I  don^t  expect  to  go,"  hastily  replied  Pierre,  with  sur- 

C'le  and  apparent  annoyance.  "Yes,  —  no  —  oh,  to  Peters- 
g?  Day  after  to-morrow,  perhaps.  Only  I  won't  say 
good-by  now.  I  will  call  to  see  if  you  have  any  commis^ 
sions,"  said  he,  standing  in  front  of  the  Princess  Mariya,  with 
flushed  face  and  embarrassed  manner. 

Natasha  gave  him  her  hand,  and  left  the  room.  The  Prin- 
eess  Mariya,  on  the  contrary,  instead  of  going,  resumed  hei! 
chair,  and,  with  her  luminous,  deep  eyes,  gazed  gravely  and 
earnestly  at  Pierre.  The  weariness  which  she  had  really  felt 
just  before  had  now  entirely  passed  away.  She  drew  a  long 
and  deep  sigh,  as  though  nerving  herself  for  a  serious  conver* 
sation. 

All  Pierre's  confusion  and  awkwardness  instantly  disap- 
peared the  moment  that  Natasha  left  the  room,  and  gave  place 
to  an  agitated  excitement. 

He  swiftly  drew  his  chair  close  to  the  Princess  Mariya. 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  said  he,  respond- 
ing to  l]^r  look,  as  though  it  were  spoken  words. 

"  Princess  !  help  me !  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Have  I  reason 
to  hope  ?  Princess,  my  friend,  listeu  to  me.  I  know  all 
about  it.  I  know  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  her.  I  know  that 
it  is  wholly  impossible,  at  the  present  time,  to  speak  about  it. 
But  I  wish  to  be  like  a  brother  to  her.  — No,  I  do  not,  I  can- 
not wish  that  —  I  cannot "  — 

He  paused,  and  rubbed  his  face  and  his  eyes  with  his 
hand. 

"  Now,  here ! "  he  pursued,  evidently  making  an  effort  to 
command  himself  to  speak  coherently.  "  I  don't  know  when 
I  first  begaji  to  love  her.  But  all  my  life  long  I  have  loved 
her,  and  her  alone,  and  I  love  her  so  that  I  cannot  imagine 
life  without  her.  I  cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  sue  for  her 
hand  now ;  but  the  thought  that  perhaps  she  mi^ht  be  mine, 
and  that  I  had  lost  this  opportunity  — opportunity  —  is  hor- 
rible to  me.  Tell  me,  have  I  reason  to  hope  ?  Tell  nve  what  I 
must  do.  Dear  princess,"  said  he,  after  a  little  silence^  and 
he  touched  her  hand  when  she  did  not  reply. 

•*  I  was  thinking  of  what  you  have  told  me,"  returned  the 
Princess  Mariya.  "This  —  near  what  I  have  to  say.  You 
are  right  that  to  speak  to  her  now  of  love  "  — 

The  princess  paused.  She  meant  to  say,  to  speak  to  her  of 
love  was  impossible  now ;  but  she  paused  because  for  two  days 
past  she  had  observed,  from  the  change  that  had  taken  place 
in  Natasha,  that  Natasha  would  not  only  not  be  offended  if 


246  WAR  AJ^b  PEACE. 

Pierre  should  confess  his  love  for  her,  but  that  this  was  the 
very  thing  that  she  was  longing  for  him  to  do. 

^*  To  teU  her  now  —  is  impossible/'  said  the  Princess  Mariya, 
nevertheless. 
•  "But  what  am  I  to  do?*' 

"Leave  it  all  to  me/'  said  the  Princess  Mariya.  "I 
know  "  — 

Pierre  looked  into  the  Princess  Mariya's  eyes.  "Well  — 
well "  —  said  he. 

"I  know  that  she  loves  you  —  will  love  you,"  said  the  Prin- 
cess Mariya,  correcting  herself. 

She  had  scarcely  said  these  words  before  Pierre  sprang  np, 
and,  with  a  frightened  face,  seized  the  Princess  Mariya'S 
hand. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  Do  you  really  think  that  I 
may  hope  ?    Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  the  Princess  Mariya,  with  a  smile. 
"  Write  to  her  parents.  And  trust  it  all  to  me.  I  will  tell 
her  when  the  suitable  time  comes.  I  am  anxious  for  it.  And 
my  heart  tells  me  that  it  will  be." 

"  No,  it  cannot  be !  How  happy  I  am !  But  it  cannot 
be  I "  repeated  Pierre,  kissing  the  princess's  hand. 

"  You  go  to  Petersburg ;  that  is  best.  And  I  will  write  to 
you,"  said  she. 

"  To  Petersburg  ?  Go  away  ?  Yes,  very  good,  I  will  ga 
But  may  I  come  to  call  to-morrow  ?  " 

On  the  following  day,  Pierre  went  to  say  good-by.  Natasha 
was  less  animated  than  on  the  preceding  days;  but  tcniay 
when  Pierre  occasionally  looked  into  her  eyes  he  felt  that  his 
existence  was  nothing,  that  he  was  not,  and  that  she  was  not, 
but  that  one  feeling  of  bliss  filled  the  world. 

"  Can  it  be  ?  No !  impossible ! "  he  said  to  himself  at  each 
glance,  word,  motion  of  hers,  so  filling  his  heart  with  joy. 

When,  on  saying  "  good-by,"  he  took  her  delicate,  slender 
hand,  he  involuntarily  held  it  rather  long  in  his. 

"  Can  it  be  that  this  hand,  this  face,  these  eyes,  —  all  this 
marvellous  treasure  of  womanly  beauty,  —  can  it  be  that  it 
will  be  mine  forever,  as  familiar  to  me  as  I  am  to  myself? 
No,  it  is  impossible ! " 

"Grood-by,  count — jprdshehdite^  graf!^^  said  she  to  him 
aloud.  "1  shall  await  your  return  with  impatience,"  she 
added  in  a  whisper. 

And  these  simple  words,  the  look  and  the  expression  of  her 
face  that  accompanied  them,  constituted  the  basis  of  inexhanst- 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  247 

ible  recollections,  memories,  and  happy  dreams  during  Pierre's 
two  months'  absence. 

«<I  shall  await  your  return  with  impatience.'  Yes,  yes, 
how  did  she  say  ?  —  Yes,  *  I  shall  await  your  return  with  im- 
patience.' Akh !  how  happy  I  am !  What  does  it  mean  that 
I  am  so  happy  ?"  — 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Ik  Pierre's  soul  nothing  took  place  like  what  had  taken 
place  under  precisely  similar  circumstances  at  the  time  of  his 
engagement  with  Ellen. 

He  did  not  repeat  as  before,  with  a  sickening  sense  of  shame, 
the  words  that  he  said ;  he  did  not  ask  himself  -  <^  Akh !  why 
did  I  not  say  that,  and  why,  why  did  I  say,  Je  voiis  aime" ? 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  evenr  word  that  she  said,  every  one 
of  his  own  words,  he  repeatea  in  his  imagination  with  all  the 
various  details  of  her  face  and  her  smile,  and  he  had  no  wish 
to  take  away  or  add  a  single  one.  His  sole  desire  was  to 
repeat  them. 

There  was  now  not  the  slightest  shadow  of  doubt  as  to 
whether  what  he  was  going  to  do  was  right  or  wrong.  Only 
one  terrible  doubt  ever  occurred  to  his  mind  :  — Was  it  not  all  a 
dream  ?  Was  not  the  Princess  Mariya  mistaken  ?  "  Am  I  not 
too  proud  and  self-conceited  ?  I  believe  I  am ;  but  this  surely 
might  happen  —  the  Princess  Mariya  might  tell  her,  but  she 
would  smile  and  reply,  '  How  strange  !  He  is  surely  mistaken ! 
Does  he  not  know  that  he  is  a  man,  a  simple  man  ?  while  I  — 
I  am  entirely  different,  vastly  superior.' " 

This  was  Pierre's  only  doubt,  and  it  frequently  recurred  to 
him.  He  now  even  ceased  to  make  plans.  His  actual  happi- 
ness seemed  to  him  so  incredible  that  the  accomplishment  of 
this  seemed  enough  of  itself,  and  anything  more  was  a  work 
of  supererogation.    All  was  over. 

A  joyous,  unexpected  insanity,  of  which  Pierre  believed 
himself  incapable,  possessed  him.  All  the  meaning  of  life, 
not  for  himself  alone,  but  for  the  whole  world,  seemed  to  him 
to  be  included  only  in  his  love  for  her  and  the  possibility  of 
her  love  for  him. 

It  sometimes  seemed  to  him  that  all  men  were  occupied 
with  only  one  thing  —  his  future  happiness.  It  sometimes 
seemed  to  him  that  they  were  all  rejoicing,  just  as  he  was,  and 
were  only  trying  to  hide  this  happiness,  while  pretending  to 


248  WyiR  ANb  PEA  CM. 

be  absorbed  in  other  interests.  In  every  word  auid  actaou  ht 
discovered  hints  pointing  toward  his  happiness.  He  often 
surprised  the  people  who  met  him,  by  his  blissful  looks  and 
smiles,  which  expressed  some  secret,  inward  harmony. 

But  when  he  realized  that  these  people  could  not  know  aboat 
his  happiness,  he  pitied  them  with  all  his  heart,  and  experi- 
enced a  keen  desire  somehow  to  explain  to  them  that  all  that 
occupied  their  time  was  perfect  rubbish  and  trifles  not  worthy 
of  their  attention. 

When  it  was  proposed  to  him  to  take  some  office,  or  when 
criticisms  were  made  on  the  general  course  of  politukd  events 
or  the  war,  and  suppositions  were  advanced  that  such  and 
such  a  method  of  procedure  would  bring  happiness  to  all  men, 
he  listened  with  his  gentle,  compassionate  smile,  and  amazed 
those  who  were  talking  with  him  by  his  odd  observations. 

But  those  men  who  seemed  to  Pierre  to  comprehend  the  real 
meaning  of  life,  that  is,  his  own  views  of  it — as  well  as  those 
who  were  unfortunate  enough  apparently  not  to  comprehend 
it  —  in  fact,  all  men  at  this  particular  time  were  brought  into 
such  a  brightly  concenti-ated  light,  radiating  from  his  own 
heart,  that  without  the  slightest  diiticulty  he  at  once  on  meet- 
ing with  any  one  saw  in  him  whatever  was  good  and  worthy 
of  love. 

On  examining  his  late  wife's  affairs  and  papers,  he,  in  his 
memory  of  her,  experienced  nothing,  no  other  feeling  than 
one  of  pity,  that  she  knew  not  the  happiness  which  he  now 
knew.  Prince  Vasili,  who  was  now  especially  proud  of  a  new 
place  and  decorations,  seemed  to  him  a  touchingly  good  and 
miserable  old  man. 

Pierre  often  in  after-days  remembered  this  time  of  happy 
folly.  All  the  judgments  which  he  formed  for  himself  of 
men  and  events  at  this  time  remained  forever  established  in 
his  mind.  He  not  only  did  not  afterwards  renounce  these 
views  of  men  and  things,  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  all  his 
inward  doubts  and  contradictions,  he  came  back  to  that  view 
which  he  had  during  this  time  of  folly,  and  this  view  always 
seemed  correct. 

"Perhaps,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "I  seemed  strange 
and  absurd  at  that  time.  But  I  was  not  so  foolish  as  it  might 
appear.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  wiser  and  more  sagacious 
than  ever  before,  and  I  understood  all  that  is  worth  under- 
standing in  life,  because — I  was  happy." 

Pierre's  folly  or  unreason  consisted  m  this,  that  he  did  not 
as  before  wait  for  the  personal  reasons  — the  merits  of  people, 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  249 

as  he  called  them — to  be  displayed  before  he  kred  them, 
but  love  filled  his  heart,  and  he,  by  constantly  loving  his 
fellow-men,  found  undoubted  reason  for  making  it  worth  his 
while  to  love  them. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Froh  that  first  evening  when  Natasha^  after  Pierre  had  left 
them,  had  told  the  Princess  Mariya  with  a  joyously  mis- 
chievous smile  that  he  was  juflt  as  though  he  haa  come  out  of 
his  bath,  and  called  attention  to  his  jaunty  coat  and  his  closely 
cropped  hair,  from  that  moment  something  awoke  in  her 
heart  that  had  lain  dormant,  and  was  unknown  even  to  her, 
but  irresistible. 

Everything  about  her  suddenly  underwent  a  change  —  her 
face,  her  gait,  her  look,  her  voice.  Unex|)ectedly  to  herself 
the  power  of  life  and  hope  of  happiness  flashed  forth  outwardly 
and  demanded  satisfaction.  From  that  first  evening  Natasha 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  that  had  happened  to  her* 
Henceforth  she  never  once  complained  of  her  situation  or 
said  one  single  word  about  the  past,  and  she  had  no  hesitation 
even  in  forming  happy  plans  for  the  future. 

She  had  little  to  say  about  Pierre ;  but  when  the  Princess 
Mariya  mentioned  him,  the  long  extinguished  gleam  was 
kindled  in  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  were  curved  with  a  strange 
smile.  The  change  that  took  place  in  Natasha  at  first  amazed 
the  Princes?  Mariya;  but  when  she  understood  the  signifi- 
cance of  it  she  was  grieved. 

^^  Gould  it  be  that  she  had  loved  my  brother  so  little  that 
she  is  so  ready  to  forget  him  ?  "  mused  the  Princess  Mariya 
when  by  herself  she  pondered  over  this  change  that  had  come 
over  Natasha. 

But  when  she  was  with  Natasha  she  neither  felt  angry 
with  her  nor  reproached  her.  The  awakening  powers  of  life, 
which  had  taken  such  hold  of  Natasha,  were  evidently  so  un- 
controllable, so  unexpected  to  herself,  that  the  Princess 
Mariya  while  in  her  presence  felt  that  she  had  no  right  to 
reproach  her  even  in  her  heart. 

Natasha  gave  herself  up  with  such  completeness  and  frank 
honesty  to  this  new  feeling,  and  made  so  little  pretence  to 
hide  it,  that  now  she  became  glad  and  merry  instead  of  sad 
and  sorry. 

When  the  Princess  Mariya,  after  that  midnight  declaration 


250  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

of  Pierre's,  returned  to  her  room,  Natasha  met  her  on  thp 
threshold. 

<'  He  has  spoken  ?  Yes  ?  He  has  spoken  ?  "  she  insisted, 
and  an  expression,  joyous,  and  at  the  same  time  pathetically 
pleading  for  forgiveness  for  her  joy,  came  into  Natasha's  face. 
<'  I  was  tempted  to  listen  at  the  door ;  but  I  knew  that  yoa 
would  tell  me." 

Thoroughly  as  the  princess  understood  the  look  which 
Natasha  gave  her,  touching  as  it  was,  much  as  she  pitied  her 
emotion,  still  Natasha's  words,  at  the  first  instant,  offended 
the  Princess  Mariya.  She  remembered  her  brother,  his  love 
for  her. 

''  But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  She  cannot  be  otherwise  than 
what  she  is  ?  "  reasoned  the  Princess  Mariya,  and  with  a  mel- 
ancholy and  rather  stern  face  she  told  Natasha  all  that  Pierre 
had  said  to  her. 

When  she  heard  that  he  was  going  to  Petersburg,  Natasha 
was  thunder-struck. 

"  To  Petersburg  ? "  she  repeated,  as  though  not  taking  it 
in.  But  when  she  observed  the  melancholy  expression  which 
the  Princess  Mariya's  face  wore,  she  surmised  the  reason  for 
her  melancholy,  and  burst  into  tears. 

'<  Marie,"  said  she,  "  tell  me  what  must  I  do  ?  I  am  afraid 
I  am  doing  wrong.    I  will  do  whatever  you  say ;  teach  me." 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Natasha. 

"  What  makes  you  cry,  then  ?  I  am  glad  for  you,"  said  the 
Princess  Mariya,  already,  because  of  these  tears,  completely 
pardoning  Natasha's  joy. 

"It  will  not  be  very  soon. — Just  think  what  happiness 
when  I  am  his  wife  and  you  marry  Nicolas." 

"Natasha,  I  have  asked  you  never  to  speak  about  that.  We 
will  talk  about  yourself." 

Both  were  silent. 

"  But  why  must  he  go  to  Petersburg  ?  "  suddenly  exclaimed 
Natasha,  and  made  haste  to  answer  her  own  question.  "  Well, 
well,  it  is  best  so.  — Yes,  Marie,  it  is  best  so."  — 


EPILOG. 


PART   FIRST. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Seven  years  had  passed.  The  storm-tossed  historical  sea 
of  Europe  lay  sleeping  on  its  shores.  It  seemed  at  peace ; 
but  the  mysterious  forces  which  moved  humanity  —  mysteri- 
ous because  the  laws  which  govern  their  movements  are 
unknown  to  us — were  continually  at  work. 

Though  the  surface  of  the  historical  sea  seemed  motionless, 
humanity  was  pressing  onward  with  a  motion  as  continuous 
as  the  passage  of  time. 

Distinct  groups  of  men  were  organized  and  disorganized: 
causes  for  the  formation  and  disintegration  of  empires  and 
the  migrations  of  nations  were  set  on  foot. 

The  historical  sea  no  longer,  as  before,  swayed  in  vast  swells 
from  shore  to  shore.     It  boiled  in  its  secret  depths. 

Historical  characters  no  longer,  as  before,  rode  on  the  crest 
of  the  billows  from  shore  to  shore :  they  now  seemed  to  be 
gathered  together  in  one  place.  Historical  personages,  who 
before,  at  the  head  of  armies,  had  reflected  the  motion  of  the 
masses  by  calls  to  war,  by  campaigns  and  battles,  now  reflected 
this  movement  by  political  and  diplomatic  combinations,  laws, 
treaties. 

This  activity  of  historical  personages  historians  call  reaction. 

Historians,  in  describing  the  activity  of  these  historical  per- 
sonages, who,  according  to  their  judgment,  were  the  cause  of 
what  they  call  the  re-actioiiy  are  very  severe  in  their  strictures 
upon  them.  All  the  famous  people  of  that  time,  from  Alex- 
ander  and  Napoleon  to  Madame  de  Stael,  Fothier,  Schelling, 
Fichte,  Chateaubriand,  and  the  like,  are  haled  before  this 
stem  court  of  justice,  and  justified  or  condemned,  from  the 
standpoint  of  whether  they  helped  progress  or  redaction. 

In  Russia,  also,  according  to  their  writings,  re-action  set  in 

251 


252  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

about  this  same  time^  and  the  one  principally  to  blame  for  ihi& 
re-action  was  Alexander  I.  —  that  same  Alexander  I.  who^ 
according  to  their  writings,  was  the  principal  cause  of  the 
liberal  tendencies  of  his  reign  and  the  salvation  of  Russia. 

In  Russian  literature  at  the  present  time  there  is  no  one^ 
from  the  schoolboy  to  the  aooomplished  historian,  who  would 
not  cast  a  stone  at  Alexander  for  his  faulty  behavior  at  this 
period  of  his  reign. 

"  He  ought  to  have  done  this  or  done  that" 

''In  sucb  and  such  a  case  he  did  well,  in  something  else  he 
did  ill." 

''  He  behaved  splendidly  at  the  beginning  of  his  reign  and 
during  1812;  but  he  did  wrong  in  giving  a  constitution  to 
Poland,  in  establishing  the  Holy  Alliance,  in  granting  power 
to  Arakcheyef,  in  encouraging  first  Golitsuin  and  mysticism, 
and  afterwards  encouraging  Shishkof  and  Fothier." 

''He  made  an  error  in  employing  the  van  of  the  array ;  he 
blundered  in  disbanding  the  Semyonovsky  regiment^"  and  so 
on  and  so  on. 

One  might  fill  a  dozen  pages  with  the  enumeration  of  aU 
the  reproaches  which  the  historians  have  made  against  him  on 
the  ground  of  that  knowledge  of  the  welfare  of  humanity 
which  they  possess. 

What  is  the  significance  of  these  reproaches  ? 

The  very  same  actions  for  which  the  historians  praise  Alex* 
ander  I.  —  for  instance,  the  liberal  tendency  of  his  reign,  his 
quarrel  with  Napoleon,  the  firmness  which  he  displayed  in  the 
year  1812  and  during  the  campaign  of  1813  —  do  they  not  flow 
from  exactly  the  same  sources  —  the  conditions  of  blood,  edu- 
cation, life,  which  made  Alexander's  personality  what  it  was — 
from  which  also  flowed  the  actions  for  which  the  historians 
blame  him  :  for  instance,  the  Holy  Alliance,  the  restoration  of 
Poland,  the  re-action  of  the  twenties  ? 

What  constitutes  the  essence  of  these  reproaches  ? 

In  this  —  that  such  an  historical  pei'sonage  as  Alexander 
I.,  a  personage  standing  on  the  highest  possible  pinnacle  of 
human  power,  as  it  were  in  the  focus  of  the  dazzling  light  of 
the  historical  rays  concentrated  upon  him ;  a  personage  sub- 
jected to  the  most  potent  influences  in  the  world,  in  the  fom 
of  intrigues,  deceptions,  flatteries,  inseparable  from  power ;  a 
personage  who,  every  moment  of  his  life,  bore  the  responsi- 
bility of  all  that  took  place  in  Europe ;  and  not  an  imaginaiy 
personage,  but  as  much  alive  as  any  other  man,  with  his  own 
individual  peculiarities,  passions,  aspirations  for  the  good,  the 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  258 

beautiful,  the  true,  —  that  this  personage,  fifty*  years  aj?o, 
lacked  not  virtue  (the  historians  do  not  reproach  him  for  that), 
but  those  yiews  concerning  the  welfare  of  humanity  which 
are  now  held  by  any  professor  who  from  early  youth  has  been 
occupied  with  science,  that  is,  with  the  reading  of  books  and 
lectures,  and  the  copying  of  these  books  and  lectures  into  a 
note-book. 

But  even  if  it  be  granted  that  Alexander  L  fifty  years  ago 
was  mistaken  in  his  views  as  to  what  constitutes  the  true  wel- 
fare of  nations,  it  cannot  but  be  taken  for  granted  that  the 
historian  also  who  criticises  Alexander  will,  in  exactly  the 
same  way,  after  the  lapse  of  some  time,  prove  himself  incor- 
rect in  his  view  as  to  what  is  the  welfare  of  humanity. 

This  proposition  is  all  the  more  natural  and  inevitable  from 
the  fact  that,  in  the  development  of  history,  we  see  that  every 
year,  with  every  new  writer,  the  standard  as  to  what  is  the 
welfare  of  humanity  changes :  thus  what  once  seemed  good 
becomes  evil  in  the  course  of  ten  years,  and  vice  versa.  Still, 
we  find  occurring,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  perfectly  con- 
tradictory views  as  to  what  is  good  or  what  is  evil :  some  re- 
gard the  constitution  granted  to  Poland  and  the  Holy  Alli- 
ance as  creditable,  others  as  disgraceful,  to  Alexander. 

As  to  the  activity  of  Alexander  and  Napoleon,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  declare  that  it  was  advantageous  or  harmful,  since  we 
cannot  say  wherein  it  was  advantageous  or  wherein  it  was 
harmful.  If  this  activity  fails  to  please  any  one,  then  it  fails 
to  please  simply  in  consequence  of  its  failure  to  coincide  with 
this  person's  limited  comprehension  as  to  what  is  good. 

Apart  from  the  question  whether  the  preservation  of  my 
father's  house  in  Moscow  in  1812,  or  the  glory  of  the  Russian 
troops,  or  the  weal  of  the  Petersburg  or  any  other  university, 
or  the  freedom  of  Poland,  or  the  might  of  Russia,  or  the 
balance  of  Europe,  or  a  certain  state  of  European  enlight- 
enment —  progress  —  appear  to  me  advantageous,  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that  the  activity  of  every  historical  personage  had, 
besides  these  ends  and  aims,  still  others,  more  universal  and 
beyond  my  comprehension. 

But  let  us  grant  that  so^alled  science  has  the  capacity  of 
reconciling  all  contradictions,  and  has  for  all  historical  char- 
acters and  events  an  invariable^  absolute  standard  of  right  and 
wrong. 

Let  us  grant  that  Alexander  might  have  done  everything  in 
a  different  way.    Let  us  grant  that  he  might,  according  to  the 

*  "  War  and  Peace"  was  written  between  1864  and  1S6U. 


254  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

prescription  of  those  who  accuse  him,  those  who  profess  to  have 
a  knowledge  of  the  final  causes  of  the  movements  of  human- 
ity, —  that  he  might  have  acted  in  accordance  with  the  pro- 
gram of  nationality,  liberty,  equality,  and  progress,  which 
his  present-day  accusers  would  have  laid  down  for  him. 
Let  us  grant  that  this  program  might  have  been  possible 
and  might  have  been  laid  down,  and  that  Alexander  might 
have  acted  in  accordance  with  it.  What,  then,  would  have 
become  of  the  activity  of  all  those  men  who  at  that  time  were 
in  opposition  to  the  tendency  of  the  administration? — of  that 
activity  which,  according  to  the  opinion  of  the  historians,  was 
good  and  profitable  ? 

This  activity  would  not  have  existed;  there  would  have 
been  no  life  ;  there  would  have  been  nothing. 

If  it  is  admitted  that  human  life  can  be  directed  by  reason, 
then  the  possibility  of  life  is  annihilated. 


CHAPTEE  n. 

If  it  is  admitted,  as  the  historians  do,  that  great  men  lead 
humanity  toward  the  attainment  of  certain  ends,  such  as  the 
greatness  of  Russia  or  France,  or  the  balance  of  Europe,  or 
the  propagation  of  the  ideas  of  the  Revolution,  or  progress  in 
general,  or  any  other  object,  then  it  is  impossible  to  explain 
the  phenomena  of  history  without  the  concept  chance  or 
genius. 

If  the  object  of  the  European  wars  at  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century  had  been  the  greatness  of  Russia,  this  object 
might  have  been  attained  without  the  preliminary  wars  and 
without  the  invasion. 

If  the  object  had  been  the  greatness  of  France,  this  object 
might  have  been  attained  without  the  Revolution  and  tJie 
empire. 

If  the  end  had  been  the  propagation  of  ideas,  the  Press 
would  have  accomplished  it  far  better  than  soldiers. 

If  the  object  had  been  the  progress  of  civilization,  it  is  per- 
fectly easy  to  suppose  that  there  are  ways  for  the  propagation 
of  civilization  more  expedient  than  the  destruction  of  men  and 
their  property. 

Why  did  it  happen  this  way  and  not  that  ? 

Simply  because  it  happened  so. 

"  Chance  created  the  situation,  genius  profited  by  it,"  says 
history. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  256 

But  what  is  chance,  and  what  is  genius  ? 

The  words  <<  chance  "  and  '^  genius  "  represent  nothing  that 
actually  exists,  and  therefore  cannot  be  defined. 

These  words  only  indicate  a  certain  degree  of  comprehen- 
sion of  phenomena. 

I  know  not  the  cause  of  a  certain  phenomenon ;  I  believe 
that  I  cannot  know  it ;  therefore  I  do  not  try  to  know  it,  and 
I  say  chalice. 

I  see  that  a  force  has  produced  an  action  disproportionate  to 
the  ordinary  human  qualities :  I  cannot  understand  the  cause 
of  this  force,  and  I  cry  geniiia. 

To  the  flock  of  sheep,  the  sheep  which  is  driven  off  every 
evening  by  the  shepherd  to  a  separate  pen,  and  given  extra 
food,  and  becomes  twice  as  fat  as  the  othera,  must  seem  to  be 
a  genius.  The  very  fact  that  every  evening  this  particular 
sheep,  instead  of  going  to  the  common  fold,  has  a  special  pen 
and  extra  food,  and  that  this  sheep,  this  particular  sheep, 
once  fattened,  is  killed  for  mutton,  doubtless  impresses  the 
other  sheep  as  a  remarkable  combination  of  genius  with  a 
whole  series  of  extraoi-dinary  chances. 

But  if  the  sheep  will  only  stop  thinking  that  everything  that 
happens  to  them  results  solely  for  the  attainment  of  their 
sheepish  welfare ;  if  they  grant  that  the  events  happening  to 
them  may  have  objects  which  they  cannot  comprehend,  they 
will  immediately  perceive  a  unity  and  logic  in  what  happened 
to  the  fattened  sheep. 

Even  if  they  cannot  know  why  it  was  fattened,  they  will, 
at  least,  know  that  nothing  that  happened  to  the  sheep  hap- 
pened by  chance,  and  they  will  not  need  either  the  concept  of 
chance  6t  the  concept  of  geniiis. 

Only  when  we  rid  ourselves  of  the  idea  of  the  proximate 
and  visible  object,  the  end  of  things,  and  recognize  that  the 
ultimate  end  is  wholly  unattainable  to  us,  can  we  see  a  logical 
connection  in  the  lives  of  historical  personages;  there  will  be 
revealed  to  us  the  cause  of  that  disproportion  between  the 
capacities  of  ordinary  men  and  the  deeds  that  they  perform, 
and  we  shall  not  need  the  words  chance  and  genius. 

It  is  sufficient  simply  to  admit  that  the  object  of  the  move- 
ments of  European  nations  is  unknown  to  us,  and  that  we 
know  onl^  facts,  such  as  the  butcheries  first  in  France,  then 
in  Italy,  m  Africa,  in  Prussia,  in  Austria,  in  Spain,  in  Russia, 
and  that  the  movement  from  west  to  east  and  from  east 
to  west  constituted  the  essence  and  object  of  events,  and  we 
shall  not  only  no  longer  need  to  find  g&niua  or  anything  excep- 


266  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

tional  in  the  characters  of  !N'apoIeon  and  of  Alexander,  but  it 
will  be  impossible  for  us  to  imagine  these  personages  as  any- 
thing else  than  men  like  all  other  men,  and  we  shall  not  onlj 
not  need  to  explain  on  the  score  of  chance  the  little  events 
that  made  these  personages  what  they  were,  but  it  will  be 
evident  to  us  that  all  these  little  events  were  necessary. 

When  we  rid  ourselves  of  the  knowledge  of  the  ultimate  end, 
we  clearly  understand  that,  just  as  it  is  impossible  to  imagine 
on  a  given  plant  other  flowers  and  other  fruits  than  those  which 
it  pr^uces,  so  is  it  impossible  to  imagine  two  other  men  witk 
all  that  they  did  who  would  have  been  fitted  to  such  a  degree 
and  in  the  smallest  details  to  the  mission  which  d^y  were 
called  upon  to  fulfil. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  fundamental,  essential  fact  in  European  events  at  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century  is  the  warlike  movements  of 
masses  of  the  nations  of  Europe  from  west  to  east,  and  then 
from  east  to  west. 

The  fii*st  sign  of  this  movement  was  the  movement  from 
west  to  east. 

In  order  that  the  nations  of  the  west  might  push  their  war- 
like advance  as  far  as  Moscow,  it  was  necessary :  — 

1.  That  they  should  be  concentrated  into  a  warlike  raaas 
pf  sufficient  magnitude  to  endure  conflict  with  the  warlike 
mass  of  the  east ; 

2.  That  they  should  renounce  ^11  their  long-founded  tradi- 
tions and  habits ;  and 

3.  That,  when  this  warlike  movement  was  accomplished, 
they  should  have  at  their  head  a  man  of  their  own  sort,  who 
could  justify  himself  and  them  for  the  lies,  the  pillage,  and 
the  slaughter  which  accompanied  this  movement  of  theirs  as 
an  essential  concomitant. 

And,  beginning  back  with  the  French  Revolution,  the  prim- 
itive group,  which  is  not  large  enough,  disperses ;  old  habits 
and  traditions  come  to  naught ;  little  by  little^  a  group  of  new 
precedents,  new  habits,  and  new  traditions  is  formed,  and  titt 
man  who  is  to  take  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  coming  move- 
ment, and  bear  all  the  responsibility  of  the  events  to  follow,  is 
prepared  for  his  mission. 

A  man  without  convictions,  without  habitudes,  without 
ditions,  without  name,   not  even  a  Frenchman, — by 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  267 

seems  strange  chances,  —  glides  through  all  the  parties  agitat- 
ing France^  and,  taking  part  with  none,  is  borne  to  his  des- 
tined place. 

The  stupidity  of  his  associates,  the  weakness  and  inanity  of 
his  rivals,  nis  own  frankness  in  lying,  and  his  brilliant  and  self- 
confident  mediocrity,  place  this  man  at  the  head  of  the  army. 

The  excellent  quality  of  the  soldiers  in  his  Italian  army,  the 
disinclination  of  the  enemy  to  fight,  his  childish  audacity  and 
self-confidence,  give  him  military  glory. 

An  infinite  number  of  so-called  chances  meet  him  every- 
where. 

The  disfavor  into  which  he  falls  with  the  authorities  of  the 
French  serves  to  his  advantage. 

His  attempts  to  change  his  predestined  career  are  failures  : 
he  is  not  received  into  the  Russian  service,  the  appointment 
to  Turkey  is  not  given  to  him. 

During  the  war  in  Italy,  he  several  times  comes  to  the  very 
brink  of  destruction,  and  every  time  escapes  in  some  unex- 
pected way. 

The  Russian  troops,  the  very  ones  who  have  the  power  to 
extinguish  his  glory,  through  various  diplomatic  combinations, 
do  not  enter  Europe  while  he  is  there. 

On  his  return  from  Italy,  he  finds  the  government  at  Paris 
in  a  state  of  decomposition  so  far  advanced  that  the  men  form- 
ing it  are  inevitably  doomed  to  ruin ;  and  an  escape  from  this 
dsmgerous  situation  offers  itself  to  him  in  the  senseless,  unrea- 
sonable expedition  to  Africa. 

Again  so-called  chances  accompany  him.  Impregnable 
Malta  surrenders  without  the  firing  of  a  shot;  the  most 
foolhardy  plans  are  crowned  with  success. 

The  hostile  fleet,  which  afterwards  would  not  allow  a  single 
row-boat  to  pass,  allows  his  army  to  pass  ! 

In  Africa,  a  whole  series  of  atrocities  are  committed  upon 
the  almost  unarmed  inhabitants.  And  the  men  who  unite 
with  him  in  these  atrocities,  and  especially  their  chief,  per- 
suade themselves  that  this  is  admirable,  that  this  is  glory,  that 
this  is  like  Caesar  and  Alexander  of  Macedon,  and  that  this  is 
great! 

This  ideal  of  glory  and  greutness,  which  consists  in  the 
thought  that  nothing  is  to  be  considered  wicked,  and  that 
every  crime  is  to  be  arrogated  for  pride  and  takes  an  incon- 
ceivable and  supernatural  significance,  —  this  ideal,  which  is 
destined  to  be  the  guide  of  this  man  and  of  those  allied  with 
him,  has  full  field  for  increase  in  Africa, 
yoi^  4.  — 17. 


258  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

All  that  he  undertakes  prospers.  The  plague  touches  him 
not.  The  cruelty  of  the  massacre  of  prisoners  is  not  imputed 
to  him  as  a  crime. 

His  puerile,  senseless,  unreasonable,  dishonorable  departaie 
from  Africa,  from  his  companions  in  distress,  is  accounted  to 
him  as  meritorious,  and  again,  the  second  time,  the  hostile  fleet 
allows  him  to  pass. 

When,  dazzled  by  the  fortunate  crimes  committed  by  him, 
and  ready  to  play  his  part,  but  without  any  definite  object  in 
view,  he  reacnes  Paris,  the  republican  government^  which  a 
year  before  might  still  have  put  an  end  to  him^  has  nov 
attained  the  last  degree  of  disintegration,  and  the  fact  that 
he,  a  man  belonging  to  no  party,  is  on  hand,  can  only  bring 
him  to  the  supreme  power. 

He  has  no  plan ;  he  fears  every  one ;  but  the  parties  hold 
out  their  hands  to  him,  and  beg  his  support. 

He  alone,  with  that  ideal  of  glory  and  greatness  built  op 
in  Italy  and  Egypt,  with  his  idiotic  self-adoration,  with  hm 
audacity  in  crime,  with  his  frankness  in  lying,  —  he  alone  is 
able  to  bring  to  realization  the  events  which  are  about  to  take 
place. 

He  is  the  one  needed  for  that  place  which  is  waiting  for 
him,  and  therefore,  almost  independently  of  his  own  w3l,  in 
spite  of  his  irresolution,  his  lack  of  any  determined  plan,  and 
all  the  blunders  that  he  makes,  he  is  drawn  into  a  oonspiiaey 
the  aim  of  which  is  the  possession  of  power,  and  the  oqb- 
spiracy  is  crowned  with  success. 

He  is  thrust  into  a  session  of  the  Directory.  Alarmed,  he 
wishes  to  escape,  counting  himself  lost ;  he  pretends  that  fafi  is 
faint ;  he  utters  senseless  things  that  ought  by  good  rights  to 
have  been  his  destruction. 

But  the  directors  of  France,  once  so  bold  and  haughty,  now 
feeling  that  their  part  is  played,  and  being  more  confused 
than  he  is,  say  just  the  words  that  they  should  not  have  said 
to  retain  their  power  and  overthrow  him. 

Chance^  millions  of  chances  give  him  power,  and  all  men,  as 
if  in  haste,  agree  to  confirm  this  power. 

Chance  forms  the  character  of  the  members  of  the  Directoa 
of  France  it  that  time  subservient  to  him. 

Chance  forms  the  character  of  Paul  I.,  who  recognizes  his 
power. 

Chance  forms  against  Napoleon  a  plot  which,  instead  of 
being  prejudicial  to  him,  confirms  his  power. 

Chance  brings  the  Prince  d'Enghien  into  his  hands,  and 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  25& 

unexpectedly  compels  Mm  to  assassinate  him ;  this  very  act, 
more  than  any  other^  proving  to  the  multitude  that  he  had  the 
right,  since  he  had  the  might. 

Chance  brings  it  about  that  he  gives  all  his  powers  to  an 
expedition  against  England  which  would  evidently  have  ruined 
him,  and  never  carries  out  the  plan,  but  falls  unexpectedly 
upon  Mack  and  the  Austrians,  who  surrender  without  a 
battle. 

Chance  and  genius  give  him  the  victory  at  Austerlitz,  and, 
by  chance,  all  men,  not  only  the  French  but  all  Europe  (with 
the  exception  of  England,  which  takes  no  part  m  the  events 
about  to  occur), — all  men,  in  spite  of  their  former  horror  and 
repulsion  at  his  crimes,  now  recognize  his  power,  his  title, 
which  he  has  given  himself,  and  his  ideal  of  glory  and  great- 
ness,  which  seems  to  them  all  reasonable  and  beautiful.     « 

As  though  practising  and  preparing  for  the  future  move- 
ment, the  forces  of  the  west  several  times  push  toward  the 
east  in  1805, 1806, 1807,  and  1809,  all  the  time  strengthening 
and  increasing. 

In  1811  the  group  of  men  formed  in  France  unites  into  an 
enormous  group  with  the  nations  of  Central  Europe. 

While  this  group  of  men  goes  on  increasing,  the  man  at 
the  head  of  the  movement  finds  his  powers  more  and  more 
developed. 

During  the  ten  years'  preparatory  period  preceding  this 
great  movement,  this  man  has  been  the  leader  of  all  the 
crowned  heads  of  Europe.  Dethroned  rulers  of  the  world 
have  no  reasonable  ideal  to  oppose  to  the  senseless  Napo- 
leonic ideal  of  glory  and  greatness.  One  after  another  they 
strive  to  show  him  their  own  insigniiicance. 

The  King  of  Prussia  sends  his  wife  to  solicit  the  great 
man's  favor ;  the  Emperor  of  Austria  considers  it  a  favor  if 
this  man  will  take  to  his  bed  the  daughter  of  the  Kaisers ; 
the  pope,  holy  guardian  of  the  nations,  makes  use  of  *  his  reli- 
gion to  raise  the  great  man  higher. 

IKapoleon  does  not  prepare  himself  for  the  fulfilment  of  hia 
part  so  much  as  it  is  his  whole  environment,  which  makes  him 
assume  all  the  responsibility  for  what  is  taking  place  and  for 
what  is  about  to  take  place. 

No  act,  no  crime,  no  petty  deception  which  he  essays  fails 
to  be  instantly  hailed  by  those  around  him  as  some  mighty 
deed. 

The  best  entertainment  for  him  which  the  Germans  aan 
think  of  is  the  celebration  of  Jena  and  Auerstadt. 


260  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Not  alone  is  he  great ;  his  ancestors,  his  brothers,  his  step' 
sons,  his  brothers-in-law  are  also  great. 

Everything  conspires  to  take  from  him  the  last  vestige  of 
reason,  and  to  make  ready  for  his  terrible  career. 

When  he  is  ready,  the  forces  are  also  ready. 

The  invasion  rushes  toward  the  east,  reaches  its  final  goal  — ' 
Moscow. 

The  capital  is  taken.  The  Russian  army  is  more  completriy 
shattered  than  ever  were  the  hostile  armies  from  Aasterlitzta 
Wagram. 

But  suddenly,  instead  of  the  chances  and  strokes  of  ffrnaUB 
which  have  borne  him  so  steadily  till  now  through  an  tfioiiiltf' 
rupted  series  of  successes  to  the  predestined  end,  afppeaf  an 
incalculable  quantity  of  contrary  chances^  from  the  tefluenza 
at  Borodino,  to  the  frosts  and  the  sparks  that  set  ftre  to  Mos* 
cow ;  and  instead  of  genius  appear  unexampled  sitlpidity  and 
baseness. 

The. invasion  runs  away,  turns  back,  again  runs  awuy^  sad 
all  the  chances  are  now  not  in  his  favor  but  against  him. 

There  occurs  a  counter-movement,  from  east  to  west,  bearing 
a  close  resemblance  to  the  preceding  movement  from  west  to 
east. 

The  same  symptoms  of  the  movement  from  east  to  west  as 
occurred  in  1805-1807,  and  1809,  precede  the  great  movement: 
the  same  union  into  a  group  of  colossal  proportions ;  in  tiie 
same  way  the  nations  of  Central  Europe  rally  to  this  move- 
ment ;  the  same  irresolution  in  the  midst  of  the  way,  and  the 
same  velocity  in  proportion  as  the  goal  is  approached. 

Paris,  the  ultimate  goal,  is  reached.  The  Napoleonic  govern- 
ment and  army  are  overthrown. 

Napoleon  himself  no  longer  has  any  of  his  former  signifi- 
cance, all  his  actions  strike  men  as  pitiable  and  disgusting: 
but  once  more  an  inexplicable  chance  supervenes ;  the  allies 
hate  Napoleon,  and  see  in  him  the  cause  of  their  misfortunes ; 
deprived  of  prestige  and  power,  convicted  of  crimes  and  per- 
fidy, he  ought  to  have  been  regarded  as  he  had  been  ten  years 
before,  and  as  he  was  a  year  later,  as  a  bandit,  outside  of  the 
law.    But,  by  a  strange  chance,  no  one  sees  this. 

His  role  is  not  yet  finished. 

The  man  who,  ten  years  before  and  a  year  later,  men  held 
to  be  a  bandit,  outside  the  law,  is  sent  two  days'  distance  from 
France  to  an  island,  which  is  given  to  him  as  a  domain,  with 
a  guard,  and  millions  which  are  paid  to  him,  for  some  reascHi ! 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  261 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  moTement  of  the  nations  begins  to  calm  itself  along 
the  shores.  The  wares  of  the  great  uprising  fall  back,  and  on 
the  tranquil  sea  are  formed  various  eddies  on  which  float 
diplomatists,  imagining  that  they  have  brought  about  the 
cessation  of  the  commotion. 

But  the  tranquil  sea  suddenly  rises  again.  The  diplomatists 
imagine  that  their  dissensions  are  the  cause  of  the  new  storm ; 
they  anticipate  another  war  among  their  sovereigns.  The 
situation  seems  to  them  inexplicable. 

But  the  wave  the  approach  of  which  they  feel  comes  not 
in  the  direction  from  which  they  expect  it. 

It  is  the  uprising  of  the  same  wave  from  the  same  point  of 
departure,  Paris.  The  last  recoil  of  the  movement  from  the 
west  takes  place  —  a  recoil  which  is  destined  to  solve  the 
diplomatic  difficulties,  which  have  seemed  inexplicable,  and  to 
put  an  end  to  the  warlike  movement  of  that  period. 

The  man  who  has  devastated  France  returns  to  France 
alone,  without  the  aid  of  a  conspiracy,  without  soldiers.  Any 
guardsman  is  at  liberty  to  capture  him,  but,  by  a  strange 
chance,  not  only  does  no  one  touch  him,  but  all  run  with 
enthusiasm  to  meet  this  man  whom  they  had  cursed  the  day 
before,  and  whom  they  will  curse  a  month  later. 

This  man  is  still  needed  for  the  completion  of  the  last  act. 

The  act  is  ended. 

The  play  is  over.  The  actor  is  told  to  remove  his  costume, 
and  wash  ofE  the  antimony  and  the  rouge. 

He  is  no  longer  needed. 

And  several  years  pass  while  this  man,  in  solitude  on  his 
island,  plays  4)y  himself  a  miserable  comedy,  intrigues  and 
lies,  justifying  his  actions,  when  justification  is  no  longer  ne- 
cessary, and  shows  to  the  whole  world  what  it  was  that  men 
took  for  a  force  when  the  invisible  Hand  made  use  of  it. 

The  Manager,  having  ended  the  drama  and  unmasked  the 
actor,  exposes  him  to  us. 

^'See  in  whom  you  have  believed!  Here  he  is*  Do  you 
see  now  that  not  he,  but  I,  moved  you  ?  " 

But,  blinded  by  the  violence  of  the  movement,  men  long 
failed  to  understand  this. 

Still  greater  logical  sequence  and  necessity  can  be  seen  in 
the  life  of  Alexander  I.,  that  personage  who  was  at  the  head 
of  the  counter-movement,  from  east  to  west. 


2S2  WAR  AUTD  PEACE. 

What  qualities  should  the  man  possess  who  should  take 
precedence  of  others  and  be  placed  at  the  head  of  this  move- 
ment from  east  to  west  ? 

He  must  have  the  sense  of  justice,  and  take  a  sympathetic 
part  in  the  a£Eair8  of  Europe,  one  free  from  all  petty  interesti. 

He  must  have  a  loftier  moral  character  than  any  of  his  con- 
temporaries,  the  other  sovereigns  of  his  time.  He  must  have 
a  sweet  and  captivating  personality.  And  he  must  have  a  per 
sonal  grievance  against  Napoleon. 

And  all  this  is  found  in  Alexander  I. ;  all  this  was  produced 
by  innumerable  so-called  chances  throughout  his  past  life: 
his  education,  his  liberal  beginnings,  and  the  counsellors  hj 
whom  he  was  surrounded,  by  Austerlitz  and  Tilsit  and  Erfort 

Throughout  the  patriotic  war,  this  personage  is  inactive, 
because  he  is  not  needed. 

But,  as  soon  as  the  necessity  of  a  general  European  war 
becomes  evident,  this  personage  is  found  at  the  given  moment 
in  his  place,  and,  rallying  the  nations  of  Europe,  he  leads 
them  to  their  goal. 

The  goal  is  reached. 

After  the  final  war  of  1815,  Alexander  finds  himself  at  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  human  power. 

What  use  does  he  make  of  this  power  ? 

Alexander  I.,  the  pacificator  of  Europe,  the  man  who  from 
his  youth  had  striven  only  for  the  vreuBie  of  his  people,  the 
first  to  introduce  liberal  mnovations  in  his  country,  now,  it 
seems,  when  he  possesses  unlimited  power,  and  therefore  the 
ability  to  bring  about  the  welfare  of  his  people  at  the  very 
time  that  Napoleon,  in  exile,  is  making  childish  and  fictitious 
plans  how  he  would  benefit  humanity  if  he  had  the  power,  — 
Alexander  I.,  who  has  fulfilled  his  mission,  and  feels  the  hand 
of  Gk)d  upon  him,  suddenly  comes  to  a  realizing  sense  of  the 
nothingness  of  this  presumable  power,  renounces  it,  and  gives 
it  into  the  hands  of  men  whom  he  scorns  and  despises,  and 
merely  said,  «— 

^<  'Not  unto  us,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  Thy  name  I '  I  am  a 
man  like  other  men.  Let  me  live  like  a  man,  and  think  of  my 
soul  and  of  God." 

As  the  sun  and  every  atom  of  ether  is  a  sphere  perfect  in 
itself,  and  at  the  same  time  only  an  atom  in  the  mighty  All 
inaccessible  to  man,  so  each  individual  has  within  hiii^elf  his 
own  objects,  and  at  the  same  time  serves  the  common  object 
inaccessible  to  man. 


WAR  AlfD  PEACS.  268 

The  bee,  poising  on  a  flower,  stings  a  child.  And  the  child 
is  afraid  of  bees,  and  declares  that  the  object  of  the  bee  is  to 
sting  people. 

The  poet  admires  the  bee  sucking  from  the  calyx  of  a  flower, 
and  declares  to  us  that  the  object  of  bees  is  to  absorb  into 
itself  the  aroma  of  the  flowers. 

The  bee-keeper,  observing  that  the  bee  gathers  pollen  and 
brings  it  home  to  the  hive,  declares  that  the  object  of  bees  is 
the  manufacture  of  honey. 

Another  bee-keeper,  observing  more  closely  the  habits  of  the 
swarm,  declares  that  the  bee  gathers  pollen  for  the  nourish- 
ment of  the  young  bees  and  the  exploitation  of  the  queen,  and 
that  the  object  of  the  bee  is  the  propagation  of  the  species. 

A  botanist  observes  that  the  bee,  in  flying  with  the  dust  of 
a  dioecious  flower  to  the  pistils  of  another,  fertilizes  it ;  and 
the  botanist  sees  in  this  the  object  of  the  bee. 

Another,  observing  the  transmigration  of  plants,  sees  that 
the  bee  assists  in  this  transmigration ;  and  this  new  observer 
may  say  that  in  this  consists  the  object  of  the  bee. 

^ut  the  final  object  of  the  bee  is  not  wholly  included  in  the 
first  or  the  second  or  the  third  of  the  objects  which  the  human 
mind  is  able  to  discover. 

The  higher  the  human  mind  rises  in  its  efforts  to  discover 
these  objects,  the  more  evident  it  is  that  the  final  object  is 
inaccessible  to  man. 

Man  can  only  observe  the  correlation  existing  between  the 
life  of  the  bee  and  the  other  phenomena  of  life.  The  same  is 
true  in  regard  to  the  objects  of  historical  personages  and 
nations. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Katasha's  marriage  to  Bezukhoi,  which  took  place  in  1813, 
was  the  last  happy  event  in  the  ''old  "  family  of  the  Rostofs. 
That  same  year  Count  Ilya  Andreyevitch  died,  and,  as  always 
happens,  his  death  brought  about  the  end  of  the  former  fam- 
ily. The  events  of  the  preceding  year,  the  conflagration  of 
Moscow  and  the  family's  flight  from  the  city,  the  death  of 
Prince  Andrei  and  Natasha's  despair,  Petya's  death,  the  coun- 
tess's grief,  all  taken  together,  blow  upon  blow,  fell  upon  the 
old  count's  head. 

It  seemed  as  though  he  could  not  comprehend,  and  as  though 
he  realized  that  he  had  not  the  strength  to  comprehend^  the 


264  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

significance  of  all  these  eyents ;  lie  morally,  as  it  were,  bent  his 
old  head,  as  though  expecting  and  inviting  the  new  hlows 
which  would  finish  him. 

He  appeared  sometimes  frightened  and  abstracted,  some- 
times unnaturally  excited  and  alert. 

Natasha's  marriage,  for  the  time  being,  gave  him  something 
to  think  about  outside  of  himself.  He  ordered  dinners  and 
suppers,  and  evidently  tried  to  be  cheerful ;  but  his  gayety  was 
not  contagious  as  of  yore ;  on  the  contrary,  it  aroused  oompas* 
sion  in  people  who  knew  and  liked  him. 

After  Pierre  and  his  bride  had  taken  their  departure,  he  fell 
into  a  very  feeble  condition,  and  began  to  complain  of  not 
feeling  well.  In  a  few  days  he  grew  really  ill  and  took  to  his 
bed.  From  the  first  days  of  his  illness,  in  spite  of  the  doo- 
tor's  encouragement,  he  felt  certain  that  he  should  not  recover. 

The  countess,  without  undressing,  spent  a  fortnight  in  het 
arm-chair  by  his  bedside.  Every  time  that  she  gave  him  his 
medicine,  he  would  sob  and  silently  kiss  her  himd.  On  the 
last  day  he  wept  and  begged  the  forgiveness  of  his  wife  and 
his  absent  son  for  the  dissipation  of  their  property,  the  chief 
blame  for  which,  he  felt,  rested  on  himself. 

Having  taken  the  last  communion  and  final  unction,  he 
died  peacefully,  and  on  the  following  day  a  throng  of  acquaint- 
ances, who  came  to  pay  their  duties  to  the  late  lamented,  filled 
the  Rostofs'  lodgings.  All  these  acquaintances,  who  had  so 
many  times  dined  and  danced  at  his  house,  who  had  so  many 
times  made  sport  of  him,  now,  with  a  unanimous  feeling  of  in- 
ward reproach  and  emotion,  said,  as  though  justifying  them- 
selves before  some  one,  — 

"  Yes,  whatever  may  be  said,  he  was,  after  all,  one  of  the 
best  of  men.  We  don't  often  find  such  men  these  days.  — 
And  who  has  not  his  weaknesses  ?  " 

Just  at  the  very  time  when  the  count's  afiEairs  had  become 
so  entangled  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  what  the  end  would 
be  if  they  were  allowed  to  go  on  for  another  year,  he  had  ma^ 
expeotedly  died. 

Nikolai  was  with  the  Eussian  troops  in  Paris,  when  the 
news  of  his  father's  death  reached  him.  He  immediately  t^i* 
dered  his  resignation,  and,  without  waiting  for  it  to  be  ac- 
cepted, took  a  furlough  and  hastened  to  Moscow. 

The  state  of  the  family  finances  within  a  month  after  the 
count's  death,  were  perfectly  scheduled,  and  surprised  every 
one  by  the  magnitude  of  the  sum  to  which  the  various  lil^ 
debts  amounted,  the  existence  of  which  no  one  had  ctcu 
inspected. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  266 

The  property  would  not  half  pay  the  debts* 

Nikolai's  relatives  and  friends  advised  him  to  renounce  the 
inheritance.  But  Nikolai  saw  in  this  suggestion  the  implicar 
tion  of  a  reproach  to  his  father's  memory,  which  he  held  sa- 
cred, and  therefore  he  refused  to  hear  anything  said  about 
^renouncing  the  inheritance,  and  accepted  it  with  all  the  obli- 
gations to  settle  the  debts. 

The  creditors,  who  had  been  so  long  silent,  being  kept  good- 
natured  during  the  count's  lifetime  by  the  vague  but  powerful 
influence  which  his  easy-going  generosity  had  exerted  upon 
them,  now  all  suddenly  began  to  clamor  for  their  debts  to  be 
paid.  As  always  happens,  there  spi*ang  up  a  regular  competi- 
tion as  to  who  should  be  the  first  to  be  paid ;  and  those  very 
persons,  like  Mitenka  and  others,  who  held  accommodation 
notes  — 'gratuities  often  —  now  showed  themselves  as  the  most 
pressing  of  the  creditors. 

Nikolai  was  given  no  rest  or  respite ;  and  those  who  appar- 
ently had  had  pity  on  the  old  man  —  the  cause  of  their  losses, 
if  losses  they  were  —  were  now  pitiless  toward  the  young  heir, 
who  was  evidently  innocent  toward  them,  but  had  honorably 
assumed  his  father's  debts. 

Not  one  of  the  speculations  which  Nikolai  tried  to  engineer 
was  successful :  the  real  estate  was  sold  by  auction,  but  did  not 
bring  half  its  value,  and  still  half  the  debts  remained  un- 
liquidated. Nikolai  took  thirty  thousand  rubles  which  his 
brother-in-law  offered  him  to  pay  that  portion  of  the  debts 
which  he  considered  most  pressing.  And  in  order  that  he 
might  not  be  sent  to  jail  for  the  remaining  obligations,  as  the 
other  creditors  threatened,  he  again  entered  the  service. 

To  retiim  to  the  army  where  at  the  first  vacancy  he  would 
be  promoted  as  regimental  commander,  was  now  impossible, 
because  his  mother  clung  so  to  her  only  son  as  the  last  joy  of 
her  life ;  and  therefore,  in  spite  of  his  disinclination  to  remain 
in  Moscow,  in  the  circle  of  those  who  had  always  known  him, 
notwithstanding  his  distaste  for  the  civil  service,  he  staid  in 
Moscow  and  accepted  a  place  in  the  civil  section,  and,  giving  up 
the  uniform  whicnhe  so  loved,  he  settled  down  with  his  mother 
and  Sonya  in  a  modest  apartment  on  the  Sivtsevoi  Vrazhek. 

Natasha  and  Pierre  were  at  this  time  living  at  Petersburg, 
and  had  not  the  least  idea  of  Nikolai's  position.  Nikolai,:  who 
had  already  had  some  money  from  his  brother-in-law,  strove 
to  hide  from  him  his  unhappy  situation.  His  position  was 
rendered  peculiarly  hard  because,  with  his  twelve  hundred 
rubles  solajfy,  he  was  not  only  obliged  to  support  himaelf^ 


I 
( 


266  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Sonya,  and  his  mother,  but  he  was  obliged  to  live  in  such  a 
way  that  his  mother  would  not  suspect  that  they  were  poor. 
The  countess  could  not  conceive  of  any  existence  without 
those  conditions  of  luxury  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed 
from  childhood ;  and  without  a  suspicion  that  it  was  hard  for 
her  son,  she  was  continually  requiring  a  carriage,  though  they 
had  none,  to  send  for  a  friend ;  or  some  rich  delicacy  for  her- 
self, or  wine  for  her  son,  or  money  to  send  some  gift  for  a 
surprise  to  Natasha,  Sonya,  or  Nikolai  himself. 

I^nya  had  charge  of  tne  domestic  arrangements,  waited  on 
her  aunt,  read  aloud  to  her,  endured  her  whims  and  her  secret 
ill  will,  and  aided  Nikolai  in  hiding  from  the  old  countess  the 
condition  of  poverty  to  which  they  were  reduced. 

Nikolai  felt  that  he  owed  Sonya  a  heavier  debt  of  gratitude 
than  he  could  ever  repay  for  all  that  she  had  done  for  his 
mother ;  he  admired  her  patience  and  devotion,  but  he  tried  to 
avoid  her. 

In  the  depths  of  his  heart,  he,  as  it  were,  reproached  her  for 
her  very  perfection,  and  because  there  was  nothing  for  which 
to  reproach  her.  She  had  every  quality  which  people  prize ; 
but  still  there  was  lacking  the  something  which  would  have 
compelled  him  to  love  her.  And  he  felt  that  the  more  he 
prized  her,  the  less  he  loved  her.  He  had  taken  her  at  her 
word  when  she  wrote  the  letter  releasing  him  from  his  prom- 
ise, and  now  he  treated  her  as  though  all  that  had  taken  place 
between  them  had  been  long,  long  forgotten,  and  could  never 
by  any  chance  return. 

Nikolai's  condition  grew  worse  and  worse.  The  idea  of 
saving  something  from  his  salary  became  a  dream  with  him. 
Instead  of  laying  up  anything,  he  was  driven  by  his  mother's 
constant  demands  upon  him  to  incur  j^tty  debts.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  way  out  of  his  difficulties. 

The  idea  of  making  a  wealthy  marriage,  such  as  had  been 
proposed  to  him  by  his  relatives,  was  repugnant  to  him.  The 
only  other  escape  from  his  situation  — the  death  of  his  mother 
—  never  occurred  to  him.  He  had  no  wishes,  and  he  had  no 
hope,  and  in  the  deepest  depths  of  his  heart  he  experienced  a 
stem  and  gloomy  enjoyment  in  thus  resignedly  enduring  his 
situation.  He  tried  to  avoid  his  old  acquaintances,  their  con- 
dolence and  humiliating  offers  of  assistance ;.  he  avoided  every 
sort  of  amusement  and  dissipation,  and  did  not  even  do  any- 
thing at  home  except  play  cards  with  his  mother,  or  pace  in 
gloomy  silence  up  and  down  the  room,  smoking  pipe  after  pipe. 

He  cherished,  as  it  were,  this  gloomy  state,  in  wnich  alone  he 
'elt  himself  capable  of  enduring  his  position. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  267 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Eablt  in  the  winter  the  Princess  Mariya  oame  to  Moscow. 
From  the  current  gossip  of  town  she  learned  of  the  position 
of  the  Kostofs,  and  how  ''the  son  was  sacrificing  himself  for 
his  mother/'  for  so  it  was  said  in  the  city. 

"  I  should  have  expected  nothing  else  from  him/'  said  the 
Princess  Mariya  to  herself,  feeling  a  joyful  confirmation  of 
her  love  for  him. 

When  she  remembered  her  relations  of  friendship,  almost 
of  kinship,  to  the  whole  family,  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  eo  to 
see  them.  But  when  she  remembered  her  relations  to  Nikolai 
at  Voronezh  she  dreaded  to  do  so.  At  length,  several  weeks 
after  her  riBturn  to  the  city,  she  made  a  powerful  effort  and 
went  to  the  Bostof  s'. 

Nikolai  was  the  first  to  meet  her,  for  the  reason  that  the 
countess's  room  could  be  reached  only  by  passing  through  his. 
When  he  first  caught  sight  of  her,  his  face,  instead  of  showing 
that  joy  which  the  princess  had  expected  to  see,  assumed  an 
expression  cold,  haughty,  and  repellent,  which  the  princess 
had  never  before  seen  in  it  Nikobi  inquired  after  her  health, 
conducted  her  to  his  mother,  and,  after  remaining  five  minutes, 
left  the  room. 

When  the  princess  left  the  countess,  Nikolai  again  met  her, 
and  with  especial  ceremony  and  reserve  ushered  her  into  the 
anteroom.  He  answered  never  a  word  to  her  remark  about 
the  countess's  health. 

''  What  have  I  to  do  with  you  ?  Leave  me  in  peace,"  his 
look  seemed  to  say. 

<'  Now,  what  makes  her  come  round  ?  What  does  she  want  ? 
I  can't  endure  these  fine  ladies  and  all  their  inquisitive  ways," 
he  said  aloud  in  Sonya's  presence,  evidently  not  able  to  restrain 
his  annoyance  after  the  princess's  carriage  had  rolled  away. 

''  Oh !  how  can  you  say  so,  Nicolas ! "  said  Sonya,  who  could 
scarcely  restrain  her  joy.  *^  She  is  so  good,  and  maman  loves 
her  so." 

Nikolai  made  no  answer,  and  would  have  preferred  not  to 
say  anything  more  about  the  princess.  But  from  that  time 
forth  the  old  countess  kept  talking  about  her  a  dozen  times  a 
day. 

The  countess  praised  her,  insisted  on  her  son  going  to  return 
her  call;  expressed  her  anxiety  to  see  her  more  frequently,  but 


268  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

at  the  same  time,  whenever  she  spoke  of  her,  she  always  got 
out  of  sorts. 

Nikolai  tried  to  hold  his  tongue  when  his  mother  spoke  of 
the  princess ;  his  silence  annoyed  his  mother. 

"  She  18  a  very  worthy  and  lovely  girl,"  she  would  say,  "  aiid 
you  must  go  and  call  upon  her.  At  all  events,  you  will  see 
somebody.  It  seems  to  me  it  must  be  tedious  for  jou  with 
us." 

"  I  don't  care  to  see  anybody,  mamenka ! " 

"  A  little  while  ago  you  wanted  to  see  people,  but  now  it's  — 
*  I  don't  care  to.'  Truly,  my  dear  boy,  I  don't  understand 
you.  You  have  been  finding  it  tedious,  but  now  suddenly  yoa 
don't  wish  to  see  any  one ! " 

'^  But  I  haven't  said  it  was  tedious  to  me." 

<'  Did  you  not  just  say  that  you  did  not  want  to  see  her  ? 
She  is  a  very  worthy  girl  and  you  always  lik^  her,  but 
now  you  find  some  excuse  or  other.  It's  all  a  mystery  to 
me!" 

"  Why,  not  at  all,  mdmenka  I " 

^^  If  I  had  asked  you  to  do  something  disagreeable  — but  no^ 
all  I  ask  of  you,  is  to  go  and  return  this  call !  It  would  aeem 
as  if  politeness  demanded  it — I  have  asked  you,  and  now  I 
shall  not  interfere  any  more,  since  you  have  secrets  troxa.  your 
mother." 

"  But  I  will  go,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me.     I  wish  it  for  your  sake." 

Nikolai  sighed,  and,  gnawing  his  mustache,  proceeded  to  lay 
out  the  cards,  trying  to  divert  his  mother's  attention  to  some- 
thing else. 

On  the  next  day,  on  the  third,  and  on  the  fourth,  the  same 
conversation  was  renewed. 

After  her  call  upon  the  Rostofs  and  the  unexpectedly  cool 
reception  which  Nikolai  had  given  her,  the  Princess  Martya 
confessed  to  herself  that  she  had  been  right  in  not  wishing  to 
go  to  the  Rostofs'  first. 

^<  I  expected  as  much,"  said  she  to  herself,  calling  her  pride 
to  her  assistance.  '^  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  and  I  ovdy 
wanted  to  sep  the  old  lady,  who  has  always  been  good  to  me, 
and  who  is  bound  to  me  by  so  many  ties." 

}3ut  pbd  could  not  calm  her  agitation  by  these  arguments ;  a 
{eeling  akin  to  remorse  tormented  her  wnen  she  remembered 
jier  visit.  Although  she  had  firmly  resolved  not  to  go  to  the 
Eostof s'  again,  and  ^  forget  all  about  it,  she  could  not  help 
fueling  that  she  was  io  a  false  positio^,    And  whe9  9he  i^ked 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  269 

herself  what  it  was  that  toimented  her^  she  had  to  Confess 
that  it  was  her  relation  to  Rostof . 

His  cool,  fonzial  tone  did  not  really  express  his  feelings 
(she  knew  it),  and  this  tone  only  covered  something.  She  felt 
that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  discover  this  something.  And 
until  she  did,  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  be  at 
peace. 

One  time  in  midwinter  she  was  in  the  schoolroom,  attending 
to  her  nephew's  lessons,  when  Bostofs  name  was  announced. 

With  a  firm  determination  not  to  betray  her  secret  and  not 
to  manifest  her  confusion,  she  summoned  Mile.  Bourienne 
and  went  down  with  her  into  the  drawing-room.  At  her  first 
glance  into  Nikolai's  face  she  perceived  that  he  had  come 
merely  to  fulfil  the  duty  of  politeness,  and  she  firmly  vowed 
that  she  would  keep  to  the  same  tone  in  which  he  treated  her. 

They  talked  about  the  countess's  health,  about  common 
acquaintances,  and  about  the  latest  news  of  the  war,  and  when 
the  ten  minutes  demanded  by  etiquette  had  passed,  at  the  end 
of  which  the  caller  can  take  his  departure,  Nikolai  rose  to  say 
good-by. 

The  princess,  with  Mile.  Bourienne's  aid,  had  sustained  the 
oonversation  very  well ;  but  at  the  very  last  moment,  just  as 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  she  had  grown  so  weary  of  talking  about 
things  that  interested  her  not,  and  the  thought  why  she  alone 
had  so  little  pleasure  in  life  came  over  her  so  powerfully,  that 
she  fell  into  a  fit  of  abstraction,  and  sat  motionless  with  her 
radiant  eyes  looking  straight  ahead  and  not  perceiving  that 
he  had  arisen. 

Nikolai  glanced  at  her,  and,  feigning  not  to  notice  her  abstrac- 
tion, spoke  a  few  words  to  Mile.  Bourienne,  and  again  looked 
at  the  princess.  She  sat  as  before,  motionless,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  pain  crossed  her  gentle  face. 

Suddenly  he  felt  a  sense  of  compassion  for  her,  and  a  dim 
consciousness  that  he  himself  might  be  the  cause  of  the  sorrow 
which  was  expressed  in  her  face.  He  was  anxious  to  help 
her,  to  say  something  cheering  to  her ;  but  he  coi|ld  not  think 
what  to  say. 

"  Grood-by,  princess,"  said  he. 

She  came  to  herself,  flushed,  and  drew  a  long  sigh. 

'<  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  as  though  awakening 
from  a  dream.  "  Are  you  going  already,  count  ?  Well,  good-* 
by.  —  Oh,  but  the  pillow  for  the  countess  ?  " 

"  Wait,  I  will  feteh  it  down  to  you,"  said  Mile.  Boqriei^ne, 
and  left  the  room. 


A 


270  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Both  were  silent,  though  they  occasionally  looked  at  each 
other. 

^'  Yes,  prinoess,"  said  Nikolai  at  last,  with  a  melanchdj 
smile.  ''It  does  not  seem  very  long  ago,  but  how  much  has 
happened  *  since  you  and  I  met  first  at  B<^[ucharoyo.  How 
unfortunate  we  all  seemed  then ;  but  I  woiQd  give  a  good  deal 
for  that  time  to  return  again  —  but  what  is  past,  is  p^sf 

The  princess  looked  steadily  into  his  face  with  her  clear, 
radiant  eyes,  while  he  was  saying  this.  She  seemed  to  be 
striying  to  discover  what  secret  significance  his  words  had, 
that  might  interpret  his  sentiments  towards  her. 

<<  Yes,  yes,"  said  she.  ''  But  you  have  nothing  to  regret  in 
the  past,  count.  When  I  think  what  your  life  is  now,  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  always  remember  it  with  pleasure,  beeause 
the  self-sacrifice  which  at  the  present  time  you  "  — 

*^  I  cannot  accept  your  wonis  of  praise,"  said  he,  hastily 
interrupting  her.  <<  On  the  contrary,  I  am  constantly  reproach- 
ing myself;  but  this  is  not  at  all  an  interesting  or  amusiug 
subject  of  conversation." 

And  again  his  eyes  assumed  their  former  expression  of 
reserve  and  coldness. 

But  the  princess  had  once  more  seen  in  him  that  man  whom 
she  had  known  and  loved,  and  she  was  now  talking  only  with 
that  man. 

<<  I  thought  you  would  permit  me  to  say  this  to  you,"  said 
she.  ''  You  and  I  have  been  brought  so  near  together,  — and 
your  family — and  I  thought  that  you  would  not  consider  ray 
sympathy  out  of  place ;  but  I  was  mistaken,"  said  she.  Her 
voice  suddenly  trembled.  ^*  I  do  not  know  why,"  she  continued, 
correcting  herself,  "you  were  so  different  before,  and"  — 

"  There  are  a  thousand  reasons  why  " — he  laid  a  special  stress 
on  the  word  tohy — "I  thank  you,  princess,"  said  he  gently. 
"  Sometimes  it  is  hard  "  — 

"  So  that  is  the  reason,  then,  that  is  the  reason,"  said  a  voiee 
in  the  Princess  Mariya's  heart.  "  No,  it  was  not  alone  his 
merry,  kind,  and  ojpen  eyes,  not  alone  his  handsome  exteii<»', 
that  I  loved  in  him ;  I  suspected  his  nobility,  firmness,  and 
sacrificing  heart,"  said  she  to  herself.  "Yes,  now  he  is  poor, 
and  I  am  rich.  —  Yes,  that,  then,  wIeis  the  sole  reason.  Yes,  if 
it  were  not  that "  — 

And,  as  she  remembered  his  former  gentleness,  and  looked 
now  into  his  kind  and  melancholy  face,  she  suddenly  realized 
the  reason  of  his  coolness. 

•  BoMian;  **  Hov  zooch  water  has  flovod.** 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  271 

**  Why  is  it,  count,  why  is  it  ? ''  she  suddenly  almost  screamed, 
and  involuntarily  came  closer  to  him.  "  Why  is  it  ?  tell  me. 
You  ought  to  tell  me." 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  don't  know,  count,  what  your  why  is,"  she  went  on  to 
say  —  ^^  But  it  is  hard  for  me  too,  for  me  —  I  confess  it  to  you. 
Per  some  reason  you  wish  to  deprive  me  of  your  old  friend- 
ship.   And  this  pains  me." 

The  tears  were  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  voice. 

*<  I  have  so  little  happiness  in  life  that  every  loss  is  hard 
for  me  to  bear.    Excuse  me  —  good-by." 

She  suddenly  burst  into  tears,  and  started  to  leave  the 
room. 

"  Princess  !  Wait !  for  God's  sake ! "  he  cried,  trying  to 
detain  her.     "  Princess  ! " 

She  looked  around.  For  several  seconds  they  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  each  in  silence,  and  what  had  been  distant 
and  impossible^  suddenly  became  near,  possible,  and  inevi- 
table. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1813,  Nikolai  was  married  to  the 
Princess  Mariya,  and  went  with  his  wife,  his  mother,  and 
Sonya  to  live  at  Luisiya  Gorui. 

In  the  course  of  four  years,  without  selling  any  of  his  wife's 
property,  he  settled  the  last  of  his  debts,  and,  having  inherited 
a  small  estate  by  the  death  of  a  cousin,  he  also  paid  back  what 
he  had  borrowed  of  Pierre. 

Three  years  later  still,  in  1820,  Nikolai  had  so  managed  his 
pecuniary  affairs  that  he  had  purchased  a  small  estate  adjoining 
Luisiya  Gorui,  and  was  in  negotiations  for  repurchasing  Otra- 
dnoye,  which  was  one  of  his  favorite  dreams. 

Having  been  forced  by  necessity  to  manage  his  own  estate, 
he  quickly  grew  so  passionately  interested  in  farming  that  it 
came  to  be  his  favorite  and  almost  exclusive  occupation.      *» 

Nikolai  was  a  farmer  of  the  simple  old-fashioned  school ;  *  he 
liked  not  innovations,  especially  the  English  ones,  which  at 
that  time  were  coming  into  vogue;  laughed  at  theoretical 
works  on  farming,  disliked  machinery,  expensive  processes, 
the  sowing  of  costly  grains,  and  as  a  general  thing  had  no 

*  Prcutof  khozydin .  aimple  proprietor,  landowner,  householder,  eto. 


272  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

patience  with  occupying  himself  with  only  one  side  of  fann- 
ing. He  always  kept  before  his  eyes  the  idea  of  the  estate  as 
a  whole,  and  favored  no  part  of  it  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
rest. 

The  chief  element  of  success  in  an  estate  was  not  the  azote 
and  the  oxygen  found  in  the  soil  and  in  the  atmosphere,  ct 
any  especial  form  of  plough  or  manure,  but  rather  the  principal 
instrument  by  means  of  which  the  oxygen  and  the  mtrogen 
and  the  manure  and  the  plough  act,  — the  muzhik  —  the  work- 
ing peasant. 

When  Nikolai  took  up  the  care  of  his  estate  and  began  to 
study  the  different  parts  of  it,  the  muzhik  especially  attracted^ 
his  attention.  The  muzhik  seemed  to  him  not  only  a  tool  and* 
instrument,  but  the  object  and  judge.  From  the  very  first  he 
studied  the  muzhik,  striving  to  comprehend  what  he  wanted, 
what  he  considered  good  and  bad,  and  only  pretended  to  give 
orders  and  lay  out  work,  while  in  realitryr  he  was  learning  of 
the  peasants,  both  from  their  ways  and  their  words,  and  their 
judgment  as  to  what  was  good  or  bad. 

And  only  when  at  last  he  learned  to  understand  the  tastes 
and  aspirations  of  the  muzhiks,  learned  to  speak  their  speech, 
and  comprehend  the  secret  significance  of  their  sayings,  when 
he  felt  himself  one  with  them,  only  then  did  he  dare  boldly  to 
direct  them,  that  is,  to  fulfil  toward  them  the  duties  which 
were  demanded  of  him. 

And  Nikolai's  management  *  brought  about  the  most  bril- 
liant results. 

When  he  undertook  the  management  of  the  estate,  Nikolai 
at  once  unerringly,  by  some  gift  of  second  sight,  appointed  as 
burmistr,  or  village  bailiff,  or  as  stdrosta,  or  as  the  peasant 
delegate,  the  very  men  who  would  have  been  chosen  by  the 
muzhiks  themselves,  if  the  choice  had  been  in  their  hands, 
and  his  appointees  were  never  changed. 

Before  he  made  investigations  into  the  chemical  properties 
of  manures,  before  he  entered  into  the  question  of  "debit  and 
credit,"  as  he  laughingly  termed  it,  he  learned  about  the  num- 
ber of  cattle  that  the  peasants  had,  and  increased  it  by  all  the 
means  in  his  power. 

He  tried  to  keep  the  families  of  the  peasants  as  large  as 
possible,  not  permitting  them  to  break  up.f    He  kept  a  strict 

•  KhozydUtvo. 

t  The  communal  system  of  Rnssia  is  patriarchal,  the  head  of  the  familj 
having  control  of  all  the  sons  and  daughters,  mwried  and  singlei  Uriiis  vn- 
der  his  roof. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  273 

oversight  upon  the  lazy,  the  dissolute,  and  the  feeble,  and 
tried  to  rid  the  community  of  such.  During  seed-time  and 
hay-making  and  harvest,  he  gave  the  same  careful  attention 
to  his  own  fields  and  those  of  his  muzhiks.  And  few  propri- 
etors got  their  seed  in  so  early  or  averaged  such  good  crops  as 
Nikolai  did. 

He  liked  not  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  dvorovuie  or 
domestic  serfs,  called  them  drones,  and,  as  every  one  said,  paid 
no  heed  to  them,  and  thus  spoiled  them  ;  when  it  was  neces- 
sary to  do  anything,  or  make  any  disposition  concerning  a 
domestic  serf,  especially  when  it  was  necessary  to  punish  one, 
he  was  always  undecided,  and  had  to  ask  the  opinion  of  all  in 
the  house ;  only  when  it  was  possible  to  send  a  domestic  serf 
as  a  soldier  in  place  of  a  muzhik,  he  would  do  so  without  the 
slightest  hesitation. 

But  in  regard  to  all  the  dispositions  which  he  had  to  make 
concerning  the  muzhiks,  he  never  experienced  the  slightest 
hesitancy.  He  knew  that  any  disposition  that  he  might  make 
concerning  the  muzhiks  would  be  approved  by  all  excepting 
perhaps  one  or  a  very  few. 

Likewise,  he  never  allowed  himself  to  overwork  or  punish  a 
field  hand  out  of  any  personal  whim  or  caprice,  or  would  he 
ease  a  man's  labors  or  reward  him  simply  because  such  a 
thing  constituted  his  personal  desire.  He  could  not  have  said 
where  he  got  his  rule  of  what  was  wise  and  what  was  unwise ; 
but  this  rule  was  firm  and  infiexible  in  his  heart. 

Yet  often,  in  vexation  at  some  failure  or  disorder,  he  would 
exclaim :  "  With  this  Russian  people  of  ours ! "  and  try  to  argue 
to  his  own  satisfaction  that  he  could  not  put  up  with  the 
muzhik. 

But  with  all  the  strength  of  his  heart  he  loved  "  this  Rus- 
sian people  of  ours,"  and  their  ways,  and  this  reason  alone 
made  him  appreciate  and  adopt  the  only  way  and  method  of 
managing  his  estate  which  could  bring  him  in  good  results. 

The  Countess  Mariya  was  jealous  of  her  husband  because  of 
this  love  of  his,  and  regretted  that  she  could  not  share  in  it : 
but  she  could  not  understand  the  joys  and  annoyances  which, 
for  him,  constituted  this  world  so  foreign  and  apart  from  her 
own.  She  could  not  understand  why  he  should  be  so  pecul- 
iarly animated  and  happy,  when,  having  arisen  with  the 
dawn  and  spent  the  whole  morning  in  the  field  or  the  thresh- 
ing-floor, he  came  back  from  the  sowing,  the  mowing,  or  the 
harvest,  to  drink  tea  with  her. 

She  could  not  understand  what  should  so  kindle  his  enthu- 

VOL.  4.  — 18. 


274  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

siasm  as  he  told  of  the  wealthy  and  enterprising  muzhik 
Matvyei  Yermishin,  who  had  spent  the  whole  night  with  his 
family  in  carrying  sheaves,  and  who  had  his  corn-stacks 
all  made  up,  while  as  yet  the  others  had  not  touched 
theirs. 

She  could  not  understand  why  he  was  so  glad,  and  smiled  so 
radiantly,  and  winked,  as  he  came  from  the  window  out  upoa 
the  balcony,  while  the  dense,  warm  rain  fell  upon  the  dry  and 
thirsty  young  oats,  or  why,  when  during  hay-making  or  har- 
vest time  the  wind  diove  away  the  threatening  clouds,  he 
would  come  in  from  the  threshing-floor  flushed,  sunburnt,  and 
sweaty,  and  with  the  scent  of  wormwood  and  wild  gentian  in 
his  hair,  and,  gayly  rubbing  his  hands,  exclaim :  "  Well,  now, 
one  more  short  day,  and  my  grain  and  the  peasants'  will  all 
be  threshed." 

Still  less  was  she  able  to  understand  why  he,  with  his  kind- 
ness of  heart,  with  his  never-failing  readiness  to  anticipate 
her  desires,  was  almost  in  despair  when  she  presented  to  him 
petitions  from  peasant  women  or  muzhiks  who  had  applied  to 
her  for  relief  from  some  drudgery  or  other,  —  why  he,  this  good 
Nicolas,  was  so  obstinate  in  refusing  to  do  so,  and  begged  her 
sternly  not  to  interfere  in  what  was  not  her  business.  She  felt 
that  he  had  a  special  world  of  his  own  which  he  passionately 
loved,  and  which  was  governed  by  laws  she  could  not  under- 
stand. 

When,  sometimes,  in  her  endeavors  to  understand  him,  she 
would  speak  to  him  of  the  service  he  was  rendering  in  doing 
so  much  good  to  his  dependants,  he  lost  his  temper  and  re- 
plied ;  "  Not  in  the  least ;  it  never  entered  my  head,  and  I  am 
not  doing  anything  for  their  good.  That  is  all  poetry  and  old 
woman's  tales,  all  this  talk  about  kindness  to  one's  neighbor. 
What  I  want  is,  that  our  children  should  not  become  beggars ; 
what  I  want  is,  to  get  our  property  on  a  satisfactory  basis 
while  I  am  alive  :  that  is  all.  And  to  do  that,  order  is  neces- 
sary, and  so  is  sternness.  That's  all  there  is  of  it,"  said  he, 
cliuching  his  sanguine  fist  "  —  and  justice,"  he  added.  "Be- 
cause if  the  peasant  is  naked  and  hungry,  and  has  only  oos 
little  horse,  then  he  will  work  neither  for  himself  nor 
for  me." 

And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  for  the  very  reason  that 
Nikolai  allowed  himself  not  to  think  that  he  was  doing  any- 
thing for  others,  in  the  way  of  a  benefactor,  that  all  he  did 
was  so  abundantly  successful ,  his  property  quickly  multi- 
plied I  neighboring  muzhiks  came  to  him  and  begged  him  to 


WAR  AND  PLACE.  275 

buy  them,  and,  long  after  he  was  dead  and  gone,  a  devout 
memory  of  his  regime  obtained  among  the  peasantry. 

"  He  was  a  manager.*  He  looked  after  his  peasants'  affairs 
first,  and  then  his  own.  And  he  did  not  show  too  much  indul- 
gence either.    In  one  word,  he  was  a  manager." 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

One  thing  sometimes  troubled  Nikolai  in  relation  to  his  ad- 
ministration of  affairs,  and  this  was  his  quick  temper  and  a 
propensity,  which  was  a  relic  of  his  old  life  as  a  hussar,  to 
make  use  of  his  fists.  At  first,  he  saw  nothing  reprehensible 
in  this ;  but  in  the  second  year  of  his  married  life  his  views  in 
regard  to  this  form  of  inflicting  punishment  underwent  a 
sudden  change. 

One  time  during  the  summer  the  starosta  of  Bogucharovo, 
the  successor  of  Dron,  who  was  now  dead,  was  summoned  over 
to  Luisiya  Gorui  charged  with  various  rascalities  and  villa- 
nies.  Nikolai  met  him  on  the  porch,  and  at  his  first  reply  the 
sounds  of  cries  and  blows  rang  through  the  vestibule. 

On  going  into  the  house  for  breakfast,  Nikolai  joined  his 
wife,  who  was  sitting  with  her  head  bent  low  over  her  em- 
broidery frame,  and  began  to  tell  her,  as  his  wont  was,  about 
all  that  occupied  him  that  morning,  and,  among  other  things, 
about  the  starosta  of  Bogucharovo.  The  Countess  Mariya, 
turning  red,  then  pale,  and  compressing  her  lips,  sat  with  her 
head  still  bent,  and  made  no  reply  to  her  husband's  words. 

"  Such  an  impertinent  scoundrel !  "  exclaimed  he,  growing 
hot  at  the  mere  recollection.  "If  he  had  only  told  me  that 
he  was  drunk  —  I  never  saw — but  what  is  the  matter, 
Marie  ?  "  he  suddenly  asked. 

The  countess  raised  her  head  and  tried  to  say  something, 
but  again  hastily  drooped  her  head,  and  compressed  her  lips. 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  is  the  matter,  my  darling  ?  " 

Plain  as  the  Countess  Mariya  was,  she  always  grew  pretty 
when  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  She  never  wept  because  of  pain 
or  annoyance,  but  always  from  melancholy  and  pity.  And 
when  she  wept  her  liquid  eyes  acquired  an  irresistible  charm. 

The  moment  Nikolai  took  her  by  the  hand,  she  could  no 
longer  restrain  herself,  but  burst  into  teara. 

"Nicolas,  I  saw  —  he  is  at  fault,  but,  oh,  Nicolas,  why  did 
you  ?  "  —  And  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

*  Kfiozydtn.] 


276  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Nikolai  turned  crimson,  made  no  reply,  and,  tUmliig  aw&y 
from  her,  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room*  He  under* 
stood  what  made  her  weep ;  but  suddenly  he  found  that  he 
could  not  agree  with  her  in  his  heart,  that  what  he  had  been 
used  to  looking  upon  since  childhood  as  a  customaiy  thing 
was  wrong. 

"Is  it  her  amiability  and  feminine  weakness,  or  is  she 
Hght  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  Not  being  able  to  decide  this 
question  for  himself,  he  once  more  looked  into  her  suffering, 
loving  face,  and  suddenly  realized  that  she  was  right,  and  that 
he  had  been  wrong  even  in  his  own  eyes  for  a  long  time. 

"Marie,"  said  he  gently,  and  he  came  to  her,  "this  shall 
never  happen  again ;  I  give  you  my  word.  Never ! "  he  re- 
peated, in  a  trembling  voice  like  a  lad  asking  forgiveness. 

The  tears  rolled  faster  than  ever  from  the  countess's  eyes. 
She  took  her  husband's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Nicolas,  when  did  you  break  your  cameo?"  she  asked, 
for  the  purpose  of  changing  the  conversation,  and  examining 
his  hand,  on  which  he  wore  a  ring  with  a  Laokoon's  head. 

"  To-day ;  it's  all  the  same  story.  Akh !  Marie,  don't  S[ 
of  it  again."  He  flushed  once  more.  "  I  give  thee  my  word 
of  honor  that  this  sha'n't  happen  again.  And  let  this  always 
be  a  reminder  to  me,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the  broken  ring. 

From  that  time  forth,  when  he  had  to  enter  into  explajia- 
tions  with  the  starostas  or  overseers,  and  the  hot  blood  flew 
into  his  face,  and  he  began  to  clinch  his  fists,  Nikolai  woald 
turn  the  broken  ring  round  on  his  ftnger  and  drop  his  eyes 
before  the  man  who  was  angering  him.  However,  once  or 
twice  a  year,  he  would  forget  himself,  and  then,  when  he  came 
into  his  wife's  presence,  he  would  confess,  and  again  give  his 
promise  that  it  should  be  the  last  time. 

"  Marie,  truly  you  will  despise  me,"  he  would  say  to  her. 
"  I  deserve  it." 

"  You  should  go  away,  go  away  as  fast  as  you  can  if  you 
find  that  you  have  not  the  strength  of  mind  to  restrain  your- 
self," said  the  Countess  Mariya,  in  a  tender  voice,  trying  to 
console  her  husband. 

Nikolai  was  respected  but  not  liked  among  the  gentry  of 
the  province.  He  did  not  care  about  the  interests  of  the 
nobility.  And  on  this  account  some  considered  him  proud ; 
others,  stupid. 

During  the  summer,  he  spent  all  his  time  in  the  manage- 
ment of  his  farms,  from  the  hour  that  the  seed  was  put  in 
until  the  crops  were  garnered. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  2Tj 

I>armg  the  aatimiD,  he  gave  himself  up  to  hunting  with  the 
same  practical  seriousness  which  he  showed  in  the  care  of  his 
estates,  and,  for  a  month  or  two,  he  would  ride  out  with  the 
hounds. 

During  the  winter,  he  rode  off  to  visit  his  other  villages, 
and  occupied  himself  with  reading.  His  reading  consisted, 
principally,  of  historical  works,  for  the  purchase  of  which  he 
spent  a  certain  amount  each  year.  He  was  forming  for  him- 
self, as  he  said,  a  "  serious  library,"  and  he  made  it  a  rule  to 
read  through  every  book  which  he  purchased. 

With  a  grave  face,  he  would  shut  himself  up  in  his  library 
for  this  reading,  which,  at  first,  he  imposed  upon  himself  as  a 
duty ;  but  in  time  it  came  to  be  his  ordinary  occupation,  fur- 
nishing him  with  a  certain  kind  of  satisfaction,  and  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  occupied  with  a  serious  task« 

Except  for  the  time  that  he  spent  out  of  doors,  in  the  pros- 
ecution of  his  affairs,  during  the  winter  he  was  mostly  in  the 
house,  entering  into  the  domestic  life  of  the  family,  and  tak- 
ing an  interest  in  the  little  relations  between  the  mother  and 
children.  He  kept  growing  closer  and  closer  to  his  wife,  each 
day  discovering  in  her  new  spiritual  treasures. 

Sonya,  since  the  time  of  Nikolai's  marriage,  had  been  an 
inmate  of  his  house.  Some  time  before  his  marriage,  Nikolai, 
laying  all  blame  on  himself,  and  praising  her,  had  told  the 
Princess  Mariya  what  had  occurred  between  him  and  Sonya. 
He  had  begged  the  Princess  Mariya  to  be  kind  and  good  to 
his  cousin.  The  Countess  Mariya  fully  realized  her  husband's 
fault.  She  also  felt  that  she  was  to  blame  toward  Sonya ;  she 
realized  that  her  own  position  had  influenced  Nikolai's  choice, 
and  she  could  not  see  that  Sonya  was  in  any  way  blameworthy, 
and  she  wanted  to  love  her ;  but  not  only  did  she  not  love 
her,  but  often  found  bitter  feelings  against  her  arising  in  her 
sold,  and  she  could  not  overcome  them. 

One  time  she  was  talking  with  her  friend  Natasha  about 
Sonya  and  about  her  own  injustice  toward  her. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Natasha,  —  "you  have  read  the  New 
Testament  a  great  deal, — there  is  one  place  that  refers  directly 
to  Sonya." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  Countess  Mariya,  in  amazement. 

" '  Far  unto  every  one  that  hath  shall  be  given,  but  from  him 
that  hath  not  ehaU  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath,'  Do 
YOU  remember  ?  She  is  the  one  that  hath  not.  Why,,  I  do  not 
know;  it  seems  to  me  she  has  no  selfishness  about  her.  I 
don't  know,  somehow,  but  it  is  taken  away  from  her — every- 


278  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

thing  has  been  taken  away  from  her.  I  am  terribly  sony  for 
her  sometimes ;  I  used  to  be  terribly  anxious  for  Nicolas  to 
marry  her,  but  I  always  had  a  sort  of  presentiment  that  it 
would  never  be.  She  is  a  sterile  flower ;  you  have  seen  them 
in  the  strawberry  patch,  haven't  you  ?  Sometimes  I  am  sorry 
for  her,  but  then,  again,  I  think  that  she  doesn't  feel  it  as  we 
should/' 

And  although  the  Countess  Mariya  explained  to  Natasha 
that  these  words  from  the  Gk)8pel  must  have  a  different  mean- 
ing, still,  as  she  looked  at  Sonya,  she  agreed  with  the  expla- 
nation which  Natasha  gave  to  them. 

It  really  seemed  to  her  that  Sonya  was  not  troubled  by  her 
uncomfortable  position,  and  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  her 
name  of  '<  sterile  flower." 

It  seemed  that  she  did  not  so  much  care  for  any  spedal 
individual  as  for  the  family  as  a  whole.  Like  a  cat,  she  at- 
tached herself,  not  to  the  household  so  much  as  to  the  house 
itself.  She  took  care  of  the  old  countess,  she  petted  and 
spoiled  the  children,  was  always  ready  to  show  such  little 
services  as  she  could ;  but  all  this  was  accepted  unwittingly, 
without  any  special  sense  of  gratitude. 

The  establishment  at  Luisiya  Gorui  had  now  been  restored 
to  good  order,  but  not  on  the  same  footing  as  it  had  been  dur- 
ing the  late  prince's  lifetime.  The  new  buildings,  begun  dur- 
ing the  hard  times,  were  more  than  simple.  The  enormous 
mansion-house,  erected  on  the  original  stone  foundations,  was 
of  wood,  merely  plastered  on  the  inside.  The  great,  spacious 
mansion,  with  its  unpainted  deal  floors,  was  furnished  with 
the  most  simple  and  coarse  sofas  and  easy-chairs,  tables  and 
chairs  made  from  their  own  lumber  by  their  own  carpenters. 
The  house  was  capacious,  with  rooms  for  the  domestics,  and 
special  suites  for  guests. 

The  relatives  of  the  Rostofs  and  Bolkonskys  oftentimes 
came  to  visit  at  Luisiya  Grorui  with  their  families  and  almost 
a  score  of  horses,  with  dozens  of  servants,  and  would  spend 
months  there.  Moreover,  three  or  four  times  a  year,  on  the 
name-day  or  birthday  festivals  of  the  host  and  hostess,  a  hun- 
dred guests  would  be  present  at  once  for  several  days. 

The  rest  of  the  year  the  regular  life  moved  in  its  regular 
channels  with  the  usual  occupations  —  teas,  breakfasts,  din- 
ners, suppers^  supplied  from  the  resources  of  the  estate. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  279 


CHAPTER  IX. 

It  was  the  eve  of  St.  Nicholas  Day,  in  the  winter*  —  the 
seventeenth  of  December,  1820. 

That  year  Natasha  with  her  children  and  husband  had  come 
early  in  the  autumn  to  visit  her  brother.  Pierre  was  in  Peters- 
burg, where  he  had  gone  on  private  business  for  three  or  four 
weeks,  as  he  said,  but  where  he  had  already  spent  seven.  They 
were  expecting  him  at  any  moment. 

On  the  seventeenth  of  December  the  Rostofs  had,  besides 
the  Bezukhoi  family,  Nikolai's  old  friend.  General  Vasili 
Feodorovitch  Denisof,  who  was  now  on  the  retired  list. 

On  the  eighteenth,  the  day  of  the  name-day  celebration  for 
which  the  guests  had  assembled,  Nikolai  knew  that  he  should 
have  to  t£^e  off  his  beshmet  or  Tatar  blouse,  put  on  his 
dress-coat  and  tight,  narrow-toed  shoes,  and  go  to  the  new 
church  which  he  bad  just  built,  and  then  receive  congratula- 
tions and  offer  lunch,  and  talk  about  the  elections  and  the 
crops ;  but  he  felt  that  on  the  eve  of  his  name-day  he  had  the 
right  to  spend  his  time  in  the  usual  way. 

Just  before  dinner  Nikolai  had  been  verifying  the  accounts 
of  the  burmistr  from  the  Kiazan  estate  of  his  wife's  nephew, 
had  written  two  business  letters,  and  had  made  the  round  of 
the  granaries,  the  cattle-yard,  and  his  stables.  Having  taken 
precautions  against  the  general  drunkenness  which  was  to  be 
expected  on  the  morrow  in  consequence  of  it  being  a  capital 
festival,  he  came  in  to  dinner,  and,  without  having  had  a 
chance  for  a  few  moments  of  private  conversation  with  his 
wife,  he  took  his  seat  at  the  long  table  set  with  twenty  coveis 
for  his  whole  household. 

At  the  table  were  his  mother,  the  old  Mrs.  Byelova,  who 
still  lived  with  her,  his  wife,  his  three  children,  their  gov- 
erness, their  tutor,  his  nephew  with  his  tutor,  Sonya,  Denisof, 
Natasha,  her  three  children,  their  governess,  and  the  little 
old  Mikhail  Ivanuitch,  the  prince's  architect,  who  lived  at 
Luisiya  Gorui  on  a  pension. 

The  Countess  Mariya  was  sitting  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
table.  As  soon  as  her  husband  took  his  place  she  knew  by 
the  gesture  with  which  he  took  his  napkin  and  quickly  pushed 

*  Nik61a  zimnii  (as  the  peasants  call  it)  comes  Dec.  5,  O.  S.,in  contradis- 
tinction to  Nikola  lyetnii  or  St.  Nicholas  Day  in  the  summer,  the  9th  (2l8t> 
May. 


280  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

away  the  tiimblei^  and  wine-glass  that  were  set  befoie  him, 
that  he  was  in  bad  humor,  as  was  apt  to  be  the  case  with 
him  especially  before  soup,  and  when  he  came  directly  from 
his  work  to  dinner. 

The  Countess  Mariya  knew  perfectly  well  this  disposition 
of  his,  and,  when  she  herself  was  in  her  usual  good  spirits, 
she  calmly  waited  until  he  should  have  finished  his  soup,  and 
not  till  then  would  she  begin  to  talk  with  him  and  make  him 
realize  that  his  ill-temper  was  groundless  j  but  on  the  present 
occasion  she  had  entirely  forgotten  this  observation  of  hers; 
it  hurt  her  to  feel  that  he  was  angry  with  her  withoat  cause, 
and  she  felt  that  she  was  innocent. 

She  asked  him  where  he  had  been. 

He  told  her. 

Then  again  she  asked  him  if  he  found  everything  in  good 
order.  He  scowled  disagreeably  at  her  unnatural  tone,  and 
answered  hastily. 

<'So  I  was  not  mistaken,^'  thought  the  Countess  Mariya. 
"  Now,  why  is  he  vexed  with  me  ?  " 

By  the  tone  in  which  he  answered  her  ^he  Countess  Mariya 
detected  what  she  thought  was  ill  will  toward  herself,  and  a 
wish  to  cut  short  the  conversation.  She  realized  that  her 
own  words  had  been  unnatural,  but  she  could  not  refrain  from 
asking  several  other  questions. 

The  conversation  during  dinner,  thanks  to  Denisof,  quickly 
became  general  and  animated,  and  the  Countess  Mariya  had 
no  chance  to  say  anything  to  her  husband.  When  they  left 
the  table  and  went  to  thank  the  old  countess,  the  Countess 
Mariya  held  out  her  hand  and  kissed  her  husband  and  asked 
him  why  he  was  vexed  with  her. 

**  You  always  have  such  strange  ideas ! — I  had  no  thought 
of  being  vexed  with  you,"  said  he.  But  this  word  alwayt 
said  with  sufficient  clearness  to  the  Countess  Mariya :  ^  Tes, 
I  am  angry  and  I  won't  tell  you." 

Nikolai  lived  so  harmoniously  with  his  wife  that  even 
Sonya  and  the  old  countess,  who  out  of  jealousy  might  have 
been  happy  to  see  some  discord  between  tiiem,  could  not  find 
any  excuse  for  reproach ;  but  still  they  had  their  moments  of 
hostility.  Sometimes,  especially  after  their  happiest  times, 
they  were  suddenly  assailed  by  the  feeling  of  repulsion  and 
animosity ;  this  feeling  was  particularly  liable  to  occur  when 
the  Countess  Mariya  was  with  child.  She  was  now  in  this 
condition. 

" Well,  messieurs  et  mesdameSj^  said  Nikolai;  in  a  load  and 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  281 

apparently  gay  tone, — it  seemed  to  the  Countess  Mariya  tliat 
it  was  on  purpose  to  hurt  her  feelings,  —  "I  have  been  on  my 
feet  ever  since  six  o'clock.  To-morrow  I  shall  have  to  endure 
a  good  deal,  and  now  I'm  going  to  rest.'' 

And,  without  saying  anything  more  to  the  Countess  Mariya^ 
he  went  into  the  little  divan^-room  and  lay  down  on  the  sofa. 

"That's  the  way  it  always  is,"  thought  the  Countess 
Mariya.  "He  talks  with  all  the  rest,  but  not  with  me.  I 
see,  I  see  that  I  am  antipathetic,  especially  when  I  am  in 
this  condition." 

She  looked  at  her  changed  figure,  and  caught  sight  in  the 
mirror  of  her  yellowish  pale,  thin  face,  with  her  eyes  more 
prominent  than  ever. 

And  everything  seemed  disagreeable  to  her-  Denisofs 
shouts  and  laughter,  and  Natasha's  talk,  and  especially  the 
look  which  Sonya  hastily  threw  after  her. 

Sonya  was  always  the  first  pretext  which  the  Countess 
Mariya  took  to  excuse  her  irritation. 

After  sitting  down  for  a  little  with  her  guests,  and  not 
'Comprehending  a  word  of  what  they  said,  she  softly  got  up 
;and  went  to  the  nursery. 

The  children  were  on  chairs,  "  going  to  Moscow,"  and  they 
T)egged  her  to  join  them.  She  sat  down  and  played  with 
-them,  but  the  thought  of  her  husband  and  his  causeless  vexa- 
'tion  tormented  her  without  ceasing.  She  got  up  and  went  to 
;the  little  divan-room,  painfully  trying  to  walk  on  her  tiptoes. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  not  asleep ;  I  will  have  a  talk  with  him," 
jsaid  she  to  herself. 

Andryusha,  her  oldest  boy,  imitating  her,  followed  her  on 
•his  tiptoes.     The  Countess  Mariya  did  not  notice  him. 

"  C?ih'e  Marie,  il  dortyje  crois  ;  il  est  sifatigue^^  said  Sonya 
from  the  large  divan-room ;  it  seemed  to  the  countess  as  if 
».she  met  her  everywhere  !     "  Andryusha  might  wake  him." 

The  Countess  Mariya  looked  round,  saw  Andryusha  at  her 
wheels,  and  felt  that  Sonya  was  right :  this  very  thing  made 
her  angry,  and  it  was  evidently  with  difficulty  that  she 
•  restrained  herself  from  a  sharp  reply. 

She  said  nothing,  and,  affecting  not  to  have  heard  her,  she 
'  made  a  gesture  with  her  hand  to  Andryusha  not  to  make  a 
.  noise,  but  to  follow  her,  and  went  to  the  door. 

Sonya  passed  through  another  door. 

From  the  room  where  Nikolai  was  sleeping  could  be  heard 
his  measured  breathing,  so  well  known  to  his  wife,  even  to  its 
I  slightest  shadow  of  change. 


282  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Ab  she  listened  to  his  breathing  she  could  see  before  her 
his  smooth,  handsome  brow,  his  mustache,  his  whole  face,  at 
which  so  often  she  had  gazed  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  while 
he  was  asleep. 

Nikolai  suddenly  started  and  yawned.  And  at  that  same 
instant  Andryusha  cried  from  the  door,  — 

'^  Pdpenka,  mamenka  is  there  ! " 

The  Countess  Mariya  grew  pale  with  fright,  and  started  to 
make  signs  to  her  son.  He  became  still,  and  for  an  instant 
the  silence,  so  terrible  to  the  Countess  Mariya,  continued. 
She  knew  how  Nikolai  disliked  being  awakened. 

Suddenly  in  the  room  were  heard  fresh  yawns,  rustling,  and 
Nikolai's  dissatisfied  voice  said,  — 

<'  Can't  I  have  a  moment's  rest !  Marie,  is  it  you  ?  What 
made  you  bring  him  here  ?  " 

"I  only  came  to  see  if  —  I  did  not  see  him  —  forgive 
me"  — 

Nikolai  coughed,  and  said  nothing  more.  The  Countess 
Mariya  went  away  from  the  door,  and  led  her  son  to  the 
nursery. 

Five  minutes  later,  the  little,  dark-eyed,  three-year-old 
Natasha,  her  father's  favorite,  learning  that  her  p&penka  was 
asleep  and  her  mamenka  in  the  divan-room,  ran  to  her  father 
unobserved  by  her  mother.  The  dark-eyed  little  maid  boldly 
pushed  the  door  open  with  a  slam,  ran  on  her  energetic  little 
stumpy  legs  up  to  the  sofa,  and,  after  attentively  looking  at 
her  father,  who  was  lying  with  his  back  turned  towards  ner, 
she  raised  herself  on  her  tiptoes  and  kissed  his  hand,  on  whieb 
his  head  was  resting.    Nikolai,  with  a  fond  smile,  turned  over. 

'' Natasha !  Natasha ! "  the  Countess  Mariya  was  heard  say- 
ing in  a  terrified  whisper  outside  the  door,  ''  pdpenka  wants 
to  get  a  nap." 

'*No,  mamma!  he  doesn't  want  a  nap,"  replied  the  little 
Natasha,  in  a  tone  of  settled  conviction.     "  He's  laughing." 

Nikolai  put  down  his  feet,  sat  up,  and  took  his  daughter  in 
his  arms.     "  Come  in,  Masha,"  said  he  to  his  wife. 

The  Countess  Mariya  went  in  and  sat  down  near  her  hus- 
band. 

<<  I  did  not  see  that  he  was  tagging  behind  me,"  said  she 
timidly.     "  That's  the  way  with  me." 

Nikolai,  holding  his  daughter  in  one  arm,  looked  at  his  wife, 
and,  perceiving  the  apologetic  expression  in  her  face,  he  put 
his  other  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  hair. 

*'  May  I  kiss  mamma  ?  "  he  asked  Natasha. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  288 

Nataslia  smiled  shyly. 

**  Again ! ''  said  she,  with  an  imperative  gesture  designating 
the  spot  where  Nikolai  should  kiss  his  wife. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  think  that  I  am  out  of  sorts/' 
said  Nikolai,  answering  the  question  which  he  knew  was  in 
his  wife's  heart. 

"You  cannot  imagine  how  unhappy, — how  lonely  I  am, 
when  you  are  so !    It  seems  to  me  all  the  time  "  — 

''Marie,  stop!  What  nonsense!  Aren't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself  ?  "  he  asked  gayly. 

'^  It  seems  to  me  that  you  cannot  love  me,  that  I  am  so  plain 
— always — but  now  —  in  this  con  "  — 

"  Akh !  how  absurd  you  are !  Beauty  does  not  make  sweet- 
ness, but  sweetness  makes  beauty !  It  is  only  such  women  as  the 
Malvinas  who  are  loved  for  their  beauty.  Do  I  love  my  wife  ? 
I  don't  love  her  in  that  way  —  but  I  can't  explain  it.  With- 
out thee  —  or  even  if  a  cat  should  run  between  us,  I  should  be 
quite  lost  and  shouldn't  know  what  to  do.  Well,  then,  do  I 
love  my  little  finger  ?  I  don't  love  it,  but  —  just  try  it  —  cut 
it  off"  — 

'<  No,  Pm  not  like  that,  but  I  understand  you.  And  so  you 
are  not  vexed  with  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am — horribly  vexed,"  said  he,  smiling;  then 
getting  up  and  smoothing  his  hair,  he  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  You  know  what  I  was  thinking  about,"  he 
began,  now  that  peace  had  been  made,  immediately  beginning 
to  think  aloud  in  his  wife's  hearing.  He  did  not  ask  whether 
she  were  ready  to  listen  to  him ;  it  was  all  the  same  to  him. 
If  he  had  any  thoughts  she  must  have  the  same.  And  he  told 
her  his  intention  of  inviting  Pierre  to  remain  with  them  till 
spring. 

The  Countess  Mariya  listened  to  him,  made  some  observa- 
tion, and  began  in  her  turn  to  think  her  thoughts  aloud.  Her 
thoughts  were  about  her  children. 

"  How  the  woman  can  be  seen  in  her  already ! "  said  she  in 
French,  alluding  to  the  little  Natasha.  "  You  accuse  us  women 
of  being  illogical.  Well,  there  she  is  —  she  illustrates  our 
logic.  I  say,  '  Papa  wants  to  get  a  nap,'  but  she  says, '  No,  he 
is  laughing.'  And  she  is  right,"  said  the  Countess  Mariya, 
with  a  happy  smile. 

"Yes,  yes,"  and,  taking  his  daughter  by  his  strong  hands,  he 
lifted  her  up  in  the  air,  set  her  on  his  shoulder,  holding  her 
by  the  feet,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with 
her.  The  faces  of  father  and  daughter  alike  expressed  the 
most  absurd  happiness. 


284  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  But  you  are  apt  to  be  partial.  You  love  this  one  more 
than  the  others,"  whispered  the  Countess  Marija  in  French. 

"  But  how  can  I  help  it  ?    I  try  not  to  show  it." 

At  this  instant  sounds  of  slamming  doors  and  steps  were 
heard  in  the  vestibule  and  anteroom,  as  though  there  was  an 
arrival. 

"  Some  one  has  come." 

'^  I  think  it  must  be  Pierre.  Til  go  and  find  out,"  said  the 
Countess  Mariya,  and  she  left  the  room. 

During  her  absence  Nikolai  permitted  himself  to  give  hi& 
little  daughter  a  gallop  around  the  room. 

All  out  of  breath,  he  quickly  set  down  the  laughing  child 
and  pressed  her  to  his  heart.  His  gambols  reminded  him  of 
dancing,  and,  as  he  gazed  into  the  little  maid's  round,  radiant 
face,  he  thought  of  the  future,  when  he  should  be  a  nice  old 
man  and  lead  her  out  and  dance  the  mazurka  with  her,  as  his 
own  father  had  once  danced  Daniel  Cooper  with  his  daughter. 

''  Yes,  'tis  he,  'tis  he,  Nicolas,"  said  the  Countess  Marija, 
returning  to  the  room  after  a  few  minutes.  '^  Now  our  Natasha 
has  got  back  her  spirits.  You  ought  to  see  how  happy  she  is ! 
and  how  he  caught  it  for  having  staid  so  long !  But  come, 
let  us  go  and  see  him,  come  !  Do  let  him  go,"  said  she,  look- 
ing with  a  smile  at  her  daughter,  who  clung  to  her  father. 

Nikolai  started  off,  holding  the  little  girl  by  the  hand. 

The  Countess  Mariya  remained  in  the  divan-roouL 

"  Never,  never,  would  I  believe  that  I  could  be  so  happy," 
she  whispered  to  herself.  Her  face  was  radiant  with  a  smile ; 
but  at  the  same  time  she  sighed,  and  a  gentle  melancholy 
showed  itself  in  her  deep  eyes.  It  was  as  though  over  and 
above  that  happiness  which  she  now  experienced  there  were 
another  kind  of  happiness,  unattainable  in  this  life,  and  she  at 
tiiat  moment  involuntarily  remembered  it. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Natasha  had  been  married  in  the  early  spring  of  1813,  and 
in  1820  she  had  already  three  daughters  and  one  son — the 
child  of  her  desires,  whom  she  was  now  suckling. 

She  had  grown  plump  and  fleshy,  so  that  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  recognize  in  the  strong  matron  the  slender,  viva- 
cious Natasha  of  yore.  The  features  of  her  face  had  grown 
more  marked,  and  bore  an  expression  of  sedate  gentleness  and 
serenity.     Her  face  had  lost  all  of  that  ever  flashing  light  of 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  286 

animation  which  had  formerly  constituted  her  chief  charm. 
Now  it  was  often  merely  her  face  and  her  bodily  presence 
that  was  seen,  without  anything  of  the  animating  soul.  It 
Avas  only  a  healthy,  handsome,  fruitful  female. 

It  was  very  rarely  now  that  the  old  fire  flashed  forth.  This 
happened  at  times  when,  as  now,  her  husband  returned  from  a 
journey,  or  when  a  child  was  recovering,  or  when  she  and  the 
Countess  Mariya  talked  over  old  memories  of  Prince  Andrei 
(she  never  talked  about  him  with  her  husband,  imagining  that 
he  might  be  moved  by  some  jealousy  of  such  memories),  and 
at  the  very  rare  times  when  something  enticed  her  to  sing, 
though,  since  her  marriage,  she  had  entirely  abandoned  this 
accomplishment.  And  at  these  rare  moments,  when  the  old 
fire  flashed  forth,  she,  with  the  beauty  of  her  mature  develop- 
ment, was  even  more  fascinating  than  before. 

Since  the  time  of  her  marriage,  Natasha  and  Pierre  had 
lived  off  and  on  at  Moscow,  at  Petersburg,  and  their  Pod-Mos- 
kovnaya  estate,  and  with  her  mother,  or  rather  with  Nikolai. 

The  young  Countess  Bezukhaya  was  seen  little  in  fashion- 
able society,  and  those  who  met  her  were  not  attracted  by  her. 
She  was  neither  genial  nor  careful  of  pleasing.  It  was  not 
that  she  liked  solitude  —  she  knew  not  whether  she  liked  it 
or  not,  it  even  seemed  to  her  that  she  did  not  —  but  while  en- 
gaged in  the  bearing  and  nursing  and  rearing  of  children, 
and  sharing  in  each  moment  of  her  husband's  life,  she  could 
not  satisfy  these  demands  otherwise  than  by  denying  herself 
society. 

All  who  had  known  Natasha  before  her  marriage  were  amazed 
at  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  her,  as  though  it  were 
something  extraordinary.  Only  the  old  countess,  who  knew 
by  her  maternal  insight  that  all  Natasha's  impulses  of  enthu- 
siasm had  their  origin  merely  in  the  need  of  having  a  family, 
of  having  a  husband,  as  she  had  cried  more  in  earnest  than  m 
jest  that  winter  at  Otradnoye.  The  mother  was  amazed  at  the 
amazement  of  people  who  did  not  understand  Natasha,  and  she 
insisted  that  she  had  always  known  that  Natasha  would  be  a 
model  wife  and  mother. 

"Only  she  carries  her  love  for  her  husband  and  children  to 
extremes,"  the  countess  would  say,  "so  that  it  even  seems 
stupid  in  her." 

Natasha  did  not  follow  that  golden  rule  preached  by  clever 
men,  especially  the  French,  to  this  effect,  that  when  a  young 
lady  marries  she  must  not  neglect,  must  not  abandon  her  tal- 
entS;  must  even  more  zealously  than  when  she  was  a  girl  cul* 


286  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

tivate  her  personal  adornment,  must  charm  her  husband  as 
much  after  as  she  did  before  marriage. 

Natasha,  on  the  contrary,  abandoned  all  at  once  all  her 
accomplishments,  even  the  one  that  was  most  of  an  accom< 
plishment — her  singing.  She  abandoned  it  for  the  very 
reason  that  it  was  an  accomplishment. 

Natasha  took  no  pains  either  with  her  deportment  or  the 
elegance  of  her  language,  nor  did  she  try  to  give  herself 
graces  before  her  husband,  or  think  about  her  toilet,  or  dream 
of  not  imposing  irksome  exactions  upon  her  husband. 

She  proceeded  in  direct  opposition  to  this  rule. 

She  felt  that  those  witcheries  which  instinct  had  taught  her 
to  employ  before  would  now  be  absurd  in  the  eyes  of  her  hus- 
band, to  whom  she  had  surrendered  entirely  from  the  first 
minute  —  that  is,  with  her  whole  soul,  not  leaving  one  single 
corner  secret  from  him.  She  felt  that  the  bond  between  her 
and  her  husband  was  held  not  by  those  poetic  feelings  which 
had  attracted  him  to  her,  but  by  something  else,  vague  and 
undefined,  but  irresistible,  like  the  union  of  her  own  soul  and 
body. 

To  shake  her  curls,  to  put  on  robronuiy*  and  to  sing  ro- 
mances in  order  to  attract  her  husband  to  her,  would  have 
seemed  to  her  as  ridiculous  as  to  adorn  herself  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  herself  pleasure. 

To  adorn  herself  to  please  others,  possibly,  might  have  been 
pleasing  to  her  —  she  knew  not  —  but  she  never  did  such  a 
thing.  The  chief  reason  that  she  did  not  indulge  in  singing 
or  the  witcheries  of  the  toilet,  or  in  using  elegant  language, 
was  that  she  had  absolutely  no  time  to  indulge  herself  in 
these  things. 

It  is  a  fact  that  man  has  the  capaciey  of  completely  im> 
mersing  himself  in  any  object,  no  matter  how  insignificant  that 
object  may  be.  And  it  is  a  fact  that  any  such  object,  however 
insignificant,  may  expand  into  infinite  proportions,  through 
concentrating  the  attention  upon  it. 

The  object  in  which  Natasha  was  absolutely  absorbed  was 
her  family,  that  is  to  say,  her  husband,  whom  she  had  to  hold 
so  that  he  would  cling  to  her  and  his  home, — and  her  children, 
who  had  to  be  born,  nursed,  and  reared. 

And  the  more  she  studied,  not  with  her  intellect  but  with 

her  whole  soul,  her  whole  being,  into  this  object  which  absorbed 

her,  the  more  this  object  waxed  in  her  estimation,  and  the 

weaker  and  more  insignificant  seemed  to  her  her  own  powers, 

*  French,  rohe  ronde,  a  kind  of  dreesy  fashionable  many  yeaa  afo» 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  287 

so  that  she  concentrated  them  on  one  and  the  same  thing,  and 
still  did  not  succeed  in  accomplishing  what  seemed  to  her  so 
necessary. 

The  discussions  and  criticisms  on  the  rights  of  women,  on 
the  relations  of  marriage,  on  the  liberty  and  the  rights  of  hus- 
band and  wife,  although  at  that  period  they  had  not  yet  begun 
to  be  called  questions,  were  nevertheless  lust  the  same  as  they 
are  at  the  present  time  ;  but  not  only  did  these  questions  not 
interest  Natasha,  but  she  really  failed  to  understand  them. 

These  questions,  even  then  just  the  same  as  at  the  present 
time,  existed  only  for  those  who  looked  for  nothing  but  that 
sensual  gratification  in  marriage  which  husband  and  wife  afford 
each  other:  that  is,  merely  the  beginning  of  marriage,  and  not 
its  whole  significance  —  the  family. 

These  arguments  and  the  present-day  questions  are  analo- 
gous  to  the  question  how  can  one  get  the  most  possible  enjoy- 
ment from  dinner  ?  and  at  that  time  did  not  exist  any  more 
than  they  do  now  for  men  whose  object  in  eating  dinner  is 
nourishment,  and  in  marriage  is  raising  a  family. 

If  the  object  of  eating  dinner  is  the  nourishment  of  the 
body,  then  tne  person  who  should  eat  two  dinners  at  a  sitting 
would  perchance  attain  great  enjoyment,  but  would  not  attain 
his  object,  since  his  stomach  would  not  digest  the  two  dinners. 

If  the  object  of  marriage  is  a  family,  then  the  person  who 
should  wish  many  wives  (or  husbands)  would  perhaps  get 
much  enjoyment,  but  would  not  in  any  case  be  likely  to  have 
a  family. 

The  whole  question,  provided  the  object  of  a  dinner  is 
nourishment,  and  the  object  of  marriage  is  a  family,  is  settled 
simply  by  not  eating  more  than  the  stomach  can  digest,  and 
by  a  person  not  having  more  husbands  or  wives  than  are  neces- 
sary for  a  family ;  that  is,  one. 

Natasha  wanted  a  husband.  The  husband  was  given  to  her. 
And  the  husband  gave  her  the  family.  And  she  not  only  saw 
no  need  of  any  better  husband,  but,  since  all  the  energies  of 
her  soul  were  directed  toward  serving  her  husband  and  family, 
she  could  not  imagine,  and  saw  no  possible  amusement  m 
imagining,  what  would  have  been  if  things  had  been  otherwise. 

Natasha  cared  not  for  society  in  general,  but  she  clung  all 
the  more  to  the  society  of  her  relatives  —  the  Countess  Ma- 
riya,  her  brother,  her  mother,  and  Sonya. 

She  took  delight  in  the  society  of  those  whom  she  coold 
ran  in  to  see,  with  unkempt  hair,  in  her  morning  g^wn,  right 
from  the  nursery,  with  happy  face^  to  show  t^hem  the  yellow 


288  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

instead  of  green  stain  on  the  baby  linen,  and  to  bear  the 
comfoi*ting  words  that  now  the  baby  would  soon  be  mueh 
better. 

Natasha  was  so  neglectful  of  herself  that  her  dresses,  her 
mode  of  doing  up  her  hair,  her  carelessly  spoken  words,  her 
jealousy,  —  she  was  jealous  of  Sonyl^  of  the  governess,  of 
every  woman,  whether  pretty  or  plain,  —  were  a  oommon 
subject  for  amusement  for  the  whole  family. 

The  general  impression  was  that  Pierre  was  "under  his 
wife's  slipper,"  as  the  saying  goes,  and  this  was  really  so. 

During  the  very  first  days  of  her  married  life,  Natasha  laid 
down  her  demands.  Pierre  was  ffreatly  amazed  at  this  idea 
of  his  wife's,  which  was  so  absolutely  new  to  him  :  she  in- 
sisted that  every  minute  of  his  life  belonged  to  her  and  his 
children;  Pierre  was  amazed  at  his  wife's  demand,  but  he 
was  flattered  by  it  and  submitted  to  it. 

Pierre's  submission  lay  in  his  acceptance  of  the  implied 
prohibition  of  not  merely  paying  attentions  to  other  women, 
but  even  of  talking  and  laughing  with  them,  of  going  to  the 
club  to  dinner  or  for  the  purpose  of  merely  passing  away 
the  time,  of  spending  his  money  on  whims,  or  taking  long 
journeys  except  on  business,  —  and  in  this  category  his  wife 
mcluded  his  interest  in  scientific  pursuits,  to  which  she  at- 
tributed great  importance,  though  she  had  no  understanding 
of  such  things. 

In  return  for  this,  Pierre  had  a  perfect  right  to  dispose  of 
himself  and  his  whole  family  as  he  might  please  :  —  Natasha, 
in  her  own  home,  placed  herself  on  the  footing  of  a  slave 
toward  her  husband,  and  the  whole  house  went  on  tiptoes 
when  he  was  busy  reading  or  writing  in  his  library.  I^ene 
had  only  to  manifest  any  desire,  and  his  wish  would  be 
instantly  fulfilled.  He  had  only  to  express  a  desire,  and 
Natasha  would  make  haste  to  have  it  carried  out. 

The  whole  house  was  conducted  according  to  the  husband's 
supposititious  commands,  in  other  words  in  accordance  witli 
Pierre's  wishes,  which  Natasha  tried  to  anticipate.  The 
style,  the  place  of  living,  their  acquaintances,  their  intei^ 
course  with  society,  Natasha's  occupations,  the  education  of 
their  children,  —  everything  was  done  not  merely  in  aecord- 
ance  with  Pierre's  expressed  will,  but  Natasha  strove  to  find 
out  what  would  elicit  hints  of  his  ideas  when  he  was  talking. 
And  she  actually  discovered  what  constituted  the  essence  of 
Pierre's  desires,  and  when  she  thus  did,  she  firmly  clung  to 
what  she  had  once  adopted.    When  Pierre  bmael|  showe^l 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  289 

signs  of  changing  his  mind,  she  would  turn  his  own  weapons 
against  him. 

Thus,  during  the  trying  time,  which  Pierre  never  forgot, 
after  the  birth  of  their  first  child,  which  was  ailing,  and  they 
■were  obliged  thr6e  times  to  change  wet  nurses,  and  Natasha 
fell  ill  from  anxiety,  Pierre  one  time  told  her  of  the  ideas  of 
Kousseau,  with  whom  he  was  always  in  perfect  concord,  as  to 
the  unnaturalness  and  harmfulness  of  wet  nurses. 

When  the  next  child  was  born,  Natasha,  in  spite  of  the 
opposition  of  her  mother,  the  doctors,  and  her  husband  him- 
self,  who  revolted  against  her  suckling  the  child,  as  at  that 
time  something  unheard-of  and  harmful,  she  insisted  on 
doing  so,  and  from  that  time  forth  she  always  nursed  all  her 
children. 

Very  often,  in  moments  of  irritation,  it  would  happen  that 
husband  and  wife  would  have  animated  discussions ;  but  long 
after  the  quarrel  was  forgotten,  Pierre  would  find,  to  his  ioy 
and  amazement,  not  only  in  what  his  wife  said  but  in  what 
she  did,  his  own  ideas,  against  which  she  had  rebelled.  And 
not  only  would  he  find  his  own  idea,  but  find  it  purified  of 
everything  superfluous  that  had  been  elicited  by  the  excite^ 
ment  of  the  argument. 

After  seven  years  of  married  life,  Pierre  felt  a  joyous, 
settled  consciousness  that  he  was  not  a  bad  man,  and  this 
consciousness  arose  from  the  fact  that  he  saw  himself  re- 
flected in  his  wife.  In  himself  he  felt  that  all  that  was  good 
and  bad  was  mixed  together  and  confused.  But,  in  his  wife, 
only  that  which  was  traly  good  found  expression;  all  that 
was  not  absolutely  good  was  purged  away  in  her.  And  this 
reflection  resulted  not  along  the  line  of  logical  thought,  but 
from  another  mysterious,  proximate  reflection. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Pierre,  two  months  before,  while  he  was  still  visiting  the 
Kostofs,  received  a  letter  from  Prince  Feodor,  urging  him  to 
come  to  Petersburg  to  help  decide  some  weighty  questions 
that  were  agitating  the  members  of  a  society  of  which  Pierre 
was  one  of  the  most  influential  members. 

On  reading  this  letter,  Natasha,  —  for  she  always  read  her 
husband's  letters,  —  hard  as  it  was  for  her  to  bear  her  hus- 
band's absence,  herself  was  the  first  to  urge  him  to  go  to 
Petersburg.     Every  intellectual,  abstract  interest  of  her  hus- 

VOL.  4.  — 19. 


290  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

band^s  she  considered  of  immense  importance,  even  though 
she  did  not  understand  it,  and  she  was  constantly  afraid  of 
being  a  hinderance  to  this  activity  of  her  husband's.  In  reply 
to  Pierre's  timid,  questioning  look,  on  reading  this  letter,  she 
begged  him  to  go,  but  to  make  the  time  of  his  return  as  defi- 
nite as  possible.  And  leave  of  absence  of  a  month  was 
given  him. 

After  this  leave  of  absence  had  expired,  a  fortnight  before, 
Natasha  found  herself  in  a  state  of  constant  alarm,  depres- 
sion, and  irritation. 

Denisof,  now  a  general  on  the  retired  list,  and  greatly  dis- 
satisfied with  the  actual  state  of  affairs,  had  been  visiting  at 
the  Rostofs'  for  the  past  foi-tnight,  and  looked  upon  Xatasha 
in  amazement  and  grief,  as  upon  an  unlike  portrait  of  some 
once  beloved  face.  Dejected,  melancholy  looks,  haphazard 
replies,  and  per|>etual  talk  about  the  children,  were  all  that 
were  left  of  his  former  enchantress. 

Natasha  was  melancholy  and  irritable  all  the  time,  espe- 
ciall^  when  her  mother,  her  brother,  Sonya,  or  the  Countess 
Manya  tried  to  excuse  Pierre,  and  find  reasons  for  his 
delay. 

"  All  nonsense,  trivial  nonsense,"  Natasha  would  say  ;  "all 
these  considerations  of  his,  —  leading  to  nothing,  —  and  all 
these  foolish  societies,"  she  would  say,  in  regard  to  those 
very  things  of  the  immense  importance  of  which  she  was 
firmly  convinced.  And  off  she  would  go  to  the  nursery  to 
nurse  her  only  son,  the  little  Petya. 

No  one  could  tell  how  consoling,  how  reasonable  this  little 
creature  of  only  three  months  was  when  he  lay  at  her  breast 
and  she  felt  the  motion  of  his  mouth  and  the  snuffling  of  his 
little  nosCt  This  being  said  to  her :  *^  Thou  art  cross,  thou  art 
jealous,  thou  desirest  vengeance,  thou  hast  thy  fears ;  but  here, 
—  I  am  he  !  Oh,  yes,  I  am  he  ! "  —  And  there  was  no  answer 
to  be  made.     It  was  more  than  the  truth ! 

Natasha,  during  those  two  weeks  of  anxiety,  went  so  many 
times  to  her  baby  for  consolation,  she  made  such  a  to-do  over 
him,  that  she  overfed  him,  and  he  had  an  ill  turn.  She  was 
horror^truck  at  his  illness,  and  at  the  same  time  it  was  the 
very  thing  that  she  needed.  In  caring  for  him,  she  more 
easily  endured  her  husband's  absence. 

She  was  nursing  him  when  a  commotion,  caused  by  Piem> 
arrival,  was  heard ;  and  the  nyanya,  who  knew  how  much  it 
would  delight  her  mistress,  came  running  in  noiselessly  but 
swiftly,' with  a  beaming  face. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  291 

'*Has  he  come?"  asked  Natasha  in  a  hurried  whisper, 
afraid  to  move  lest  she  should  awaken  the  sleeping  infant. 

"  He's  come,  matushka  ! "  whispered  the  nurse. 

The  blood  rushed  into  Natasha's  face  and  her  feet  made  an 
involuntary  movement,  but  it  was  impossible  to  jump  up  and 
run.  The  child  again  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  at  her. 
"  Art  thou  here  ?  "  he  seemed  to  say,  and  again  smacked  his 
lips. 

Cautiously  withdrawing  the  breast,  Natasha  rocked  him  a 
little,  and  then  handed  him  to  the  nyanya  and  ran  swiftly  to 
the  door.  But  at  the  door  she  paused,  as  though  her  con- 
science reproached  her  for  having,  in  her  loy,  too  hastily  given 
up  the  child,  and  she  looked  round.  The  nyanya,  with  her 
elbows  in  the  air,  was  just  putting  the  baby  safely  into  its 
cradle. 

"Yes,  go  right  along,  go  right  along,  mdtushka,  have  lio 
fears,  go  right  along,"  whispered  the  nyanya,  smiling  with  the 
familiarity  which  always  exists  between  nurse  and  mistress. 

And  Natasha  with  light  steps  ran  to  the  anteroom. 

Denisof,  with  his  pipe,  coming  from  the  library  into  the 
hall,  now  for  the  first  time  recognized  the  Natasha  of  yore. 
A  bright,  gleaming  light  of  joy  poured  forth  in  streams  from 
her  transfigured  face. 

"  He's  come ! "  she  called  to  him  as  she  flew  along,  and 
Denisof  felt  that  he  was  enthusiastic  over  Pierre's  arrival, 
though  he  had  never  had  any  great  love  for  him. 

As  Natasha  came  running  into  the  anteroom,  she  caught 
sight  of  the  tall  form  in  a  shuba,  untying  his  scarf. 

"  Here  he  is  !  Here  he  is  !  Truly,  he  is  here  ! "  she  said 
to  her  own  heart,  and,  flying  up  to  him,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  him,  pressed  him  to  herself  with  her  head  on  his 
breast,  and  then,  pushing  him  away,  she  gazed  into  Pierre's 
frost-covered,  ruddy,  happy  face.  —  "  Yes,  here  he  is  I  happy 
and  satisfied ! "  — 

And  suddenly  she  recalled  all  the  torments  of  disappointed 
expectation  which  she  had  endured  during  the  last  two  weeks ; 
the  radiance  of  joy  beaming  from  her  face  was  suddenly 
cJfouded ;  she  frowned,  and  a  stream  of  reproaches  and  bitter 
words  was  poured  out  upon  Pierre. 

"  Yes,  it's  very  fine  for  you ;  you  are  very  glad,  very  happy  ! 
But  how  is  it  with  me  ?  You've  had  a  great  longing  for  your 
children !  I  nurse  them,  and  the  milk  was  spoilt  because  of 
you. — Petya  almost  diedl  And  you  are  very  gay  —  yes,  you 
are  very  gay  "  — 


292  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Pierre  knew  that  it  was  not  his  fault,  becanse  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  return  sooner ;  he  knew  that  this  explosion 
of  hers  was  unbecoming,  and  he  knew  that  within  two  minutes 
it  would  be  all  over ;  he  knew,  chief  of  all,  that  he  himself  felt 
gay  and  happy.  He  would  have  preferred  to  smile,  but  he 
had  no  time  to  think  about  it.  He  put  on  a  scared,  timid  face, 
and  stooped  down  to  her. 

"  It  was  not  in  my  power — but  how  is  Petya  ?  " 

"  He  is  all  right  now !  Let  us  go  to  him.  But  aren't  you 
ashamed?  Didn't  you  know  how  I  missed  you,  how  I  was 
tormented  without  you  ?"  — 

"Are  you  well?" 

"Come,  let  us  go,  come,"  said  she,  not  letting  go  of  his 
hand. 

And  they  went  to  their  rooms. 

When  Nikolai  and  his  wife  came  to  inquire  after  Pierre,  he 
was  in  the  nursery  and  was  holding  on  the  huge  palm  of  his 
right  hand  his  babe,  now  awake,  and  was  tending  him.  A 
jolly  smile  hovered  over  his  broad  face  with  its  toothless 
mouth.  The  storm  had  long  since  passed  over,  and  the 
bright  sun  of  joy  shone  in  Natasha's  face  as  she  gazed 
tenderly  at  her  husband  and  son. 

"And  so  you  talked  everything  over  satisfactorily  with 
Prince  Feodor,"  Natasha  was  saying. 

"  Yes,  admirably." 

"Do  you  see,  he's  holding  it  up!" — Natasha  meant  the 
baby's  head.  —  "  Well,  how  he  startled  me  ! " 

"  And  did  you  see  the  princess  ?  Is  it  true  that  she's  in 
love  with  that "  — 

"  Yes,  you  can  imagine  "  — 

At  that  instant,  Nikolai  and  the  Countess  Mariya  came  in. 
Pierre,  not  putting  down  his  little  son,  stooped  down  and 
kissed  them  and  replied  to  their  questions. 

But  evidently,  notwithstanding  the  much  that  was  interest- 
ing that  they  had  to  talk  over,  still  the  baby  in  its  cap,  with 
its  vain  efforts  to  hold  up  its  head,  absorbed  all  Pierre's 
attention. 

"  How  sweet ! "  exclaimed  the  Countess  Mariya,  looking 
at  the  child  and  beginning  to  play  with  it.  "There's  one 
thing  I  can't  understand,  Nicolas,"  said  she,  turning  to  her 
husband,  "and  that  is,  why  you  can't  appreciate  the  chana 
of  these  marvellous  little  creatures." 

"I  don't  and  I  can't,"  said  Nikolai,  looking  at  the  baby 
with  indifferent  eyes.     "  A  lump  of  flesh.    Come,  Pierre." 


WAR  Alft)  PEACE.  298 

*^Bat  really  he  is  such  an  affectionate  father,"  said  the 
Countess  Mariya,  apologizing  for  her  husband.  ^'Only  at 
that  age,  before  they  are  a  year  old"  — 

"Ko,  but  Pierre  makes  a  splendid  nurse,"  said  Katasha. 
''He  says  that  his  hand  was  made  on  purpose  for  a  baby's 
back.    J  ust  look ! " 

"Well,  not  for  that  alone,"  said  Pierre  suddenly,  with  a 
laugh,  and,  seizing  the  baby,  he  handed  him  over  to  the  nurse^ 


CHAPTER  XII. 

At  the  Luiso-Grorsky  home,  as  in  every  genuine  family, 
there  lived  together  several  absolutely  distinct  microcosms, 
which,  while  each  preserved  its  own  individuality  and  made 
mutual  concessions,  united  into  one  harmonious  whole. 

Every  event  that  happened  to  the  household  was  alike  glad 
or  sad — alike  important  —  for  all  these  microcosms ;  but  each 
one  had  its  own  personal,  independent  reasons  for  joy  or  sor- 
row at  any  particular  event. 

Thus,  Pierre's  coming  was  one  of  these  happy,  important 
events,  and  it  affected  the  members  of  the  household  in  some- 
what tills  way :  — 

The  servants  (who  are  always  the  most  reliable  judges  of 
their  masters,  because  they  judge  not  by  words  and  the 
expressions  of  feelings,  but  by  actions  and  the  manner  of 
life)  were  glad  at  Pierre's  return,  since  they  knew  that  when 
he  was  there,  the  count  would  cease  to  make  the  tour  of  the 
estate  every  day,  and  would  be  jollier  and  kinder,  and  still 
more  because  all  would  receive  ricn  presents  on  the  holidays. 

The  children  and  governesses  were  delighted  at  Pierre's 
return,  because  there  was  no  one  like  Pierre  to  keep  up  the 
generaJ  life  of  any  occasion.  He  alone  was  able  to  play  on 
the  harpsichord  that  Ecossaise  —  his  one  piece !  —  at  which 
they  could  dance,  as  he  said,  all  possible  dances,  and  then 
besides  he  would  probably  make  them,  too,  holiday  presents. 

Nik61enka,  who  was  now  a  thin,  sickly,  intellectual  lad  of 
fifteen,  with  curling  flaxen  hair  and  handsome  eyes,  was  glad, 
because  "  Uncle  Pierre,"  as  he  called  him,  was  the  object  of 
his  admiration  and  passionate  love.  Ko  one  had  tried  to 
instil  in  the  lad  a  specia]  love  for  Pierre,  and  he  had  only 
seen  him  a  few  times.  His  aunt  and  guardian,  the  Countess 
Mariya,  exerted  all  her  energies  to  make  Kik<51enka  love  her 
husband  as  she  loved  him ;  and  Nikdlenka  did  love  his  uncle, 


294  ^AR  ANb  PeacS. 

bat  his  love  had  aii  almost  perceptible  tinge  of  scorn  in  itw  He 
worshipped  Pierre.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  a  hussar  or  a  cavar 
lier  of  St.  Greorge ;  he  preferred  to  be  a  learned,  good,  and  intel- 
lectual man  like  Pierre.  In  Pierre's  presence,  his  face  always 
wore  a  look  of  radiant  delight,  and  he  flushed  and  choked 
when  Pierre  addressed  him.  He  never  lost  a  word  that  Pierre 
uttered ;  and  afterwards,  when  with  Dessalles  or  even  alone  by 
himself,  he  recalled  and  pondered  over  the  meaning  of  every 
word. 

Pierre's  past  life,  his  misfortunes  before  1812  (concerning 
which  he  had  formed  a  vague  poetic  idea  from  hints  that  had 
been  dropped),  his  adventures  in  Moscow,  his  imprisonment, 
Platon  itaratayef  (of  whom  he  had  heard  from  Pierre),  his 
love  for  Natasha  (whom  also  the  boy  loved  with  a  peculiar 
love),  and,  above  all,  his  friendship  for  his  father,  whom 
Nikdlenka  did  not  remember,  —  all  this  made  of  Pierre  a 
hero  and  a  sacred  being  for  the  boy. 

From  snatches  of  conversation  concerning  his  father  and 
Natasha,  from  the  emotion  which  Pierre  always  showed  when 
he  spoke  of  the  lamented  prince,  from  the  guarded  tone  of 
veneration  and  affection  with  which  Natasha  spoke  of  him, 
the  lad,  who  was  only  just  beginning  to  have  an  idea  of  love, 
gathered  that  his  father  had  loved  Natasha,  and  in  dying  had 
bequeathed  her  to  his  friend. 

This  father  of  his,  whom  the  lad  did  not  remember,  seemed 
to  him  a  divinity  whom  it  was  impossible  to  picture  to  him- 
self, and  he  never  thought  of  him  except  with  an  oppression 
of  the  heart  and  with  tears  of  tenderness  and  enthusiasm. 

And  this  boy  also  was  glad  at  Pierre's  return. 

The  guests  were  glad,  because  Pierre  was  always  a  man 
full  of  life,  and  a  bond  of  union  in  any  sort  of  society. 

The  adult  members  of  the  household,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
wife,  were  glad  of  a  friend  who  made  life  easier  and  smoother. 

The  old  women  were  glad,  because  of  the  presents  which  he 
brought,  and  principally  because  his  coming  gave  Natasha 
new  life. 

Pierre  felt  the  effect  upon  himself  of  these  varying  views 
of  the  varying  microcosms,  and  hastened  to  give  to  each 
what  each  expected. 

Pierre,  the  most  abstracted,  the  most  forgetful  of  men,  now, 
by  the  advice  of  his  wife,  took  a  memorandum,  and,  without 
forgetting  a  single  item,  executed  the  commissions  of  her 
mother  and  brother,  buying  such  things  as  the  dress  for 
Byelova  and  toys  for  his  nephews. 


WAR  ANt>  PEACS.  295 

When  he  was  first  married,  this  demand  of  his  wife  that 
he  should  do  all  her  errands  and  not  forget  a  single  thing 
that  he  had  undertaken  to  purchase  seemed  very  strange  to 
him,  and  he  was  greatly  amazed  at  her  grave  displeasure 
when,  on  his  first  journey  from  home,  he  forgot  absolutely  every- 
thing. But  afterwards  he  became  used  to  it.  Knowing  that 
Natasha  never  ordered  anything  for  herself,  and  ordered  for 
the  others  only  when  he  himself  suggested  it,  he  now  took  a 
boyish  enjoyment,  quite  unexpected  to  himself,  in  these  pur- 
chases of  gifts  for  the  whole  household,  and  he  never 
forgot  anything  any  more.  If  he  deserved  reproaches  from 
Natasha,  it  was  solely  because  he  bought  needless  and  over- 
expensive  gifts.  In  addition  to  her  other  deficiencies  —  as 
they  seemed  to  the  majority  —  her  slackness  and  negligence 
— qualities,  as  they  seemed  in  Pierre's  eyes,  Natasha  had  also 
that  of  excessive  frugality. 

From  the  time  that  Pierre  began  to  live  on  a  grand  scale, 
and  his  family  demanded  large  outlays,  he  noticed,  much  to 
his  surprise,  that  he  spent  only  half  as  much  as  before,  and 
that  his  affairs,  which  had  been  in  great  confusion  of  late, 
especially  through  his  wife's  debts,  were  beginning  to 
improve. 

It  was  cheaper  to  live,  because  his  life  was  tied  down; 
since  the  most  expensive  luxury  consists  in  a  style  of  life 
that  can  at  any  minute  be  changed,  Pierre  no  longer  went  into 
this  extravagance,  and  had  no  longer  any  wish  to  do  so.  He 
felt  that  his  style  of  life  was  determined  now  until  death, 
that  to  change  it  was  not  in  his  power,  and  consequently  this 
style  of  life  was  cheap. 

Pierre,  with  a  jovial,  smiling  face,  unwrapped  his  purchases. 

"  How  much  do  you  suppose  ?  "  he  asked,  as,  like  a  shop- 
keeper, he  unwrapped  a  roll  of  cloth. 

Natasha  was  sitting  opiposite  him  holding  her  oldest 
daughter  on  her  lap,  and  swiftly  turning  her  shining  eyes  from 
her  husband  to  what  he  was  exhibiting. 

"Is  that  for  Byelova?  Splendid!"  She  examined  the 
niceness  of  the  material :  — 

«  That  cost  about  a  ruble,  didn't  it  ?  " 

Pierre  told  her  the  price. 

"  Too  dear,"  said  Natasha.  —  "  Well,  how  glad  the  children 
and  mamari  will  be.  —  Only  'twas  of  no  use  to  buy  that  for 
me,"  she  added,  unable  to  restrain  a  smile,  as  she  looked  at  a 
gold  comb  set  with  pearls,  which  were  just  then  becoming 
fashionable. 


296  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

'^Adele  tried  to  dissuade  me:  I  didn't  know  whether  to 
buy  it  or  not." 

"  When  should  I  wear  it  ?  " 

Natasha  took  it  and  put  it  in  her  braid.  ''And  joa 
brought  this  for  Mashenka :  perhaps  they'll  wear  them  again. 
Come,  let  us  go." 

Andy  having  decided  upon  the  disposition  of  the  g:ifts, 
they  went  first  to  the  nursery,  and  then  to  the  ooonteas's 
room. 

The  countess  was  sitting  as  usual  with  ByeloTa,  playing 
grand^patience,  when  Pierre  and  Natasha,  with  their  parcels 
under  their  arms,  came  into  the  drawing-room. 

The  countess  was  now  sixty  years  old.  She  was  perfectly 
gray,  and  wore  a  cap  which  framed  her  whole  face  in  niching. 
Her  face  was  wrinkled,  her  upper  lip  sunken,  and  her  eyes 
were  dimmed. 

After  the  loss  of  her  son,  followed  so  quickly  by  that  of 
her  husband,  she  felt  herself  unexpectedly  foi^otten  in  this 
world, — a  being  without  aim  or  object  She  ate,  drank, 
slept,  sat  up,  but  she  did  not  live.  Life  left  no  impression 
upon  her. 

She  asked  nothing  from  life  except  repose,  and  repose  she 
could  find  only  in  death.  But  till  death  should  come  she  had 
to  live,  that  is,  employ  all  her  vitality.  She  exemplified  in 
a  high  degree  what  is  noticeable  in  very  young  children  and 
very  old  people.  Her  life  had  no  manifest  outward  aim,  hot 
was  merely,  so  far  as  could  be  seen,  occupied  in  exercising 
her  own  individual  proclivities  and  peculiarities.  She  felt 
the  necessity  upon  her  to  eat  and  drink,  to  sleep  a  little,  to 
think  a  little,  to  talk,  to  shed  a  few  tears,  to  do  some  work, 
to  lose  her  temper  occasionally,  and  so  on,  simply  because  she 
had  a  stomach,  brains,  muscles,  nerves,  and  a  liver. 

All  this  she  did,  not  because  action  was  called  forth  by 
anything  external,  not  as  people  in  the  full  vigor  of  life  do, 
wheu  above  and  beyond  the  object  for  which  they  are  striving 
is  the  unnoticeable  object  of  putting  forth  their  strength. 

She  talked,  simply  because  she  felt  the  physical  necessi^ 
of  exercising  her  lungs,  her  tongue.  She  wept  like  a  child, 
because  she  had  to  blow  her  nose  and  the  like.  What  for 
people  in  the  full  possession  of  their  faculties  was  an  object 
and  aim,  was  evidently  for  her  only  an  excuse. 

Thus  in  the  morning,  especially  if  the  evening  before  she 
had  eaten  anything  greasy,  she  manifested  a  disposition  to 
show  temper,  and  then  she  would  choose  the  handiest  pretext^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  297 

Bjelora^s  deafness.  She  would  begin  to  say  something  in  a 
low  tone  of  voice  from  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

'*It  seems  warmer  to-day,  my  love,"  she  would  say  in  a 
whisper,  and  when  Byelova  would  reply :  ■"  What,  has  he 
come  ?  "  she  would  grumble,  — 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  *  how  stupid  and  deaf  I " 

Another  pretext  was  her  snufp,  which  she  complained  of,  as 
being  now  too  dry,  now  too  damp,  now  badly  powdered. 

After  these  displays  of  temper  her  face  would  show  that 
there  had  been  an  effusion  of  bile,  and  her  maids  had  infalli- 
ble signs  to  know  when  it  would  be  the  deaf  Byelova,  and 
when  it  would  be  that  the  snuff  was  too  damp,  and  when  she 
would  have  a  bilious  countenance. 

Just  as  it  required  some  preparations  for  her  bilious  fits,  so 
also  she  had  to  exert  herself  for  her  other  peculiarities,  —  the 
pretext  for  thinking  would  be  "patience." 

When  she  had  occasion  to  shed  tears,  then  the  pretext  would 
be  the  late  count. 

When  she  wanted  to  be  anxious,  her  pretext  was  Nikolai 
and  his  health. 

When  she  wanted  to  speak  sarcastically,  then  her  pretext 
was  the  Countess  Mariya. 

When  she  wanted  to  exercise  her  voice,  — this  was  generally 
about  seven  o'clock,  after  her  digesting  napy  in  her  darkened 
room,  —  then  the  pretext  was  forever  the  same  old  stories, 
which  she  would  always  tell  to  the  same  audience. 

This  state  of  second  childhood  was  understood  by  all  the 
household,  though  no  one  ever  mentioned  it,  and  all  possible 
endeavors  were  made  to  gratify  her  desires.  Only  occasional 
glances,  accompanied  by  a  melancholy  half-smile,  exchanged 
between  Nikolai  and  Pierre,  Natasha  and  the  Countess  Mariya, 
would  express  the  reciprocal  comprehension  of  her  state.  But 
these  glances  also  said  something  else :  they  declared  that  she 
had  already  played  her  part  in  life,  that  what  was  now  to  be 
seen  in  her  was  not  wholly  herself,  that  all  would  at  last  come 
to  be  the  same,  and  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  yield  to  her,  to 
restrain  ourselves  for  this  poor  creature  who  was  once  so  dear, 
who  was  once  as  full  of  life  as  we  ourselves. 

Memento  morl  said  these  glances.  Only  the  utterly  depraved 
and  foolish  people  and  little  children  would  fail  to  understand 
this,  and  find  cause  for  shunning  her. 

*  Bdzhe  mof  . 


298  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTEE  Xin. 

Whek  Pierre  and  his  wife  came  into  the  drawing'^)xx)my  the 
countess  found  herself,  as  usual,  absorbed  in  what  she  consid- 
ered the  intellectual  labor  of  working  out  her  ffrand-paiienety 
and  therefore,  according  to  her  custom,  she  spoke  the  words 
which  she  was  sure  to  speak  on  the  return  of  Pierre  or  her  son, 
namely,  "  Late,  late,  my  dear ;  we  have  been  expecting  yon. 
Well,  thank  the  Lord ; "  and  when  she  was  given  the  presents, 
she  said  other  perfunctory  words :  "  Wasn't  it  too  expensive 
a  present  for  me,  my  dear  boy  ?  Thanks  for  remembering  the 
old  lady"  — 

But  it  was  evident  that  Pierre's  intrusion  was  distasteful  to 
her  at  that  moment  because  it  distracted  her  attention  from 
her  unfinished  game  of  grand-patience.  She  completed  the 
laying  out  of  the  cards,  and  then  only  turned  her  attention  to 
her  gifts. 

The  gifts  consisted  of  a  beautifully  carved  card-casket,  a 
bright  blue  Sevres  cup  with  a  cover  and  adorned  with  a  pas- 
toral scene,  and,  finally,  a  gold  snuff-box  with  a  portrait  of 
the  late  count,  which  Pierre  had  commissioned  a  Petersburg 
miniaturist  to  paint  (the  countess  had  been  long  wishing  for 
one). 

She  was  not  now  in  one  of  her  tearful  moods,  and  therefore 
she  looked  with  indifference  on  the  portrait,  and  took  more 
interest  in  her  card-casket  "  Thank  you,  my  dear ;  you  have 
cheered  me  up,"  said  she,  just  as  she  always  said.  '^  But,  best 
of  all,  you  have  brought  yourself  back.  But  you  can't  imagine 
how  naughty  it  was,  you  ought  to  give  your  wife  a  good  8<5Dld- 
ing.  Why  I  she  was  like  a  crazy  person  while  you  were  away ! 
She  hadn't  any  eyes  or  any  memory  for  anything ! "  said  the 
countess  in  the  usual  strain.  "  Look,  Anna  Timofeyevna,  see 
what  a  beautiful  casket  my  dear  son  has  brought  to  us." 

Byelova  lauded  the  gifts,  and  felt  of  the  silk  that  was  her 

gift. 

Although  Pierre,  Natasha,  Nikolai,  the  Countess  Mariya, 
and  Denisof  were  anxious  to  talk  over  many  things  that  they 
were  not  in  the  habit  of  discussing  in  her  presence,  not  be- 
cause they  wanted  to  keep  anything  from  her,  but  because 
she  was  so  out  of  the  ordinary  current  of  life  that  when  any 
topic  of  conversation  was  brought  up  in  her  presence,  it  was 
always  necessary  to  answer  her  questions;  however  untimely^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  299 

and  repeat  for  her  benefit  what  had  already  been  many  times 
repeated,  —  tell  her  who  was  dead,  who  was  married,  and  other 
things  that  she  could  not  seem  to  get  through  her  mind,  —  they 
sat  down  as  usual  to  tea  in  the  drawing-room,  around  the 
samovAr,  and  Pierre  replied  to  all  the  countess's  questions, 
which  were  wholly  unnecessary  to  her,  and  uninteresting  to 
every  one  else :  as  to  whether  Prince  Vasili  began  to  show 
his  age,  and  whether  the  Countess  Marya  Alekseyevna  sent 
any  message  to  her,  and  the  like. 

Conversation  of  this  sort,  though  interesting  to  no  one,  was 
unavoidable,  and  lasted  all  through  their  tea-time.  All  the 
adult  members  of  the  family  were  gathered  for  tea  at  the  round 
table,  over  which  Sonya  presided. 

The  children,  the  tutors,  and  the  governesses  had  already 
finished  drinking  their  tea,  and  their  voices  were  heard  in  the 
adjoining  divan-room. 

While  the  elders  were  at  tea,  all  sat  in  their  accustomed 
places :  Nikolai  near  the  stove,  at  the  little  stand,  where  they 
handed  him  his  glass.  The  old  Borzaya  MUka  —  Milka  the 
swift  (daughter  of  Milka  I.)  — lay  on  the  chair  near  him,  with 
her  perfectly  gray  face,  from  which  occasionally  bulged  forth 
a  pair  of  great  black  eyes.  Denisof,  with  his  curly  hair,  his 
mustaches,  and  side  whiskers  fast  turning  gray,  sat  next  the 
Countess  Maiiya,  with  his  general's  coat  unbuttoned.  Pierre 
sat  between  his  wife  and  the  old  countess.  He  was  relating 
what,  as  he  knew,  would  greatly  interest  the  old  lady  and  be 
comprehensible  to  her.  He  was  telling  her  of  the  superficial 
events  of  the  society  and  about  those  people  who  had  once 
formed  the  circle  of  the  old  countess's  intimate  friends,  who, 
in  days  gone  by,  had  been  an  active,  lively,  distinct  "  coterie," 
but  who  now  were,  for  the  most  part,  scattered  here  and  there, 
like  herself  waiting  for  the  final  summons,  gathering  the  last 
gleanings  of  what  they  had  sowed  in  life. 

But  these  were  the  very  ones,  these  contemporaries  of  hers, 
who  seemed  to  the  old  countess  the  only  important  and  actual 
world. 

Natasha  knew  by  Pierre's  excitement  that  his  journey  had 
been  interesting,  that  he  had  much  that  he  wanted  to  talk 
about,  but  did  not  dare  to  mention  in  the  old  countess's 
presence. 

Denisof,  who  had  not  been  a  member  of  the  family  long 
enough  to  understand  the  cause  of  Pierre's  caution,  and,  more- 
over, because  of  his  disaffection  was  greatly  interested  in  what 
was  going  on  in  Petersburg,  kept  urging  Pierre  to  tell  about 


300  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  trouble  in  the  Semyonovsky  regiment,  which  had  just 
then  broken  out,  and  about  Arakcheyef,  and  about  the  Bible 
Society.  Pierre  was  occasionally  drawn  away  and  would  be- 
gin to  tell  about  these  things,  but  Nikolai  and  Nastasha  would 
always  bring  him  back  to  the  health  of  Prince  Ivan  or  the 
Countess  Marya  Antonovna. 

'<  Now  tell  me,  what  is  all  this  nonsense  about  Hosner  and 
Tatarinof  ?  "  asked  Denisof.    ''  Is  it  going  to  last  always  ?  " 

"Last  always?''  screamed  Pierre,  "it's  worse  thaji  ever. 
The  Bible  Society  has  absorbed  the  whole  government.'' 

"What  is  that,  rnon  cher  ami?''  asked  the  countess,  who 
had  finished  drinking  her  tea,  and  was  now  evidently  anxious 
to  find  some  excuse  for  peevishness  after  her  meal.  **  What 
is  that  you  said  about  the  government  ?  I  don't  understand.'' 

"  Yes,  you  know,  niaman,"  put  in  Nikolai,  who  knew  how  to 
translate  what  was  said  into  language  suitable  for  his  mother's 
comprehension,  "  Prince  A.  N.  Golitsuin  has  started  a  society^ 
and  he  is  now  a  man  of  great  influence,  they  say." 

"Arakcheyef  and  Golitsuin,"  said  Pierre,  incautiously, 
"are  now  the  real  heads  of  the  government.  And  what  a 
government!  They  affect  to  see  plots  in  everything;  they 
are  afraid  of  their  own  shadows." 

"  What !  Prince  Aleksandr  Nikolaye  vitch  *  in  any  way  blame- 
worthy !  He  is  a  very  fine  man.  I  met  him  once  at  Marya  An- 
tonovna's,"  said  the  countess  in  an  offended  tone,  and  she  grew 
still  more  offended  because  no  one  made  any  further  reply. 
She  went  on,  "Nowadays,  they're  always  criticising  every- 
body.    What  harm  is  there  in  the  Gospel  Society  ?  " 

And  she  got  up  (all  the  rest  also  arose),  and,  with  a  stem 
face,  sailed  into  the  divan-room,  to  her  own  table. 

Amid  the  gloomy  silence  that  ensued  could  be  heard  the 
talking  and  laughter  of  the  children  in  the  adjoining  room. 
Evidently  there  was  some  joyous  excitement  going  on  among 
the  little  ones. 

"  It's  done !  It's  done  ! "  rang  out  little  Natasha's  meny 
shriek  above  all  the  others. 

Pierre  exchanged  glances  with  the  Countess  Mariya  and 
Nikolai  (his  eyes  were  always  on  Natasha),  and  smiled  gayly. 

"  That  is  wonderful  music ! "  said  he. 

"  Anna  Makarovna  must  have  finished  a  stocking,"  said  the 
Countess  Mariyai 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  see  I "  cried  Pierre,  jumping  up.  "  You 
know,"  he  added,  as  he  paused  by  the  door,  "  why  I  specially 

*  GoUmun  (QalitaOn), 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  801 

love  that  kind  of  music  —  they  make  me  know  for  the  first 
time  that  everything  is  well.  To-day,  on  my  way  home,  the 
nearer  I  come,  the  more  afraid  I  am.  As  soon  as  I  come  into 
the  anteroom,  I  hear  little  Andryusha's  voice,  and  of  course  I 
know  that  all's  well." 

"I  know,  I  know  what  that  feeling  is,"  attested  Nikolai. 
"But  I  can't  go  with  you,  for  you  see  those  stockings  are  to 
be  a  surprise  for  me ! " 

Pierre  joined  the  children,  and  the  shouts  and  laughter 
grew  still  louder. 

"  Well,  Anna  Makarovna,"  Pierre's  voice  was  heard  saying, 
"now  ril  stand  in  the  middle  here,  and  at  the  word — one, 
two  —  and  when  I  say  three,  you  come  to  me.  Clap  your 
hands !    Now,  then,  one  —  two  "  —  cried  Pierre. 

There  was  perfect  silence.  "  Three ! "  and  a  rapturous  shout 
of  children's  voices  rang  from  the  room.  ^^  Once  more !  once 
more ! "  cried  the  children. 

There  were  two  stockings  which,  by  a  secret  which  she  kept 
to  herself,  Anna  Makdrovna  had  been  knitting  at  the  same 
time,  and  it  was  always  her  habit  triumphantly  to  produce  the 
one  out  of  the  other,  in  the  children's  presence,  when  the 
stockings  were  done. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Shobtlt  after  this  the  children  came  in  to  say  good-night. 
The  children  kissed  all  round,  the  tutors  and  governesses 
bowed  and  left  the  room.  Dessalles  and  his  charge  were 
alone  left.  The  tutor  whispered  to  his  charge  to  go  down- 
stairs. 

"Nbn^  M.  Dessalles,  je  demanderai  a  ina  tante  de  rester,'' 
replied  Nik61enka  Bolkonsky,  also  in  a  whisper.  —  ^Ma  tante, 
let  me  stay,"  pleaded  Nikdlenka,  going  to  his  aunt.  His  face 
was  fnll  of  entreaty,  excitement,  and  enthusiasm. 

The  Coxmtess  Mariya  looked  at  him  and  turned  to  Pierre. 

«  When  you  are  here,  he  cannot  tear  himself  away,"  said 
she. 

"  Je  Vims  le  ramevierai  tout-^  Vkeure  M,  Dessalles  ;  ban  soir," 
said  Pierre,  giving  the  Swiss  gentleman  his  hand,  and  then, 
turning  with  a  smile  to  Nikdlenka,  he  said:  ''Really,  we 
haven't  had  a  chance  to  see  each  other.  Marie,  how  much  he 
is  growing  to  resemble  "  —  be  ^ded,  turning  to  the  Countess 
Jfariya. 


802  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"  My  father  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  flushing  crimson,  and  surrey- 
ing  Pierre  from  head  to  foot  with  enraptured,  gleaming  eyes. 
Pierre  nodded,  and  went  on  with  his  story,  which  had  been 
interrupted  by  the  children. 

The  Countess  Mariya  was  working  on  her  embroidery; 
Natasha,  without  dropping  her  eyes,  gazed  at  her  husband. 
Nikolai  and  Denisof  had  got  up,  asked  for  their  pipes,  were 
smoking,  and  getting  an  occasional  cup  of  tea  of  Sonya,  who 
was  sitting  downcast  and  in  gloomy  silence  behind  the  samo- 
vdr,  and  asked  questions  of  Pierre. 

The  curly-headed,  sickly  lad,  with  gleaming  eyes,  sat  unob- 
served by  any  one  in  the  comer,  and  merely  craned  his  slender 
neck  from  his  turned-down  collar,  so  as  to  look  toward  Pierre, 
occasionally  starting,  or  whispering  something  to  himself,  and 
was  evidently  under  the  influence  of  some  new  and  powerful 
emotion. 

The  conversation  turned  on  the  contemporary  gossip  about 
the  higher  members  of  the  government,  in  which  the  majority 
of  people  usually  find  the  chief  interest  in  internal  politics. 

Denisof,  who  was  dissatisfied  with  government  on  account 
of  his  lack  of  success  in  the  service,  was  rejoiced  to  learn  of 
the  follies  which,  in  his  opinion,  were  being  committed  at  that 
time  at  Petersburg,  and  his  comments  on  Pierre's  remarks 
were  made  in  keen  and  forcible  language. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  you  had  to  be  a  German :  now  yon  must 
dance  with  Tatawinova  and  Madame  Kwudener,  and  wead 
Eckarsthausen  and  the  like.  Okh !  if  we  could  only  set  our 
bwave  Bonaparte  upon  'em !  He  would  dwive  the  folly  out  of 
'em !  Now,  I'd  like  to  know  what's  the  sense  of  giving  the 
Semyonovsky  wegiment  to  a  man  like  Schwartz  ?  "  he  cried. 

Nikolai,  though  he  had  no  wish  at  all  to  find  fault  with 
everything,  as  Denisof  did,  felt  that  it  was  thoroughly  digni- 
fied and  worth  his  while  to  make  some  criticisms  on  tiie  gov- 
ernment, and  he  felt  that  the  fact  that  A.  was  appointed 
minister  in  this  department,  and  that  B.  was  appointed  gov- 
ernor-general of  this  city,  and  that  the  sovereign  said  this  or 
that,  and  this  minister  something  else,  and  all  these  things, 
were  very  important.  And  he  considered  it  necessary  to  tue 
an  interest  in  these  things,  and  to  question  Pierre. 

Owing  to  the  questions  of  the  two  men  the  conversation  did 
not  get  beyond  that  general  character  of  gossip  concerning  the 
upper  spheres  of  the  administration. 

But  Natasha,  who  knew  her  husband's  every  habit  and 
thought,  saw  that  Pierre  had  been  long  futilely  wishing  to' 


WAR  AND  PEACE,  808 

lead  the  conversation  into  another  path,  so  that  he  might 
speak  his  mind  and  tell  why  he  had  gone  to  Petersburg  to 
consult  with  his  new  friend,  Prince  Feodor,  and  she  tried  to 
help  him  with  a  question :  — 

How  had  he  got  along  with  Prince  Feodor  ? 

«  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Nikolai. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  one  and  the  same  thing,''  said  Pierre,  glancing 
around  him.  ''All  see  that  affairs  are  so  rotten  that  they 
cannot  be  allowed  to  remain  so,  and  that  it  is  the  duty-  of  all 
honorable  men  to  oppose  them  to  the  best  of  their  ability." 

"  What  can  honorable  men  do  ? "  asked  Nikolai,  slightly 
contracting  his  brows.     '*  What  can  be  done  ?  " 

"  This  can  "  — 

"Come  into  the  library,"  suggested  Nikolai. 

Natasha,  who  had  been  for  some  time  expecting  to  be  called 
to  nurse  the  baby,  heard  the  nyanya's  call,  and  went  to  the 
nursery.    The  Countess  Mariya  went  with  her. 

The  men  went  into  the  library ;  and  Nikolenka  Bolkonsky, 
unobserved  by  his  uncle,  went  with  them,  and  sat  down  in  the 
shadow  by  the  window,  at  the  writing-table. 

"  Well,  then,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Denisof. 

"  Forever  visionaiy ! "  exclaimed  Nikolai. 

"  This  is  what,"  began  Pierre,  not  sitting  down,  but  striding 
through  the  room,  occasionally  pausing  and  making  rapid 
motions  with  his  hands  while  he  spoke.  "This  is  what:  — 
the  state  of  affairs  in  Petersburg  is  like  this :  the  sovereign 
takes  no  part  in  anything.  He  is  wholly  given  over  to  mysti- 
cism (Pierre  could  not  pardon  mysticism  in  any  one  now). 
All  he  asks  for  is  to  be  left  in  peace,  and  this  peace  can  be 
given  him  only  by  the  men  sans  foi  ni  lot,  who  are  perfectly 
unscrupulous  in  their  rough  and  cruel  treatment  of  every  one : 
Magnitsky,  Arakcheyef,  e  tutti  quant L  You  must  admit  that 
if  you  yourself  were  not  busy  with  your  management  of  the 
estate,  but  merely  wanted  comfort  and  peace,  the  more  savage 
your  bailiff  was,  the  more  quickly  you  would  attain  your 
aim,"  said  he,  addressing  Nikolai. 

"  Well,  now,  why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  demanded  Nikolai. 

"  Well,  everything's  going  to  pieces.  Robbery  in  the  courts : 
the  army  under  the  rod:  discipline  —  transportation — tortur- 
ing the  people — civilization  crushed.  All  the  young  men 
and  the  honorable  are  persecuted.  All  see  that  this  cannot 
go  on  so.  The  strain  is  too  great,  and  there  must  be  a  break," 
said  Pierre  (as  men  have  always  said  about  the  deeds  of  any 
government,  and  will  always  say  so  long  as  governments  shall 
last).     "  I  told  them  one  thing  at  Petersburg  "  -^ 


304  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

"Told  whom  ?  "  asked  Denisol 

"  Why,  you  know  whom/'  exclaimed  Pierre,  giving  him  a 
significant  look  from  under  his  brows.  "  Prince  Feodor  and 
all  of  them.  To  make  rivals  of  enlightenment  and  charity  is 
a  fine  thing,  of  course.  The  aim  is  admirable  and  all  that, 
but  something  else  is  necessary  in  the  present  circumstances.'* 

At  this  moment,  Nikolai  noticed  that  his  nephew  was  pres- 
ent.    His  face  became  wrathful ;  he  went  over  to  him  :  — 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

"Why,  let  him  stay,"  said  Pierre,  taking  Nikolai  by  the 
hand  and  proceeding:  —  "'That's  not  all,'  said  I  to  them, 
'something  else  is  necessary.  While  you  stand  and  wait,  this 
strained  cord  breaks ;  while  we  are  all  expecting  some  immi- 
nent change,  we  ought  to  be  gathering  closer  together,  and 
taking  hold  of  hands,  more  and  more  of  us,  in  order  to  prevent 
the  general  catastrophe.  All  that  is  young  and  vigorous  is 
crowding  here  and  becoming  corrupt.  One  is  seduced  by 
women ;  another,  by  ambition  and  grandeur ;  a  third,  by  van- 
ity or  money;  and  then  they  go  over  to  the  other  camp. 
There  are  getting  to  be  no  independent,  free  men  at  all,  like 
you  and  me.  I  say  —  widen  the  circle  of  the  society :  let  the 
mot  d^ordre  be  not  merely  vii-tue,  but  also  independence  and 
activity.' " 

Nikolai,  who  had  let  his  nephew  remain,  angrily  moved  his 
chair,  sat  down  in  it,  and  while  he  listened  to  Pierre  he  invol- 
untarily coughed  and  scowled  still  more  portentously. 

"  Yes,  but  what  is  to  be  the  object  of  this  activity  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  And  what  position  do  you  hold  toward  the  govern- 
ment ?  " 

"What  position?  The  position  of  helpers.  The  society 
might  not  remain  a  secret  one  if  the  government  would  give 
us  its  favor.  It  is  not  only  not  hostile  to  the  government,  but 
this  society  is  composed  of  genuine  conservatives.  It  is  a  soci- 
ety of  gentlemen  *  in  the  full  meaning  of  the  word.  We  exist 
merely  to  prevent  Pugachof  t  from  coming  to  cut  the  throats 
of  my  children  and  yours,  and  Arakcheyef  from  sending  me  to 
one  of  his  military  colonies ;  for  this  purpose  we  have  banded 
together,  with  the  single  aim  of  the  general  welfare  and  the 
general  safety." 

"  Yes,  but  a  secret  society  must  necessarily  be  harmful  and 
prejudicial  —  is  bound  to  produce  nothing  but  evil." 

•  DzherUelmeno/. 

t  Emilian  Pugacbdf,  a  vagabond  Cossack,  during  the  reign  of  Cttherine 
the  Great,  gave  himself  outfor  Peter  III.,  and,  after  aboal  ft  year  ot  vaiy- 
ing  success,  was  captured  and  quartered  in  January,  1776. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  305 

"Why  sp?  Did  the  Tiigendbund,  which  saved  Europe" 
(even  then  they  dared  not  imagine  that  it  was  Russia  that 
saved  Europe),  "did  that  produce  anything  harmful?  Tu- 
gejidhmid — that  means  a  society  of  the  virtuous  :  it  was  love, 
mutual  aid,  it  was  what  Christ  promised  on  the  cross." 

Natasha,  who  had  come  into  the  room  in  the  midst  of  the 
discussion,  looked  joyfully  at  her  husband.  It  was  not  that 
she  was  pleased  with  what  he  said.  It  did  not  even  interest 
her,  because  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  all  so  perfectly  sim- 
ple, and  that  she  had  known  it  all  long  before  —  it  seemed  so 
to  her  because  she  knew  so  well  the  source  from  which  it  all 
came,  from  Pierre's  mind  —  but  she  was  pleased  because  she 
looked  into  his  lively,  enthusiastic  face. 

With  still  more  joyful  enthusiasm,  the  lad,  who  again  had 
been  forgotten  by  all,  gazed  at  Pierre,  craning  his  thin  neck 
from  his  turned-down  collar.  Every  word  that  Pierre  spoke 
made  his  heart  glow,  and,  with  a  nervous  motion  of  his  fingers, 
without  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  he  broke  the  pens  and 
pieces  of  sealing-wax  on  his  uncle's  table. 

"  But  I  beg  of  you  not  to  think  that  the  (Jerman  Tugend- 
bund  and  the  one  to  which  I  belong  are  at  all  alike." 

"  Come,  now,  bwother,  this  Tugendbund  is  well  enough  for 
the  sausage-eaters,  but  I  don't  understand  it,  and  I  don't  say 
anything  against  it,"  cried  Denisof,  in  his  loud,  decisive  tones. 
"Everything's  wotten,  and  going  to  wuin,  I  admit,  but  as  for 
your  Tugendbund,  I  know  nothing  about  it,  and  I  don't  like 
it  —  give  us  a  weal  wevolt,  *  that's  the  talk !     Je  suis  voVe 

Pierre  smiled,  Natasha  laughed,  but  Nikolai  still  further 
knitted  his  brows  and  tried  to  prove  to  Pierre  that  there  was 
no  revolution  to  be  apprehended,  and  that  all  the  danger  of 
which  he  spoke  existed  only  in  his  imagination. 

Pierre  argued  to  the  contrary ;  and  as  his  powers  of  reason- 
ing were  stronger  and  better  trained,  Nikolai  felt  that  he  was 
driven  into  a  corner.  This  still  further  incensed  him,  since, 
in  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  not  through  any  process  of  reason- 
ing, but  by  something  more  potent  than  logic,  he  knew  the 
indubitable  truth  of  his  opinion. 

"  Well,  this  what  I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  rising,  and  with  ner- 
vous motions  putting  his  pipe  in  the  corner  and  finally  throw- 
ing it  down.  "  I  can't  prove  it  to  you.  You  say  that  every- 
thing is  all  rotten,  and  that  there  will  be  a  revolution:    I 

*  A  pun  tin  the  original:  hunt  (a  revolt),  from  German  Bund,  and  pro- 
nonnced  the  same. 

TOIm  4.  —  20. 


306  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

don't  see  it ;  but  you  say  that  an  oath  of  secrecy  is  an  essen- 
tial condition,  and  in  reply  to  this  I  tell  you:  You  are  mj 
best  friend,  — you  know  it,  — but  if  in  founding  a  secret  soci- 
ety you  should  undertake  anything  against  the  administra- 
tion, whatever  it  was,  —  I  know  that  it  would  be  my  duty  to 
obey  it.  And  if  Arakcheyef  should  order  me  to  go  against 
you,  instantly,  and  cut  you  down,  I  should  not  hesitate  a 
second,  but  should  start.     So,  then,  decide  as  you  please/* 

An  awkward  silence  followed  these  words. 

Natasha  was  the  first  to  speak  :  she  took  her  husband's  side 
and  opposed  her  brother.  Her  defence  was  weak  and  clumsy, 
but  her  object  was  attained.  The  discussion  was  renewed  on 
a  different  topic,  and  no  longer  in  that  hostile  tone  with  which 
Nikolai's  last  words  had  been  spoken. 

When  all  got  up  to  take  supper  Nik61enka  Bolkonsky  went 
to  Pierre  with  pale  face,  and  gleaming,  luminous  eyes. 

"  Uncle  Pierre  —  you  —  no  —  if  my  papa  were  alive  he 
would  agree  with  you,  wouldn't  he  ?"  he  asked. 

Pierre  suddenly  realized  what  a  peculiar,  independent,  com- 
plicated, and  powerful  work  must  have  been  operating  in  this 
fad's  mind  during  this  discussion ;  and  when  he  recalled  what 
had  been  said,  he  felt  a  sense  of  annoyance  that  the  lad  had 
listened  to  them.     However,  he  had  to  answer  him. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  he  reluctantly,  and  left  the  library. 

The  lad  bent  his  head,  and  then  for  the  first  time  seemed  to 
realize  what  mischief  he  had  been  doing  on  the  writing-table. 
He  flushed,  and  went  to  Nikolai. 

"  Uncle,  forgive  me  for  what  I  have  done.  I  did  not  mean 
to,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  broken  pens  and  pieces  of  sealing- 
wax. 

Nikolai  gave  an  angry  start. 

"  Fine  work,  fine  work,"  said  he,  flinging  the  fragments  of 
pens  and  wax  under  the  table.  And,  evidently  finding  it  hard 
to  restrain  the  anger  that  overmastered  him,  he  turned  away. 

"  You  ought  never  to  have  been  here  at  all,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

At  supper,  the  talk  no  longer  turned  on  politics  and  secret 
societies,  but,  on  the  contrary,  proved  to  be  particularly  inter- 
esting to  Nikolai,  owing  to  Denisof  bringing  it  round  to 
reminiscences  of  the  war  of  1812,  and  here  Pierre  was  partic- 
ularly genial  and  diverting.  And  the  relatives  parted  for  the 
night  on  the  most  friendly  terms. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  807 

When,  after  supper,  Nikolai,  after  having  changed  his 
clothes  in  his  library  and  given  orders  to  his  overseer,  who 
was  waiting  for  him,  returned  in  his  khalat  to  his  sleeping- 
room,  he  found  his  wife  still  at  her  desk :  she  was  writing 
something. 

"  What  are  yon  writing,  Marie  ?  "  asked  Nikolai. 

The  Countess  Mariya  reddened.  She  feared  that  what  she 
was  writing  would  not  be  understood  and  approved  by  her 
husband.  She  would  have  preferred  to  conceal  from  him 
what  she  had  been  writing,  but  at  the  same  time  she  was  glad 
that  he  had  found  her  and  that  she  had  to  tell  him. 

"  It  is  my  diary,  Nicolas,"  said  she,  —  a  bluish  note-book 
written  in  a  fair  round  hand. 

"  A  journal ! "  exclaimed  Nikolai,  with  just  a  shade  of 
irony  in  his  tone,  and  he  took  the  note-book.  It  was  written 
in  French. 

Dec.  16.  To-day,  Andryusha  [her  oldest  son],  when  he  woke  up,  did 
not  wish  to  be  dressed,  and  Mile.  Luisa  sent  for  me.  He  was  ca- 
pricious and  wilful,  and  when  I  tried  to  threaten  him,  he  only  grew 
the  more  obstinate  and  angry.  Then  I  took  him  to  my  room,  left  him 
alone,  and  began  to  help  the  nurse  get  the  rest  of  the  children  up,  bat  I 
told  him  that  I  should  not  love  him.  He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  as 
though  in  amazement;  then  he  jumped  up,  ran  to  me  in  nothing  but  his 
little  night  shirt,  and  sobbed  so  that  it  was  long  before  I  could  pacify 
him.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  more  grieved  because  he  had  troubled 
me  than  by  anything  else!  Then  when  I  put  him  to  bed  this  evening, 
and  gave  him  his  caid,  he  again  wept  pitifully,  and  kissed  me.  You  can 
do  anything  with  him  through  his  affections. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  *  his  card '  ?  "  asked  Nikolai. 

'*  I  have  beg^n  to  give  the  older  children  cards  in  the  even- 
ing, when  they  have  been  good." 

Nikolai  glanced  into  the  luminous  eyes  that  gazed  at  him, 
and  continued  to  turn  the  leaves  and  read.  In  the  diary  was 
written  everything  concerning  the  children's  lives  that 
seemed  important  in  the  mother's  eyes  as  expressing  the  char- 
acter of  the  children,  or  that  suggested  thoughts  concerning 
their  education.  These  were,  for  the  most  part,  the  most 
insignificant  trifles,  but  they  seemed  not  such  to  the  mother 
or  the  father  when  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  read  this  journal 
about  his  children. 

The  entry  for  the  seventeenth  of  December  was  :  — 

Mitya  played  pranks  at  table:  papa  would  not  let  pastnr  be  given  to 
him.  It  was  not  given  to  him,  but  he  looked  so  eagerly  and  longingly  at 
the  others  while  they  were  eating!  I  think  that  it  is  a  punishment  not 
to  let  him  have  a  taste  of  the  sweets,  —  only  increases  his  greediness. 
Must  tell  Nicolas. 


SOS  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Nikolai  put  down  the  book  and  looked  at  his  wife.  Her 
radiant  eyes  looked  at  him  question!  ngly  :  did  he  approve,  or 
disapprove,  of  the  diary  ?  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  his 
approval  or  of  his  admiration  for  his  wife, 

"  Perhaps  there  was  no  need  of  doing  it  in  such  a  pedantic 
manner,  perhaps  it  was  not  necessary  at  all,"  thought 
Nikolai ;  but  this  unwearied,  everlasting,  sincere  effort,  the 
sole  end  and  aim  of  which  was  the  moral  welfare  of  the  chil- 
dren, roused  his  admiration.  If  Nikolai  could  have  analyzed 
his  feelings,  he  would  have  discovered  that  the  chief  basis  of 
his  firm,  tender,  and  proud  love  for  his  wife  was  found  in  his 
amazement  at  her  cordial  sincerity  and  her  spiritual  nature, 
at  that  lofty  moral  world  in  which  his  wife  always  lived,  but 
which  was  almost  unattainable  for  him. 

He  was  proud  that  she  was  so  intelligent  and  so  good, 
acknowledging  his  inferiority  to  her  in  the  spiritual  world, 
and  rejoicing  all  the  more  that  she  in  her  soul  not  only 
belonged  to  him  but  formed  a  part  of  him. 

"  I  approve  and  thoroughly  approve,  darling,"  said  he,  with 
a  meaning  look.  And,  after  a  little  silence,  he  added :  "  I 
have  behaved  very  scurvily  to-day.  You  were  not  in  the 
library.  Pierre  and  I  had  a  discussion,  and  I  lost  my  temper. 
Yes,  it's  incredible.  He's  such  a  child.  I  don't  know  what 
would  become  of  him  if  Natasha  did  not  hold  him  in  leading 
strings.  Can  you  imagine  why  he  went  to  Petersburg?  — 
They  have  started  there  a  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  the  Countess  Mariya ;  "  Natar 
sha  told  me  about  it." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  know,"  pursued  Nikolai,  growing 
hot  at  the  mere  memory  of  the  quarrel,  "  he  wanted  to  make 
me  believe  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every  honorable  man  to  go 
against  the  government,  even  though  he  has  taken  the  oath  of 
allegiance.  —  I  am  sorry  that  you  were  not  there.  But  they 
were  all  against  me,  — Denisof  and  Natasha.  Natasha  is  ludi- 
crous. You  know  how  she  keeps  him  under  her  slipper,  but 
when  there  is  anything  to  be  decided,  she  can't  speak  her 
own  mind  at  all.  She  simply  says  what  he  says,"  added 
Nikolai,  giving  way  to  that  vague  tendency  which  men  have 
to  criticise  their  nearest  and  best  friends.  Nikolai  forgot 
that,  word  for  word,  what  he  said  about  Natasha  might  be 
said  about  him  and  his  wife. 

*'  Yes,  I  have  noticed  it,"  said  the  Countess  Mariya. 

"  When  T  told  him  that  my  duty  and  my  oath  of  allegiance 
were  above  everything,  he  tried  to  prove  Heaven  knows  what 


WAtt  AND  PEACE.  80ft 

iPity  that  yon  weren^t  there,  I  should  like  to  know  what  yon 
womd  have  said." 

"  In  my  opinion,  you  were  perfectly  right.  I  said  so  to 
Natasha.  Pierre  says  that  all  are  suffering,  persecuted,  cor- 
mpty  and  that  it  is  our  duty  to  render  help  to  our  neighbors. 
Of  course,  he  is  right,"  said  the  Countess  Mariya,  '<  but  he 
forgets  that  we  have  other  obligations,  nearer  still,  which 
6od  himself  has  imposed  upon  ns,  and  that  we  may  run  risks 
for  ourselves  but  not  for  our  children." 

"  There,  there,  that  is  the  very  thing  I  told  him,"  cried 
Kikolai,  who  actually  thought  that  he  had  said  that  very 
thing.  "  But  they  made  out  that  this  was  love  to  the  neigh*- 
bor,  was  GhriBtianity,  and  all  that,  before  Nikolenka,  who 
stole  into  the  library  and  broke  up  everything  there  was  on 
toy  table." 

"  Akh  I  do  you  know,  Nicolas,  Nik61enka  so  often  makes  me 
anxious,"  said  the  Countess  Mariya.  "  He  is  such  an  extraor- 
dinary boy.  And  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  too  partial  to  my 
own  children  and  neglect  him.  Our  children  have  both  father 
and  mother,  but  he  is  absolutely  alone  in  the  world.  He  is 
always  alone  with  his  own  thoughts." 

"Well,  now,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  nothing  to 
reproach  yourself  with  in  regard  to  him.  All  the  most  affec- 
tionate mother  could  do  for  her  son,  you  have  done  and  are 
doing  for  him.  And  of  course  I  am  glad  of  it.  He  is  a 
splendid,  splendid  boy.  To-day,  he  listened  to  Pierre,  and 
had  no  ears  for  anything  else.  And  you  can  imagine :  as  we 
were  going  out  to  supper,  I  look,  and  lo !  he  has  broken  into 
flinders  everything  on  my  table,  and  he  instantly  told  me.  I 
never  knew  him  to  tell  an  untruth.  Splendid,  splendid  boy," 
repeated  Nikolai,  who  really,  at  heart,  did  not  like  the  lad^ 
though  he  always  took  pains  to  call  him  slavnui,  —  splendid. 

"  Well,  I  am  not  like  a  mother  to  him,"  said  the  Countess 
Mariya ;  "  I  feel  that  I  am  not,  and  it  troubles  me.  He's  a 
wonderful  lad,  but  I'm  terribly  anxious  about  him.  More 
society  would  be  a  good  thing  for  him." 

"WeU,  it  won't  be  long;  this  summer  I'm  going  to  take 
him  to  Petersburg,"  said  Nikolai.  "Yes,  Pierre  always  was 
and  always  will  be  a  dreamer,  a  visionary,"  he  went  on  to  say, 
returning  to  the  discussion  in  the  library,  which  had  evidently 
greatly  agitated  him.  "Now,  what  difference  does  it  make  to 
me  that  Arakcheyef  is  not  good  and  all  that  ?  What  differ- 
ence did  it  make  to  me  when  I  was  married  and  had  so  many 
debts  that  I  might  have  been  put  into  the  sponging-house,  and 


810  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

motheri  who  could  not  see  it  and  understand  ?  And  then  yoa 
and  the  children  and  my  affairs  ?  Is  it  for  my  own  enjoyment 
that  I  spend  the  whole  day  from  morning  till  night  in  attend- 
ing to  business  and  in  the  office  ?  No,  I  know  that  it  is  my 
duty  to  work  in  order  to  soothe  my  mother's  last  days,  to  pay 
you  back,  and  so  as  not  to  leave  the  children  in  such  a  condi- 
tion of  beggary  as  I  was  I " 

The  Countess  Mariya  wanted  to  tell  him  that  not  by  bread 
alone  is  manhood  nourished,  that  it  was  possible  to  set  too 
great  store  in  these  affairs  of  his,  but  she  knew  that  it  would 
be  unnecessary  and  unprofitable  to  say  this. 

She  only  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  He  accepted  this  act 
of  his  wife's  as  approval  and  confirmation  of  his  words,  and, 
after  some  little  time  of  silent  meditation,  he  went  on  aloud 
with  his  thoughts. 

"Do  you  know,  Marie,"  safd  he,  "Ilya  Mitrofanuitch"  — 
this  was  their  man  of  business  —  "came  to-day  from  our 
Tambof  estate,  and  told  me  that  they  would  give  eighty 
thousand  for  the  forest  there." 

And  Nikolai,  with  animated  face,  began  to  speak  about  the 
possibilities  of  being  very  soon  able  to  buy  back  Otradnoye. 
"  If  only  I  live  ten  years  longer,  I  shall  leave  the  children — in 
a  splendid  position." 

The  Countess  Mariya  listened  to  her  husband  and  under- 
stood all  that  he  said  to  her.  She  knew  that  when  he  thus 
thought  aloud,  he  sometimes  asked  hex  what  he  had  said,  and 
was  vexed  to  find  that  she  had  been  thinking  of  something 
else.  But  she  had  to  use  great  effort  over  herself,  for  she  was 
not  in  the  least  interested  in  what  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  if  she  was  not  thinking  of  something 
else,  she  had  other  feelings.  She  felt  an  obstinate,  tender 
love  for  this  man,  though  he  would  never  be  able  to  under^ 
stand  what  she  understood,  and,  as  it  were,  from  this  very 
reason  she  loved  him  all  the  more,  with  a  touch  of  passionate 
affection. 

Beside  this  feeling,  which  entirely  absorbed  her,  and  made 
her  enter  into  all  the  details  of  her  husband's  plans,  her  mind 
was  filled  with  ideas  which  had  no  connection  with  what  he 
was  talking  about.  She  was  thinking  of  her  nephew  —  the 
story  that  her  husband  told  of  his  excitement  at  Pierre's  re- 
marks  had  powerfully  impressed  her  —  and  the  various  char- 
acteristics of  his  tender,  sensitive  nature  arose  to  her  mind, 
and  the  thought  about  her  nephew  made  her  think  of  her  own 
children.    She  made  no  comparison  between  her  nephew  and 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  811 

her  own  childreD,  but  she  compared  her  respective  feelings 
toward  them^  and  found  to  her  sorrow  that  there  was  some- 
thing lacking  in  her  feeling  for  Nikolenka. 

Sometimes  the  thought  came  to  her  that  this  difference 
arose  from  the  difference  in  their  ages,  but  she  felt  that  she 
was  blameworthy  toward  him,  and  in  her  heart  she  vowed 
that  she  would  do  better  and  would  make  every  effort :  that 
is,  that  during  her  life  she  would  love  her  husband  and  her 
children  and  Kik<Slenka  and  all  her  neighbors  as  Christ  loved 
the  human  race. 

The  Countess  Mariya's  soul  was  always  striving  toward  the 
Infinite,  the  Eternal,  and  the  Absolute,  and  therefore  she 
could  never  rest  content.  Her  face  always  wore  the  stem 
expression  of  a  soul  kept  on  a  high  tension  by  suffering,  and 
becoming  a  burden  to  the  body. 

Nikolai  gazed  at  her. 

''  My  God  I  what  would  become  of  us  if  she  should  die,  as 
it  sometimes  seems  must  be  when  her  face  has  that  expres- 
sion  ?  "  he  said  to  himself,  and,  stopping  in  front  of  the  holy 
pictures,  he  began  to  repeat  his  evening  prayers. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Natasha  and  her  husband,  left  alone,  also  talked  as  only 
wife  and  husband  can  talk,  namely,  with  extraordinary  clear- 
ness and  swiftness,  recognizing  and  communicating  each  other's 
thoughts,  by  a  method  contrary  to  all  logic,  without  the  aid 
of  reasoning,  syllogisms,  and  deductions,  but  with  absolute 
freedom.  Natasha  had  become  so  used  to  talking  with  thia 
freedom  with  her  husband  that  the  surest  sign,  in  her  mind, 
that  there  was  something  wrong  between  her  and  him  was  for 
Pierre  to  give  a  logical  turn  to  his  arguments  with  her.  When 
he  began  to  bring  proofs  and  to  talk  with  calm  deliberation, 
and  when  she,  carried  away  by  his  example,  began  to  do  the 
same,  she  knew  that  they  were  surely  on  the  verge  of  a  quarrel. 

Erom  the  moment  that  they  were  entirely  alone,  and  Na- 
tasha with  wide,  happy  eyes  went  quietly  up  to  him,  and 
suddenly,  with  a  swift  motion,  taking  his  head  between  both 
her  hands,  pressed  it  to  her  breast,  and  said :  "  Now,  thou  art 
all  mine,  mine  !  Thou  wilt  not  go  I "  —  from  that  moment 
began  that  intimate  dialogue,  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  logic, 
—  contrary  simply  because  the  talk  ran  at  one  and  the  same 
time  upon  such  aosolutely  different  topics. 


81^  WAR  AND  PBACS. 

This  simultaneous  consideration  of  many  things  not  only 
did  not  prevent  their  clearly  understanding  each  other^  bat, 
on  the  contrary,  was  the  surest  sign  that  they  understood  each 
other. 

As  in  a  vision  everything  is  illusory,  absurd,  and  incoherent 
except  the  feeling  which  is  the  guide  of  the  vision,  so  in  this 
intercourse,  so  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  logic,  the  phrases 
uttered  were  not  logical  and  clear,  while  the  feeling  that 
guided  them  was. 

Natasha  told  Pierre  about  her  brother's  mode  of  life,  how 
she  had  suffered  and  found  it  impossible  to  live  while  he,  her 
husband,  was  absent,  and  how  she  had  grown  fonder  than  ever 
of  Marie,  and  how  Marie  was  in  every  respect  better  than  she 
was. 

In  saying  this,  Natasha  was  genuine  in  her  acknowledgment 
that  she  saw  Marie's  superiority,  but,  at  the  same  time,  in  say- 
sag  this  she  claimed  from  Pierre  that  he  should  still  prefer  her 
to  Marie  and  all  other  women,  and  now  again,  especially  after 
he  had  been  seeing  many  women  in  Petersburg,  that  he  should 
assure  her  of  this  fact. 

Pierre,  in  answering  Natasha's  words,  told  her  how  nnen- 
durable  it  was  for  him  to  go  to  dinners  and  parties  with 
ladies. 

'<  I  had  really  forgotten  how  to  talk  with  the  ladies,"  said 
he.     "  It  was  simply  a  bore.    Especially  when  I  was  so  busy.'' 

Natasha  gazed  steadily  at  him  and  went  on  :  — 

"Marie !  she  is  so  lovely !"  said  she.  "How  well  she  knows 
how  to  treat  the  children !  It  seems  as  though  she  only  read 
their  souls  !  Last  evening,  for  example,  little  Mitenka  began 
to  be  contrary  "  — 

"  But  how  like  his  father  he  is  ! "  interrupted  Pierre. 

Natasha  understood  why  he  made  this  remark  about  the 
likeness  between  Mitenka  and  Nikolai :  the  remembrance  of 
his  discussion  with  his  brother-in-law  was  disagreeable  to  him, 
and  he  wanted  to  hear  her  opinion  in  regard  to  it. 

"Nik61enka  has  the  weakness  of  not  accepting  anything 
unless  it  is  received  by  every  one.  But  I  apprehend  you  set 
a  special  value  upon  it,  pour  ouurir  une  carrih'ey"  said  she, 
repeating  words  once  spoken  by  Pierre. 

"No,  the  main  thing  is,  Nikolai  looks  upon  thought  and 
reasoning  as  amusement,  almost  as  a  waste  of  time,"  said 
Pierre.  "Now  he  is  collecting  a  library,  and  he  has  made  a 
rule  for  himself  never  to  buy  a  new  book  until  he  has  read 
through  what  he  has  already  bought — Sismondi  and  Bousseaa 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  313 

aud  Montesquieu,"  added  Pierre  with  a  smile.  "  Why,  you 
know  him  as  well  as  I  do."  He  began  to  modify  his  words, 
but  Natasha  interrupted  him,  giving  him  to  understand  that 
this  was  unnecessary. 

"So  you  think  that  he  considers  pure  thought  mere 
trifling  "  — 

"Yes,  and  for  me  everything  else  is  mere  trifling.  All  the 
time  that  I  was  in  Petersburg  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  I 
saw  all  men  in  a  dream.  When  I  am  engaged  in  thinking, 
then  everything  else  seems  a  sheer  waste  of  time." 

"Akh!  what  a  pity  that  I  did  not  see  you  greet  th^ 
children !  Which  one  do  you  love  most  of  all  ?  —  Liza,  I 
suspect." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pierre,  and  he  went  on  with  what  was  engross- 
ing his  attention.  —  "  Nikolai  says  that  we  have  no  business 
to  think.  Well,  I  can't  help  it.  Not  to  mention  that  I  felt 
in  Petei-sburg  —  lean  tell  yow — that  if  it  were  not  for  mM, 
everything,  all  our  scheme,  would  go  to  pieces,  every  one  was 
pulling  in  his  own  direction.  But  I  succeeded  in  uniting  all 
parties,  and,  besides,  my  idea  is  so  simple  and  clear.  You 
see,  I  don't  say  that  we  ought  to  act  in  opposition  to  this  one 
or  that  one.  We  may  be  deceived.  But  I  say:  Let  those 
who  love  what  is  right  join  hands,  and  let  our  whole  watch- 
word be  action  and  virtue.  Prince  Sergii  is  a  splendid  man 
and  very  intelligent." 

Natasha  had  no  doubt  that  Pierre's  idea  was  grand,  but 
one  thing  confused  her.  This  was  that  he  was  her  hus- 
band. "  Can  it  be  that  a  man  so  important,  so  necessary  to 
the  world,  can  at  the  same  time  be  ray  husband !  How  did 
this  ever  come  about  ?  " 

She  wanted  to  express  this  doubt  to  him.  "Whoever 
should  pass  judgment  on  this  question,  he  would  be  so  much 
more  intelligent  than  them  all,  wouldn't  he  ?  "  she  asked  her- 
self, and  in  her  imagination  she  reviewed  the  men  who  were 
very  important  to  Pierre.  None  of  all  these  men,  judging  by 
his  own  story,  had  such  an  important  effect  upon  him  as 
PHtton  Karatayef. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  about  ?  "  she  asked.  — 
"  About  Platon  Karatayef !  How  about  him  ?  Would  he 
approve,  now  ?  " 

Pierre  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  this  question.  He  under- 
stood the  trend  of  his  wife's  thoughts. 

"  Platon  Karatayef?"  he  repeated  and  pondered,  apparently 
honestly  endeavoring  to  realize  what  Karatayefs  opinion  con- 


814  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

ceming  tliis  matter  would  be.     "  He  would  not  undeistand, 
but  still  I  think  he  would  approve  —  yes ! " 

"I  love  thee  awfully!"*  said  Natasha  suddenly.  "Aw- 
fully!   Awfully!" 

"l^o,  he  would  not  approve,"  said  Pierre  after  a  little 
reconsideration.  "What  he  would  approve  would  be  this 
domestic  life  of  ours.  He  so  liked  to  see  beauty,  happiness, 
repose,  in  everything,  and  I  should  be  proud  if  I  could  show 
him  ourselves.  —  Now  you  talk  about  parting !  But  you  can- 
not understand  what  a  strange  feeling  I  have  for  you  after 
being  separated  from  you" — 

"  Why,  —  was  it "  —  began  Natasha. 

"  No,  not  that.  I  shall  never  cease  to  love  thee.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  love  thee  more;  but  this  is  peculiar.  —  Well, 
yes ! " —  But  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  because  their  eyes 
met  and  said  the  rest. 

"What  nonsense,"  suddenly  cried  Natasha,  "that  the 
honeymoon  and  real  happiness  are  only  during  the  first  part 
of  the  time !  On  the  contrary,  now  is  the  best  of  all.  If 
only  you  would  never  go  away  from  me !  Do  you  remember 
how  we  quarrelled  ?  And  it  was  always  I  who  was  at  fault 
Always  I.  But  as  to  what  we  quarrelled  about,  I  am  sure  I 
don't  remember ! " 

"Always  about  one  thing,"  said  Pierre,  smiling.    " Jealo" — 

"No,  don't  mention  it,!  can't  endure  it,"  cried  Natasha, 
and  a  cold,  cruel  light  flashed  into  her  eyes,  "Did  you  see 
her  ?  "  she  added  after  a  little  silence. 

"  No,  and  if  I  had  seen  her  I  should  not  have  recc^nized 
her." 

They  were  both  silent. 

"AKh!  do  you  know,  when  you  were  talking  in  the 
library,  I  was  looking  at  you,"  pursued  Natasha,  evidently 
trying  to  drive  away  the  cloud  which  had  suddenly  risen. 
"Well,  you  and  our  little  lad  are  as  alike  as  two  drops  of 
water."  Our  little  lad  —  mdlchik — was  what  she  called  her 
son.  "  Akh !  it  is  time  for  me  to  go  to  him  —  I'm  sorry  to 
have  to  go ! " 

They  were  silent  for  several  seconds.  Then  suddenly  they 
turned  to  each  other,  and  each  began  to  make  some  remark  at 
the  same  instant. 

Pierre  began  with  self-confidence  and  impulsive  warmth, 
Natasha  with  a  quiet,  blissful  smile.  Their  words  colliding, 
they  both  stopped  to  give  each  other  the  chance  to  speak. 

*  Uzkkzno:  Uterallj,  hoiribly. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  816 

«  No,  what  was  it  ?  tell  me !  tell  me !  '* 

"Ko,  you  tell  me,  —  what  I  was  going  to  say  was  only 
nonsense,'^  said  Natasha. 

Pierre  went  on  with  what  he  had  begun  to  say.  It  was  a 
continuation  of  his  self-congratulatory  opinion  concerning  the 
success  of  his  visit  at  Petersburg.  It  seemed  to  him  at  that 
moment  that  he  was  called  to  give  a  new  direction  to  all 
Russian  society  and  to  the  whole  world. 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say  that  all  ideas  which  have  porten- 
tous consequences  are  always  simple.  My  whole  idea  con- 
sists in  this :  that  if  all  vicious  men  are  bound  together  and 
constitute  a  force,  then  all  honorable  men  ought  to  do  the 
same.  How  simple  that  is ! " 
^'  Yes." 

"  And  what  were  you  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  Only  a  bit  of  nonsense  ! " 

"No,  tell  me  what  it  was  !  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  a  mere  trifle ! ''  said  Natasha,  beaming  with  a 
still  more  radiant  smile.  "  I  was  only  going  to  say  some- 
thing about  Petya : — To-day  the  nurse  was  going  to  take  him 
from  me.  He  began  to  laugh,  then  scowled  a  little  and  clung 
to  me  —  evidently  he  thought  that  he  was  going  to  play 
peek-a-boo — Awfully  cunning.  —  There  he  is  crying!  Well, 
good-night !  '*  and  she  left  the  room. 

At  the  same  time  below  in  Nik61enka  Bolkonsky's  apart- 
ment, in  his  sleeping-room,  the  night-lamp  was  burning  as 
always  (the  lad  was  afraid  of  the  darkness  and  they  could 
not  break  the  lad  of  this  fault  —  Dessalles  was  sleeping 
high  on  his  four  pillows,  and  his  Koman  nose  gave  forth  the 
measured  sounds  of  snoring). 

Nik61enka,  who  had  just  awakened  from  a  nap,  in  a  cold 
perspiration,  with  wide-opened  eyes  sat  up  in  bed  and  was 
looking  straight  ahead. 

A  strange  dream  had  awakened  him.  In  his  dream  he  had 
seen  himself  and  Pierre  in  helmets  such  as  the  men  wore  in 
his  edition  of  Plutarch.  He  and  his  uncle  Pierre  were  march- 
ing forward  at  the  head  of  a  tremendous  army.  This  army 
was  composed  of  white,  slanting  threads,  filling  the  air,  like 
the  cobwebs  which  float  in  the  autumn,  and  which  Dessalles 
called  lejil  de  la  Vierge — the  Virgin's  thread. 

Before  them  was  glory,  just  exactly  like  these  threads,  only 
much  stouter.  They — he  and  PieiTC  —  were  borne  on  lightly 
and  joyously,  ever  nearer  and  nearer  to  their  goal.    Suddenly 


316  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  threads  which  moved  them  began  to  slacken,  to  grow  con- 
fused ;  it  became  trying.  And  his  uncle  Nikolai  Iljitch  stood 
in  front  of  them  in  a  stern  and  threatening  posture. 

<<  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  "  he  demanded^  pointing  to 
his  broken  sealing-wax  and  pens.  '^  I  loved  you,  but 
Arakcheyef  has  given  me  the  order^  and  I  shall  kill  the  first 
who  advances." 

Nikolenka  looked  round  at  Pierre,  but  Pierre  was  no 
longer  there.  In  place  of  Pierre  was  his  own  father,  Prin<» 
Andrei,  and  his  father  had  no  shape  or  form;  but  there  he 
was,  and  in  looking  at  him  Nikolenka  felt  the  weakness  of 
love;  he  felt  himself  without  strength,  without  bones,  — as  it 
were,  liquid.  His  father  petted  him  and  pitied  him.  But 
his  uncle  Nikolai  Ilyitch  came  ever  closer  and  closer  to  biii. 
Horror  seized  Nikolenka  and  he  awoke. 

"  Father,"  he  thought.  "  Father ! "  ^although  there  were  in 
the  house  two  excellent  portraits,  Nikolenka  had  never 
imagined  Prince  Andrei  as  existing  in  human  form).  ''  My 
father  was  with  me  and  caressed  me.  He  approved  of  me. 
He  approved  of  Uncle  Pierre.  Whatever  he  says  I  will  da 
Mucius  Scaevola  burnt  his  hand.  But  why  should  I  not  do  as 
much  in  my  life  ?  I  know  they  want  me  to  study,  and  I  will 
study.  But  when  I  am  grown  up  then  I  will  do  it.  I 
will  only  ask  one  thing  of  God :  that  I  ma^  have  in  me  what 
the  men  in  Plutarch  had,  and  I  will  do  likewise.  I  will  do 
better.  All  will  know  me,  all  will  love  me,  all  will  praise 
me."  And  suddenly  Nikdlenka  felt  the  sobs  fill  his  chest,  and 
he  burst  into  tears. 

"  EteS'Vous  indispose  ?  "  asked  Dessalles's  voice. 

'<  Non"  replied  Nikolenka,  and  he  lay  back  on  his  pillow. 
"  He  is  good  and  kind,  I  love  him,"  said  he  of  Dessalles,  ^  but 
Uncle  Pierre !  Oh,  what  a  wonderful  man !  But  my  father ! 
my  father!  my  father!  Yes,  I  will  do  whatever  he  would 
approve." 


PART  SECOND. 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  object  of  history  is  the  life  of  nations  and  of  humanity. 
To  grasp  and  express  proximately  in  words — that  is,  to  de- 
pict the  life,  not  of  humanity,  but  simply  of  a  single  people, 
18  an  impossibility. 

All  the  historians  of  former  times  employed  exactly  the 
same  way  of  grasping  and  describing  the  Hfe  of  a  nation. 
They  described  the  actions  of  the  individuals  who  ruled  over 
a  nation,  and  the  actions  of  these  individuals,  they  supposed, 
were  an  epitome  of  the  activity  of  the  nation. 

To  the  questions,  How  could  individuals  make  a  whole  na- 
tion act  in  accordance  with  their  wills,  and,  How  was  the  will 
of  these  men  themselves  controlled  ?  the  historians  of  old  an- 
swered the  first  by  proclaiming  a  divine  will  which  subor- 
dinated na4iion8  to  the  will  of  a  single  chosen  man ;  and  the 
second  question,  by  declaring  that  this  divinity  directed  the 
will  of  the  chosen  man  toward  a  predestined  end. 

For  those  of  old  times  all  such  questions  were  answered  by 
a  belief  in  the  immediate  interference  of  the  Divinity  in 
human  actions. 

The  new  school  of  history  has  in  theory  abandoned  both 
these  positions. 

It  would  seem  that  after  having  abandoned  the  old  faith  in 
the  subordination  of  man  to  the  Divinity,  and  in  the  doctrine 
of  predestined  ends  to  which  nations  are  led,  the  New  History 
ought  to  study,  not  the  manifestations  of  power,  but  the  causes 
which  are  the  source  of  power. 

But  the  New  History  has  not  done  this. 

After  theoretically  abandoning  the  views  of  the  old  school, 
it  follows  them  in  practice. 

In  place  of  men  clothed  with  divine  power  and  governed 
directly  by  the  will  of  the  Divinity,  the  New  History  repre- 
sents either  heroes  endowed  with  extraordinary,  superhuman 
qualities,  or  simply  men  of  the  most  varied  talent,  from  mon- 
archs  to  journalists,  directing  the  masses. 

817 


818  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Instead  of  finding  in  the  special,  divinely  pre-ordained  mo- 
tives of  any  nation  —  Jewish,  Greek,  or  Roman — the  motive 
for  human  action  in  general,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  histo- 
rians of  old,  the  New  History  discovers  its  motives  in  the  wel- 
fare of  the  French,  the  English,  the  Germans  —  and,  in  its 
loftiest  abstraction,  in  the  welfare  of  the  civilized  world  and 
of  the  whole  of  humanity,  by  which  is  generally  meant  the 
nations  occupying  the  little  northwest  corner  of  the  continent 

Modern  history  has  abandoned  the  old  theories  without 
establishing  any  new  views  in  place  of  them,  and  the  l(^c  of 
their  position  has  compelled  the  very  historians  who  have 
rejected  the  hypothesis  of  the  divine  right  of  kings  and  the 
F(Uum  of  the  ancients  to  reach  by  a  different  route  the  same 
point :  the  assertion  (1),  that  nations  are  guided  by  individu- 
als, and  (2),  that  there  is  a  special  object  toward  which  the 
nations  and  humanity  are  moving. 

In  all  the  works  of  the  most  recent  historians,  from  Gibbon 
to  Buckle,  notwithstanding  their  apparent  disagreement  and 
the  apparent  novelty  of  their  views,  at  bottom  lie  these  two 
old  theories,  from  which  they  could  not  escape. 

In  the  first  place,  the  historians  describe  the  actions  of 
men  who,  in  their  opinion,  have  guided  humanity.  One 
counts  as  such  only  monarch^,  generals,  and  statesmen;  an- 
other, besides  monarchs,  takes  orators,  men  of  science,  reform- 
ers, philosophers,  and  poets. 

In  the  second  place,  the  historians  believe  they  know  the 
end  toward  which  humanity  is  guided:  — to  one,  that  end  is 
the  greatness  of  the  Roman,  the  Spanish,  or  the  French  em- 
pires ;  to  another  it  is  liberty  and  equality,  or  the  kind  of 
civilization  that  obtains  in  the  little  corner  of  the  globe  called 
Europe. 

In  1789  a  fermentation  begins  at  Paris ;  it  grows,  spreads, 
and  results  in  a  movement  of  peoples  from  west  to  east. 
Several  times  this  movement  is  directed  toward  the  east ;  it 
meets  with  a  counter-movement  from  east  to  west. 

In  1812  it  reaches  its  final  limit,  Moscow,  and  with  remark- 
able rhythmic  symmetry  occurs  the  counter-movement  from 
east  to  west,  which,  like  the  former,  carries  with  it  the  na- 
tions of  Central  Europe.  This  return  movement  reaches  to 
the  departing  point  of  the  preceding  wave,  Paris,  and  subsides. 

During  this  twenty-years  period  a  tremendous  number  of 
fields  remain  unploughed,  houses  are  burned,  trade  changes 
its  direction,  millions  of  men  are  ruined,  are  enriched,  emi- 
grate, and  millions  of  Christians  who  profess  to  obey  the  law 
of  love  to  their  neighbors  kill  one  another* 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  819 

Wliat  does  all  this  mean  ?  What  is  the  cause  of  this  ? 
What  forced  these  men  to  burn  houses  and  kill  their  fellow- 
men  ?  What  were  the  reasons  for  these  events  ?  What  force 
compelled  men  to  act  in  this  way  ? 

Such  are  the  «ingenuous,  involuntary,  and  most  legitimate 
questions  that  humanity  propounds  to  itself  on  meeting  with 
the  memorials  and  traditions  of  this  movement  in  the  past. 

For  a  solution  of  these  questions  the  common  sense  of  hu- 
manity looks  to  the  science  of  history,  the  aim  of  which  is  to 
teach  the  nations  and  humanity  self-knowledge. 

If  history  should  assume  the  old  point  of  view,  it  would 
reply,  *'The  Divinity,  as  a  reward  or  as  a  punishment  of  his 
people,  gave  power  to  Napoleon,  and  guided  his  will  to  the 
accomplishment  of  the  divine  purposes." 

And  this  reply  would  be,  at  any  rate,  full  and  clear.  One 
may  or  may  not  believe  in  the  divine  mission  of  Napoleon;  for 
one  who  does  believe  in  it  everything  in  the  history  of  that 
time  would  be  intelligible,  and  there  would  be  no  contra- 
diction. 

But  the  New  History  cannot  reply  in  this  way.  Science 
does  not  recognize  the  view  of  the  ancients  as  to  the  direct 
interference  of  the  Divinity  in  human  actions,  and  conse- 
quently must  give  another  reply. 

The  New  History,  in  answering  these  questions,  says, — 
''  You  wish  to  know  what  the  significance  of  this  movement 
was,  why  it  took  place,  and  what  forces  produced  these  events  ? 
Listen :  — 

"  Louis  XIV.  was  a  very  proud  and  self-confident  man ; 
he  had  such  and  such  mistresses,  and  such  and  such  ministers, 
and  he  governed  France  badly. 

"The  successors  of  Louis  XIV.  were  also  weak  men,  and 
thev  also  governed  France  badly,  and  they  also  had  such  and 
such  favorites,  and  such  and  such  mistresses. 

"  Moreover,  at  that  time,  certain  men  wrote  certain  books. 

"Toward  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  there  came 
together  at  Paris  a  score  of  men  who  began  to  declare  that  all 
men  were  free  and  equal.  The  result  of  this  was  that  all  over 
France  men  began  to  slaughter  and  ruin  each  other.  These 
men  killed  the  king  and  many  others. 

"  At  this  same  time  there  was  a  man  of  genius,  named  Napo- 
leon. He  was  everywhere  successful ;  that  is  to  say,  he  killed 
many  people,  because  he  was  a  great  genius. 

"  And  he  went  off  to  kill  the  Africans  (for  some  reason  or 
other),  and  he  killed  them  so  well^  and  wa^  so  shrewd  an4 


820  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

cleyer^  that,  wlien  lie  came  back  to  France,  he  ordeied  eyery- 
body  to  submit  to  him. 

"And  everybody  submitted  to  him. 

"  Having  made  himself  emperor,  he  again  went  off  to  kill 
the  people  in  Italy,  'Austria,  and  Prussia. 

'<  And  there  he  killed  many. 

<<  But  in  Russia  there  was  the  Emperor  Alexander,  who  de- 
termined to  re-establish  order  in  Europe,  and,  consequently, 
he  waged  war  with  Napoleon.  But  in  1807  they  suddenly 
became  friends,  and  in  1811  they  quarrelled  again,  and  again 
they  killed  many  people ;  and  Napoleon  led  six  hundred  thou- 
sand men  into  Kussia,  and  conquered  Moscow,  but  afterwards 
be  suddenly  fled  from  the  city,  and  then  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander, by  the  advice  of  Stein  and  others,  united  Europe  into  a 
coalition  against  the  disturber  of  the  peace. 

"  All  Napoleon's  allies  suddenly  became  his  enemieSi  and 
this  coalition  marched  against  Napoleon,  who  had  got  together 
new  forces. 

"  The  allies  defeated  Napoleon ;  they  entered  Paris ;  they 
compelled  the  emperor  to  abdicate  the  throne,  and  sent  him  to 
the  island  of  Elba,  without  depriving  him  of  his  dignities  of 
emperor,  or  failing  to  show  him  all  possible  respect,  although 
five  years  before  and  a  year  after  that  time  all  regarded  him 
as  a  bandit  outside  of  the  law. 

"Then  Louis  XVIII.  began  to  reign,  though  up  to  that 
time  the  French,  and  also  the  allies,  had  only  made  sport  of 
him. 

^'  Napoleon,  having  shed  tears  in  presence  of  his  old  guard, 
abdicated  the  throne  and  went  into  exile. 

"  Thereupon  astute  statesmen  and  diplomatists  (especially 
Talleyrand,  who  managed  to  anticipate  another  in  sitting  down 
in  a  certain  arm-chair,  and  thereby  magnified  the  boundaries 
of  France)  held  a  discussion  at  Vienna,  and  by  their  discus- 
sions made  nations  happy  or  unhappy. 

<'  Suddenly  the  diplomatists  and  monarchs  almost  quarrelled; 
they  were  about  to  set  their  armies  to  killing  each  other  again, 
but,  at  this  moment.  Napoleon,  with  one  battalion,  came  back 
to  France,  and  the  French,  who  hated  hiin,  immediately  all 
submitted  to  him. 

'<  But  the  allied  monarchs  were  indignant  at  this,  and  once 
more  set  out  to  Rght  with  the  French. 

<<  And  they  defeated  and  sent  Napoleon,  the  genius,  calling 
him  a  bandit,  to  the  island  of  St.  Helena. 

"  And  there  an  exile,  separated  from  tliose  dear  to  his  heart 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  821 

and  from  his  beloved  France,  he  died  a  lingering  death  on  the 
rock,  and  bequeathed  his  great  deeds  to  posterity. 

'^  Meanwhile,  in  Europe,  a  re-action  was  taking  place,  and  all 
the  sovereigns  began  once  more  to  oppress  their  peoples." 

Think  not  that  this  is  a  parody  or  caricature  of  historical 
writings.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  the  mildest  expression  of  the 
contradictory  answers  which  fail  to  answer,  and  are  given  by 
all  History,  whether  in  the  form  of  Memoirs  and  histories  of 
various  kingdoms,  or  Universal  Histories,  and  the  new  kind, 
Histories  of  Culture,  in  vogue  at  the  present  time. 

The  strangeness  and  absurdity  of  these  replies  are  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  New  History  is  like  a  deaf  man  who  answers 
questions  that  no  one  has  asked  him. 

If  the  object  of  history  is  to  describe  the  movements  of 
nations  and  of  humanity,  then  for  the  lirst  question,  and  the 
one  which,  if  left  unanswered,  makes  all  the  rest  unintelligi- 
ble, an  answer  will  be  as  follows :  — 

"  What  force  moves  the  nations  ?  " 

To  this  question  the  New  History  replies  elaborately  either 
that  Napoleon  was  a  great  genius,  or  that  Louis  XIV.  was 
verv  proud,  or  that  such  and  such  writers  published  such  and 
8uon  books. 

All  this  may,  perhaps,  be  very  true,  and  humanity  is  ready 
to  assent,  but  it  did  not  ask  about  that. 

All  this  might  be  interesting  if  we  acknowledge  the  divine 
power,  self-established,  and  always  the  same,  which  governs 
its  nations  by  means  of  Napoleons,  Louises,  and  the  writers, 
but  we  do  not  recognize  this  power,  and,  therefore,  before  talk- 
ing about  Napoleons,  Louises,  and  the  writers,  it  is  necessary 
to  show  the  connecting  link  between  these  men  and  the  move- 
ments of  the  nations. 

If,  in  place  of  the  divine  power,  a  new  force  is  to  be  substi- 
tuted, then  it  is  necessary  to  explain  in  what  this  new  force 
consists,  since  it  is  precisely  in  this  force  that  all  the  interest 
of  history  is  concentrated. 

History  seems  to  take  it  for  granted  that  this  force  is  a 
matter  of  course,  known  to  all.  But,  in  spite  of  all  desire  to 
recognize  this  new  force  as  known,  he  who  studies  very  many 
of  the  historical  writings  will,  involuntarily,  come  to  doubt 
whether  this  new  force,  wliich  is  understood  in  so  many  dit 
ferent  ways,  is  wholly  clear  to  the  ulstorians  themselves. 

VOL.  4.  — 21. 


822  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


CHAPTER  IL 

What  force  moves  the  nations  ? 

Ordinary  biographers  and  the  historians  of  distinct  nations 
understand  this  force  as  the  power  inherent  in  heroes  and 
rulers.  According  to  their  writings,  events  take  place  exclu- 
sively  in  accordance  with  the  wills  of  the  Xapoleous  and  the 
Alexanders,  or,  in  general,  of  those  individuals  whom  the  pri- 
vate biographer  describes. 

The  answers  given  by  historians  of  this  class  to  the  ques- 
tion "What  force  moves  events?"  are  satisfactory  only  so 
long  as  each  event  has  but  one  historian.  But  so  soon  as  histo- 
rians of  different  nationalities  and  views  begin  to  describe  one 
and  the  same  event,  then  the  answers  given  by  them  imme- 
diately become  nonsensical ;  since  this  force  is  understood  by 
each  one  of  them  not  merely  in  a  different  way,  but  often  in 
an  absolutely  contradictory  way. 

One  historian  affirms  that  an  event  took  place  by  means  of 
the  power  of  Napoleon ;  another  affirms  that  it  took  place  by 
means  of  the  power  of  Alexander ;  according  to  a  third,  it  took 
place  by  means  of  the  power  of  some  third  person. 

Moreover,  the  historians  of  this  class  contradict  one  another 
even  in  their  explanations  of  that  force  whereon  is  based  the 
power  of  one  and  the  same  man. 

Thiers,  a  Bonapartist,  declares  that  Napoleon's  power  was 
due  to  his  virtue  and  genius.  Lanf  rey,  a  Republican,  declares 
that  it  was  due  to  his  rascality  and  skill  in  deceiving  the 
people. 

Thus  the  historians  of  this  class,  by  mutually  destroying 
each  other's  position,  in  the  same  process  destroy  the  con- 
ception of  force  producing  the  events,  and  give  no  answer  to 
the  essential  question  of  history. 

General  historians,  who  treat  of  all  nations,  seem  to  recog- 
nize the  fallacy  of  the  views  held  by  the  special  historians  ia 
regard  to  the  force  that  produces  the  event.  They  will  not 
admit  that  force  to  be  a  power  inherent  in  heroes  and  rulers, 
but  consider  it  to  be  the  result  of  many  forces  variously 
applied. 

In  describing  a  war  or  the  subjugation  of  a  nation,  the 
general  historian  seeks  for  the  cause  of  the  event,  not  in  the 
power  of  any  one  individual,  but  in  the  mutual  influence  upon 
each  other  of  many  individuals  who  took  part  in  the  event. 


WAR  AND  PS  ACE.  823 

According  to  this  view,  the  power  of  historical  personages 
who  themselves  represent  the  product  of  many  forces,  it  would 
seem,  cannot  be  regarded  as  the  force  which  in  itself  produces 
the  events. 

And  yet  the  general  historians,  in  the  majority  of  cases, 
make  use  of  a  concept  of  power  as  a  force  which  in  itself  pro- 
duces events  and  holds  the  relation  to  them  of  first  cause. 

According  to  their  exposition,  the  historical  personage  is 
only  the  product  of  various  forces ;  next^  his  power  is  a  force 
producing  the  event. 

Gervinus  and  Schlosser,  for  example,  and  others  try  to  prove 
that  Napoleon  was  the  product  of  the  Revolution,  of  the  ideas 
of  1789,  and  so  forth ;  and  then  they  say  up  and  down  that 
the  campaign  of  '12,  and  other  events  which  they  disapprove, 
were  simply  the  results  of  Napoleon's  misdirected  will,  and 
these  very  ideas  of  the  year  1789  were  hindered  in  their  de- 
velopment in  consequence  of  Napoleon's  opposition. 

The  ideas  of  the  Revolution,  the  general  state  of  public 
opinion,  brought  about  Napoleon's  power,  and  at  the  same 
time  Napoleon's  power  stifled  the  ideas  of  the  Revolution  and 
the  general  state  of  public  opinion. 

This  strange  contradiction  is  not  accidental.  It  is  not  only 
arising  at  every  step,  but  from  a  continuous  series  of  such  con- 
tradictions all  the  writings  of  general  history  are  composed. 
This  contradiction  results  from  the  fact  that  on  getting  into 
the  region  of  analysis  the  general  historians  stop  half-way  on 
their  route. 

In  order  to  find  the  component  forces  equal  to  the  combina- 
tion or  the  resultant,  it  is  necessary  that  the  sum  of  the  factors 
should  equal  the  resultant. 

This  condition  is  never  observed  by  the  general  historian, 
and,  therefore,  in  order  to  explain  the  resultant  force,  they 
are  necessarily  compelled  to  admit  in  addition  to  their  inade- 
quate components  a  still  unexplained  force,  which  acts  supple* 
meutary  to  the  resultant. 

An  ordinary  historian  describing  the  campaign  of  '13  or  the 
restoration  of  the  Bourbons  says  in  so  many  words  that  these 
events  were  brought  about  by  the  will  of  Alexander. 

But  the  general  historian,  Gervinus,  refuting  this  view  held 
by  the  ordinary  historian,  endeavors  to  prove  that  the  cam- 
paign of  '13  and  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons  had  for  their 
causes,  not  alone  the  will  of  Alexander,  but  also  the  activity 
of  Stein,  Metternich,  Madame  de  Stael,  Talleyrand,  Fichte, 
Ch&teaubriand,  and  others. 


824  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  historian  evidently  resolved  Alexander's  power  into  its^ 
factors :  Talleyrand,  Chilteaubriand,  and  the  like.  The  sum 
of  these  factors,  that  is  the  mutual  influence  of  Chateaubriand, 
Talleyrand,  Madame  de  Stael,  and  the  others,  evidently  does 
not  equal  the  whole  resultant :  in  other  words,  the  phenome- 
non that  millions  of  the  French  submitted  to  the  Bourbons. 

From  the  fact  that  Chateaubriand,  Madame  de  Stael,  and 
others  said  such  and  such  words  to  each  other  show  merely 
their  mutual  relations,  but  not  the  submission  of  millions. 
And,  therefore,  in  order  to  explain  how  from  this  fact  of  their 
mutual  relations  resulted  the  submission  of  millions,  that  is 
from  factors  equal  to  A  alone  comes  a  resultant  equal  to  a 
thousand  times  A,  the  historian  is  inevitably  bound  to  admit 
that  same  force  of  personal  power,  which  he  professes  to  reject^ 
by  calling  it  the  resultant  of  forces ;  that  is,  he  is  bound  to 
admit  an  unexplained  force  acting  upon  the  factors. 

This  is  the  very  way  in  which  the  general  historians  reason. 
And  in  consequence  of  this  they  contradict,  not  only  the  biog- 
raphers, but  themselves. 

Inhabitants  of  the  country  districts  judging  bj  whether 
they  wish  rain  or  fine  weather,  and  having  no  clear  compre- 
hension of  the  causes  of  rain,  say,  '^The  wind  has  scattered 
the  clouds,''  or  "  The  wind  has  brought  the  clouds." 

In  exactly  the  same  way  the  general  historians :  sometimes, 
when  they  want  a  certain  thing,  when  it  fits  in  with  their 
theory,  they  say  that  the  power  is  the  result  of  events ;  but  at 
other  times,  when  it  is  necessary  to  prove  the  opposite,  they 
will  say  that  the  power  produces  the  events. 

A  third  class  of  historians,  called  the  historians  of  cuUuref 
following  on  the  track  laid  down  for  them  by  the  general  his- 
torians, recognizing  sometimes  writers  and  ladies  as  forces 
producing  events,  reckon  this  force  in  an  entirely  different 
way  still.  They  see  it  in  so-called  culture,  in  intellectoal 
activity. 

The  historians  of  culture  are  thoroughgoing  partisans  in 
relation  to  their  kinsfolk,  the  general  historians,  since  if  his- 
torical events  can  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  certain  men 
had  such  and  such  an  effect  upon  one  another,  then  why  not 
explain  them  by  the  fact  that  certain  men  wrote  certain 
books  ? 

These  historians,  from  the  whole  monstrous  collection  of 
manifestation  accompanying  every  phenomenon  of  life,  select 
the  manifestation  of  intellectual  activity  and  say  that  this 
manifestation  is  the  cause  I 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  826 

But,  notwithstanding  all  their  endeavors  to  prove  that  the 
cause  of  the  event  lay  in  intellectual  activity,  it  is  only  by 
great  concessions  that  we  can  agree  that  there  is  anything  in 
common  between  intellectual  activity  and  the  movements  of 
the  nations,  but  we  cannot  admit  in  any  case  that  intellectual 
activity  directs  the  activity  of  men,  since  such  phenomena  as 
the  cruel  massacres  of  the  French  Revolution,  which  were  the 
outcome  of  the  doctrine  of  the  equality  of  men,  and  the  wicked 
wars  and  reprisals,  which  were  the  outcome  of  the  doctrine  of 
love,  do  not  support  this  proposition. 

But  even  admitting  that  all  the  ingenious  hypotheses  with 
which  these  histories  are  filled  are  correct,  admitting  that  the 
nations  are  led  by  some  undetermined  force  which  is  called 
the  idea,  the  essential  question  of  history  still  remains  unan- 
swered, since  to  this  original  power  of  monarchs,  and  the  influ- 
ence of  contemporaries  and  other  individuals  adduced  by  the 
general  historians,  we  must  add  still  this  new  force  of  the 
tdeay  the  relation  of  which  to  the  masses  demands  to  be  ex- 
plained. 

TVe  may  grant  that  Napoleon  had  power  and  therefore  an 
event  took  place ;  with  some  concessions,  we  may  moreover 
grant  that  [Napoleon,  together  with  other  influences,  was  the 
cause  of  an  event ;  but  how  the  book  Contrat  Social  influenced 
the  French  to  destroy  each  other  cannot  be  understood  with- 
out an  explanation  of  the  connection  between  this  new  force 
and  the  event. 

Undoubtedly,  there  exists  a  connection  between  all  things 
existing  at  the  same  time,  and  therefore  there  is  a  possibility 
of  finding  some  connection  between  the  intellectual  activity 
of  men  and  their  historical  movements,  just  as  this  connection 
can  be  found  between  the  movement  of  humanity  and  trade, 
handicrafts,  horticulture,  and  what  not. 

But  why  the  intellectual  activity  of  men  furnishes  the 
historians  of  culture  with  the  cause  or  the  expression  of 
every  historical  movement,  it  is  hard  to  comprehend.  Only 
the  following  reasoning  can  bring  historians  to  such  a  con- 
clusion :  — 

(1)  That  history  is  written  by  wise  men,  and  it  is  natural 
ana  agreeable  for  them  to  think  that  the  activitv  of  their 
guild  is  the  ruling  element  in  the  movement  of  all  humanity, 
just  as  it  is  natural  and  agreeable  for  the  merchant,  the  agri- 
culturist, the  soldier,  to  think  the  same.  (This  fails  to  find 
expression  simply  because  merchants  and  soldiers  do  not 
wnte  histories.) 


826  WAR  AND  PBACS. 

And  (2)  that  intellectual  actiritj,  enlightenment,  ciTifiza- 
tion,  culture,  the  idea,  —  all  these  things  are  indeterminate 
concepts  under  which  it  is  very  convenient  to  employ  words 
still  miore  vague  and  therefore  easily  adapted  to  any  theoir. 

Buty  not  to  reckon  the  intrinsic  value  of  this  class  of  hi»> 
tory  (perhaps  they  may  be  useful  for  some  people  and  for 
some  purposes),  the  histories  of  culture,  to  which  all  general 
histories  are  beginning  more  and  more  to  conform,  are  signifr 
cant  for  this  reason,  that  in  developing  seriously  and  in 
detail  various  religious,  philosophical,  and  political  doctrines^ 
as  the  causes  of  the  events^  every  time  when  it  becomes  neces- 
sary for  them  to  describe  some  actual  historical  event,  as,  for 
example,  the  campaign  of  '12,  they  involuntarily  describe  it 
as  the  result  of  power,  saying  in  so  many  words  that  this 
campaign  was  the  result  of  Napoleon's  will ! 

Speaking  in  this  way,  the  historians  of  culture  unwittingly 
contradict  themselves,  or  prove  that  the  new  force  which  they 
have  discovered  does  not  explain  historical  events,  but  that 
the  only  means  of  understanding  history  is  to  admit  that 
rery  same  power  which  they  affect  to  disclaim. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  LOOOMOTivB  is  in  motion. 

The  question  is  asked,  What  makes  it  move  ? 

The  peasant  answers,  'Tis  the  devil  moves  it. 

Another  says  that  the  locomotive  goes  because  the  wheels 
are  in  motion. 

A  third  affirms  that  the  cause  of  the  motion  is  to  be  found 
in  the  smoke  that  is  borne  away  by  the  wind. 

The  peasant  sticks  to  his  opinion.  In  order  to  refute  himy 
some  one  must  prove  to  him  that  there  is  no  devil,  or  an- 
other peasant  must  explain  to  him  that  it  is  not  the  devil,  but 
a  German,  who  makes  the  locomotive  go. 

Only  then  because  of  the  contradictions  will  it  be  seen  thai 
they  cannot  both  be  right. 

But  the  one  who  says  that  the  cause  is  the  movement  of 
the  wheels  contradicts  himself,  since,  if  he  enters  into  the 
region  of  analysis,  he  must  go  fui-ther  and  further :  he  must 
explain  the  cause  of  the  motion  of  the  wheels.  And  until  he 
finds  the  ultimate  cause  of  the  motion  of  the  locomotive  in 
the  power  of  compressed  steam,  he  will  not  have  the  right  to 
pause  in  his  search  for  the  cause. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  327 

The  one  who  accounted  for  the  motion  of  the  locomotive  by 
the  smoke  borne  back  had  noticed  that  the  explanation  reJ-" 
garding  the  wheels  did  not  furnish  a  satisfactory  cause,  and  so 
seized  upon  the  first  manifestation  that  attracted  his  atten-- 
tion,  and  in  his  turn  offered  it  as  the  cause. 

The  only  conception  capable  of  explaining  the  motion  of 
the  locomotive  is  that  of  a  force  equivalent  to  the  observed 
movement. 

The  only  conception  capable  of  explaining  the  movement 
of  nations  is  that  of  a  force  equal  to  the  whole  movement  of 
the  nations. 

And  yet  the  forces  assumed  by  the  different  historians  to 
satisfy  this  conception  are  perfectly  different,  and  in  every 
case  are  not  equal  to  the  movement  under  observation.  Some? 
see  in  it  a  force  independently  inherent  in  heroes,  as  the 
peasant  sees  a  devil  in  the  locomotive.  Others  see  a  force 
proceeding  from  certain  other  forces,  like  the  motion  of  the 
wheels.  A  third  class  —  an  intellectual  influence,  like  the 
smoke  borne  away. 

So  long  as  histories  of  individuals  are  written,  —  whether 
Csesars  and  Alexanders,  or  Luthers  and  Voltaires,  —  and  not 
the  histories  of  all,  without  a  single  exception  of  all  the  men 
who  took  part  in  events,  there  is  no  possibility  of  describing 
the  movements  of  humanity  without  the  conception  of  a  force 
which  obliges  men  to  direct  their  activity  toward  a  common  end. 

And  the  only  conception  of  this  sort  known  to  historians  is 
Power. 

This  idea  of  Power  is  the  only  handle  by  means  of  which  it 
is  possible  to  manage  the  materials  of  history  in  the  present 
state  of  the  subject;  and  the  one  who  should  break  this 
handle,  as  Buckle  did,  and  not  know  any  other  way  of  dealing 
with  historical  material,  would  be  deprived  of  his  last  chance 
of  dealing  with  it. 

The  unavoidableness  of  the  concept  of  Power  in  explaining 
historical  events  is  shown  better  than  any  other  way  by  the 
authors  of  universal  histories  and  histories  of  civilization,  who 
affect  to  renounce  the  idea  of  power,  and  yet,  inevitably,  at 
every  step,  make  use  of  it. 

Historical  science,  at  the  present  time,  in  its  relation  to 
the  questions  of  humanity,  is  like  money  in  circulation,  — 
bank  notes  and  coin.  Biographies  and  the  ordinary  histories 
of  nations  are  like  bank  notes.  They  may  pass  and  circulate, 
satisfying  their  denomination  without  injury  to  any  one,  and 
even  be  of  service,  so  long  as  the  question  does  not  arise 
whether  their  value  is  assured. 


328  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

If  only  we  forget  the  question  how  the  will  of  heroes 
brings  about  events,  then  the  histories  of  the  Thierses  will  be 
interesting,  instructive,  and,  moreover,  will  have  a  touch  of 
poetry. 

But,  just  as  doubt  with  regard  to  the  actual  value  of  bank 
notes  arises  either  from  the  fact  that  since  it  is  so  easy  to 
make  them  many  of  them  are  made,  or  because  there  is  a  gen- 
eral desire  to  exchange  them  for  gold,  in  exactly  the  same 
way  doubt  concerning  the  actual  significance  of  historical 
works  of  this  sort  arises  from  the  fact  that  they  are  too 
numerous,  or  because  some  one,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart, 
asks  :  "  By  what  force  was  Napoleon  able  to  do  this  ?  "  In 
other  words,  wishes  to  have  his  bank  notes  exchanged  for  the 
pure  gold  of  the  genuine  concept. 

General  historians  and  the  historians  of  culture  are  like 
men  who,  recognizing  the  inconvenience  of  assignats,  should 
resolve,  in  place  of  paper,  to  make  coin  out  of  some  metal 
that  had  not  the  density  of  gold.  And  their  money  would 
actually  have  the  ring  of  metal,  but  that  would  be  all. 

Paper  notes  might  deceive  the  ignorant,  but  coin  which  is 
spurious  can  deceive  no  one. 

Now,  as  gold  is  only  gold  when  it  can  be  used,  not  merely 
for  exchange,  but  in  practical  business,  so  universal  histories 
will  become  gold  only  when  they  will  be  able  to  reply  to  the 
essential  question  of  history :  "  What  is  power  ?  " 

Authors  of  universal  histories  contradict  one  another  in 
their  replies  to  this  question,  and  historfans  of  culture  ignore 
it  entirely  and  reply  to  something  entirely  different. 

And  as  tokens  resembling  gold  can  onlv  be  used  among 
men  who  agree  to  take  them  for  gold  or  who  know  not  the 
properties  of  gold,  so  the  general  historians  and  the  historians 
of  culture  who  do  not  respond  to  the  essential  questions  of 
history  have  currency  only  at  the  universities  and  among 
the  throng  of  readers  who  are  fond  of  ^*  serious  books,''  as 
they  call  them. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

Havtko  renounced  the  views  of  the  ancients  as  to  the 
divinely  ordained  submission  of  the  will  of  the  people  to 
the  one  chosen  man,  and  the  submission  of  this  one  will  to 
the  Divinity,  history  cannot  take  another  step  without  being 
involved  in  contradictions  unless  it  make  choice  between  two 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  829 

fidtematives ;  either  to  return  to  the  former  belief  in  the 
iitlt&ediate  interference  of  the  Divinity  in  human  affairs,  or 
definitely  to  explain  the  meaning  of  this  force  which  produces 
historical  events,  and  is  known  as  Powef. 

To  return  to  the  first  is  impossible ;  the  belief  has  been 
overthrown,  and  therefore  it  is  necessary  to  explain  the  mean- 
ing of  Power.  • 

Napoleon  gave  orders  to  raise  an  army  and  go  out  to  battle. 
This  notion  is  so  familiar  to  us,  we  have  become  to  such  a 
degree  wonted  to  this  view  of  things,  that  the  question  why 
six  hundred  thousand  men  should  go  to  war  because  Napoleon 
said  such  and  such  words  seems  to  us  foolish.  He  had  the 
power,  and  consequently  his  orders  were  obeyed. 

This  answer  is  perfectly  satisfactory  if  we  believe  that  the 
power  was  given  to  him  by  God.  But,  as  soon  as  we  deny  it, 
we  must  decide  what  that  power  is  that  one  man  has  over 
others. 

That  power  cannot  be  the  direct  power  of  the  physical 
superiority  of  a  strong  being  over  the  weak,  —  a  superiority 
based  on  the  application  or  threatened  application  of  physical 
force  —  like  the  power  of  Hercules.  It  cannot  be  founded 
either  on  the  superiority  of  moral  force,  though  certain  histo- 
rians, in  the  simplicity  of  their  hearts,  declare  that  historical 
actors  are  the  heroes ;  that  is,  men  gifted  with  peculiar  force 
of  soul  and  intellect,  called  genius. 

This  Power  cannot  be  based  upon  the  superiority  of  moral 
force,  since,  without  speaking  of  heroes  like  Napoleon,  con- 
cerning whose  moral  qualities  opinions  are  completely  at 
variance,  history  shows  us  that  neither  the  Louis  Xlths,  nor 
the  Metternichs,  who  governed  millions  of  men,  had  any  spe- 
<5ial  qualities  of  moral  force,  but,  on  the  contrary,  were,  for 
the  most  part,  morallv  weaker  than  any  one  of  the  millions  of 
men  whom  they  ruled. 

If  the  source  of  Power  lies  in  neither  the  physical  nor  the 
moral  qualities  of  the  individual  exercising  it,  then  evidentlv 
the  source  of  this  power  must  be  found  outside  the  indivia- 
ual,  —  in  those  relations  between  the  masses  governed  and 
the  individual  possessing  the  Power. 

In  exactly  this  way,  Power  is  understood  by  the  science  of 
Law,  the  self-same  bank  of  exchange  of  history  which  promises 
to  change  the  historical  concepts  of  Power  into  pure  gold. 

Power  is  the  accumulation  of  the  wills  of  the  masses,  trans- 
ferred avowedly  or  tacitly  to  the  rulers  chosen  by  the  masses. 

In  the  domain  of  the  science  of  Law  which  is  composed  of 


880  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

dissertations  on  the  requisite  methods  of  building  up  a  State 
and  Power,  if  it  were  possible  to  do  all  this,  this  explanation 
is  all  very  clear ;  but  in  its  application  to  history  this  defini- 
tion of  Power  demands  explanation. 

The  science  of  Law  regards  a  State  and  Power  as  the  an- 
cients regarded  fire,  as  something  existing  absolutely.  For 
History  the  State  and  I^wer  are  only  phenomena,  just  as  in 
the  same  way  as  for  the  <'  Physics  "  of  our  day  fire  is  not  an 
element  but  a  phenomenon. 

From  this  fundamental  divergence  of  view  between  Histoiy 
and  the  Science  of  Law,  it  follows  that  Science  of  Law  can 
relate  in  detail  how  in  its  opinion  it  would  be  necessaiy  to 
build  up  Power,  and  what  Power  is  existing  immovably  out- 
side of  time ;  but  to  the  historical  questions  about  the  signifi- 
cance of  Power  modified  by  time  it  can  give  no  reply. 

If  Power  is  the  accumulation  of  wills  transferred  to  a  ruler, 
then  is  Pugach6f  the  representative  of  the  wills  of  the  masses  ? 
If  he  is  not,  then  why  is  Napoleon  I.  such  a  representative  ? 
Why  was  Napoleon  III.,  when  he  was  apprehended  at  Bou- 
logne, a  criminal,  and  why  were  those  whom  he  afterwards 
apprehended  criminals  ? 

In  palace  revolutions,  in  which  sometimes  two  or  three  men 
only  take  part,  is  the  will  of  the  masses  also  transferred  to 
the  new  monarch  ? 

In  international  relations,  is  the  will  of  the  masses  of  the 
people  transferred  to  their  conqueror  ? 

In  1808  was  the  will  of  the  Khine  Convention  transferred 
to  Napoleon  ? 

Was  the  will  of  the  Russian  people  transferred  to  Napoleon 
in  1809  when  our  troops,  in  alliance  with  the  French,  went  to 
fight  against  Austria  ? 

These  questions  may  be  answered  in  three  ways :  — 

(1)  By  acknowledging  that  the  will  of  the  masses  is 
always  unconditionally  handed  over  to  this  or  that  ruler 
whom  they  have  chosen,  and  that  consequently  everj. out- 
break of  new  power,  every  struggle  against  the  Power  once 
given  over,  must  be  regarded  as  an  infringement  of  the  real 
Power  ; 

Or  (2),  by  acknowledging  that  the  will  of  the  masses  is 
transferred  to  the  rulers  conditionally,  under  known  and  defi- 
nite conditions,  and  by  showing  that  all  assaults,  coUisioBS, 
and  even  the  destruction  of  Power,  proceed  from  non-fulfil- 
ment of  the  conditions  under  which  the  Power  was  given  to 
them; 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  831 

Or  (3),  by  acknowledging  that  the  will  of  the  masses  is 
transferred  to  the  rulers  conditionally,  but  under  unknown 
and  undefined  conditions,  and  that  the  outbreak  of  many  new 
Powers,  their  conflict  and  fall,  arise  only  from  the  more  or 
less  complete  fulfilment  of  those  unknown  conditions  accord- 
ing to  which  the  will  of  the  masses  was  transferred  from 
some  individuals  to  others. 

In  these  three  ways  the  historians  explain  the  relations  of 
the  masses  to  their  rulers. 

Some  historians,  not  comprehending  in  the  simplicity  of 
their  souls  the  question  or  the  meaning  of  Power,  —  the 
same  ordinary  and  "  biographical  historians  "  of  whom  men- 
tion-has been  made  above,  —  seem  to  acknowledge  that  the 
accumulated  will  of  the  masses  is  transferred  unconditionally 
to  the  historical  personages,  and  therefore,  in  describing  any 
Power  whatever,  these  historians  suppose  that  this  self-same 
Power  is  the  one  absolute  and  genuine,  and  that  any  other 
force  rising  in  opposition  to  this  genuine  Power  is  not  a 
Power,  but  a  breach  of  Power  —  violence! 

Their  theory,  satisfactory  for  the  primitive  and  simple 
periods  of  history,  when  it  comes  to  be  applied  to  the  compli- 
cated and  stormy  periods  in  the  life  of  the  nations,  —  during 
which  simultaneously  various  Powers  rise  up  and  struggle 
together, — has  the  disadvantage  that  the  legitimist  historian 
will  try  to  prove  that  the  Convention,  the  Directory,  and  Bonsr 
parte  were  only  infringements  of  Power,  while  the  Kepublican 
and  Bonapartist  will  try  to  prove,  the  one  that  the  Conven- 
tion, and  the  other  that  the  Empire,  was  the  genuine  Power, 
and  that  all  the  rest  were  only  infringements  of  Power. 

Evidently  since  the  explanations  of  Power  given  by  these 
historians  mutually  contradict  each  other,  they  can  prove 
satisfactory  only  for  children  of  the  tenderest  growth ! 

A  second  class  of  historians,  recognizing  the  fallacy  of  this 
view  of  history,  says  that  Power  is  founded  on  the  conditional 
transfer  of  the  accumulated  wills  of  the  masses  to  the'  rulers,  • 
and  that  historical  personages  have  the  Power  only  on  con- 
dition of  carrying  out  the  program  which  with  tacit  con- 
sent has  been  prescribed  by  the  will  of  the  nation.  But  what 
goes  to  make  up  this  program,  these  historians  fail  to  tell 
us,  or,  if  they  tell  us,  they  constantly  contradict  one  another. 

To  every  historian,  according  to  his  view  of  what  consti- 
tutes the  object  of  the  movement  of  the  nations,  this  pro- 
gram presents  itself  in  the  grandeur,  liberty,  enlightenn^ent, 
Qf  the  citizen^  of  France  or  some  other  State, 


382  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

But  not  to  speak  of  the  contradictions  of  the  historians,  or 
of  what  this  program  is,  even  granting  the  existence  of  one 
program  common  to  all,  stili  the  facts  of  history  almost  uni- 
versally contradict  this  theory. 

If  the  conditions  under  which  Power  is  granted  consist  in 
riches,  liberty,  the  enlightenment  of  the  nation,  why,  then, 
were  the  Louis  XlVths  and  Ivan  IVths*  allowed  to  live 
to  the  end  of  their  reigns,  while  the  Louis  XVIths  and 
Charles  Ists  were  put  to  death  by  their  nations  ? 

These  historians  answer  this  question  by  saying  that  the 
activity  of  Louis  XIV.,  being  contrary  to  the  program,  met 
with  its  punishment  in  the  person  of  Louis  XVL 

But  why  was  the  punishment  not  visited  upon  Louis  XIV. 
and  Louis  XV.  ?  Why  should  it  have  been  visited  especially 
upon  Louis  XVL?  And  what  is  the  length  of  time  required 
for  such  a  visitation  ? 

To  these  questions  there  is  and  can  be  no  answer.  In  the 
same  way  this  view  fails  to  explain  the  cause  of  the  fact  that 
the  accumulated  will  of  the  people  for  several  centuries  is 
preserved  by  the  rulers  and  their  successors,  and  then  sud- 
denly, in  the  course  of  fifty  years,  is  transferred  to  the  Con- 
vention, to  the  Directory,  to  Napoleon,  to  Alexander,  to  Louis 
XVIIL,  to  Napoleon  again,  to  Charles  X.,  to  Louis  Philippe, 
to  the  republican  administration,  to  Napoleon  III. 

lu  their  explanations  of  these  rapidly  occurring  transfers 
of  will  from  one  individual  to  another,  and  especially  in 
international  relations,  conquests,  and  treaties,  these  his- 
torians must,  in  spite  of  themselves,  acknowledge  that  a  part 
of  these  phenomena  are  not  regular  transfers  of  will,  but 
accidental  chances,  dependent  now  upon  cunning,  now  upK)n 
the  mistakes  or  the  deceitfulness  or  the  weakness  of  diplo- 
mat or  monarch  or  party  director. 

So  that  the  greater  pai-t  of  the  phenomena  of  history  — 
civil  wars,  revolutions,  conquests — appear  to  these  historians 
certainly  not  as  the  products  of  the  transfers  of  free  wills, 
but  as  the  products  of  the  misdirected  Avill  of  one  man  or 
several  men,  in  other  words,  again  infringements  of  Power. 

And  consequently  historical  events,  even  to  historians  of 
this  class,  appear  as  exceptions  to  the  theory. 

These  historians  are  like  a  botanist  who,  observing  that 

certain  plants  come  from  seeds  with  dicotyledonous  leaves, 

should  insist  upon  it  that  everything  that  grew  must  grow  in 

this  bifoliate  form,  and  that  the  palm  and  the  mushroom  and 

•  loinn  or  IviCn  the  Terrible,  of  Russia,  reiguea  from  KMS  tlU  1584^ 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  888 

even  the  oak,  which  develop  to  their  full  growth  and  have  no 
more  resemblance  to  the  dicotyledons,  are  exceptions  to  their 
theory. 

A  third  class  of  historians  acknowledge  that  the  will  of  the 
masses  is  conditionally  transferred  to  the  historical  person- 
ages, but  assert  that  these  conditions  are  not  known  to  us. 
They  say  that  the  historical  characters  possess  the  power 
simply  because  they  have  to  fulfil  the  will  of  the  masses,  which 
has  been  transferred  to  them. 

But  in  such  a  case,  if  the  force  that  moves  the  nations  is 
not  inherent  in  the  historical  individuals,  but  in  the  nations 
themselves,  then  what  constitutes  the  significance  of  these 
historical  persom^es  ? 

Historical  personages,  these  historians  say,  are  in  them- 
selves the  expression  of  the  will  of  the  masses ;  the  activity 
of  the  historical  personages  serves  as  the  representative  of 
the  activity  of  the  masses. 

But  in  this  case  the  question  arises :  Does  all  the  activity  of 
the  historical  characters  serve  as  the  expression  of  the  will 
of  the  masses,  or  only  a  certain  side  of  it  ? 

If  all  the  activity  of  historical  personages  serves  as  the 
expression  of  the  will  of  the  masses,  as  some  think,  then 
the  biographies  of  the  Napoleons,  the  Catherines,  with  all  the 
details  of  court  gossip,  serve  as  the  expression  of  the  life  of 
the  nations,  which  is  evidently  absurd. 

If  only  one  side  of  the  activity  of  the  historical  personage 
serves  as  the  expression  of  the  life  of  the  nations,  as  is 
thought  by  other,  soK^alled  philosopher-historians,  then  in 
order  to  determine  what  side  of  the  activity  of  the  historical 
personage  expresses  the  life  of  the  nation,  it  is  necessary  first 
to  determine  what  constitutes  the  life  of  the  nation. 

Having  met  with  this  difficulty,  the  historians  of  this  sort 
have  invented  a  most  obscure,  intangible,  and  general  expla- 
nation, under  which  to  bring  the  greatest  possible  quantity  of 
events,  and  they  say  that  this  abstraction  covers  the  object  of 
the  movements  of  humanity.  The  most  ordinary  abstractions 
which  are  selected  by  the  historians,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, are :  liberty,  equality,  enlightenment,  progress,  civilizar 
tion,  culture. 

Having  thus  established  as  the  object  of  the  movement  of 
humanity  some  abstraction  or  other,  the  historians  study  the 
men  who  have  left  behind  them  the  greatest  quantity  of 
memorials — tsars,  ministers,  commanders,  authors,  reformers, 
popes,  journalists^  according  as  these  personages,  in  their 


834  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

judgment,  have  contributed  to  help  or  to  oppose  the  giTea 
abstraction. 

But  since  it  has  not  been  shown  by  any  one  that  the  object 
of  humanity  consisted  in  liberty,  equality,  enlightenment,  or 
civilization,  and  as  the  connection  of  the  masses  with  the  nilets 
and  propagators  of  enlightenment  of  humanity  is  based  only 
on  an  arbitrary  assumption,  that  the  accumulation  of  the  wills 
of  the  masses  is  always  transferred  to  those  individuals  who 
are  known  to  us,  therefore  the  activity  of  millions  of  men, 
who  are  marching  foii^h,  burning  houses,  abandoning  agricul- 
ture, exterminating  each  other,  is  never  expressed  in  the 
description  of  the  activity  of  a  dozen  men  who  have  never 
burned  houses,  had  nothing  to  do  with  agriculture,  and  did 
not  kill  their  fellow-men. 

History  shows  this  at  every  step. 

Can  the  fermentation  of  the  nations  of  the  west  at  the 
end  of  the  last  century,  and  their  eager  rush  towards  the 
east,  be  expressed  in  the  activity  of  Louis  XIV.,  Louis  XV., 
or  Louis  XVI.,  or  their  mistresses,  their  ministers,  or  in  the 
lives  of  Kapoleon,  Rousseau,  Diderot,  Beaumarchais,  and  the 
others  ? 

Was  the  movement  of  the  Russian  people  toward  the  east^ 
to  Kazan  and  Siberia,  expressed  in  the  details  of  the  sickly 
character  of  Ivan  IV.  and  his  correspondence  with  Kurbsky  ? 

Is  the  movement  of  the  nations  at  the  time  of  the  crusades 
explained  in  the  life  and  activity  of  the  Godfreys  and  the  St 
Louises  and  their  ladies  ?  For  us  still  incomprehensible  re- 
mains what  it  was  that  moved  the  nations  from  west  to 
east,  without  any  object,  without  leadership, — a  crowd  of 
vagrants,  with  Peter  the  Hermit. 

And  still  more  incomprehensible  remains  the  discontinuance 
of  that  movement  at  a  time  when  the  reasonable  and  holy 
object  of  the  crusades  —  the  liberation  of  Jerusalem  —  was  so 
clearly  set  forth  by  the  historical  agents.  Popes,  kings,  and 
knights  incited  the  people  to  rally  for  the  liberation  of  the 
Holy  Land ;  but  the  people  would  not  go,  for  the  reason  that 
the  unknown  cause  which  before  had  incited  them  to  the 
movement  was  no  longer  in  existence. 

The  history  of  the  Godfreys  and  the  Minnesingers  evi- 
dently cannot  in  itself  express  the  life  of  the  nations.  And 
the  histories  of  the  Godfreys  and  the  Minnesingers  remain  the 
history  of  the  Godfreys  and  the  Minnesingers,  while  the  his- 
tory of  the  lives  of  the  nations  and  their  mainsprings  of 
action  remain  unknown. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  885 

Still  less  is  the  life  of  the  nations  explained  for  us  by  the 
histories  of  authors  and  reformers. 

The  histoiy  of  cultare  explains  for  us  the  awakening  of 
the  conditions  of  life  and  the  thoughts  of  writers  and  re- 
formers. We  learn  that  Luther  had  an  irascible  nature  and 
uttered  such  and  such  sayings ;  we  learn  that  Rousseau  was  a 
sceptic  and  wrote  such  and  such  books,  but  we  know  not 
why^  after  the  Reformation,  men  cut  each  other^s  throats,  or 
why,  at  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution,  they  put  each 
other  to  death.  If  these  two  kinds  of  history  are  welded 
together,  as  some  of  the  most  recent  historians  have  done,  it 
will  still  be  the  histories  of  monarchs  and  writers,  but  not  the 
history  of  the  life  of  the  nations. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  life  of  the  nations  cannot  be  summarized  in  the  lives 
of  a  few  men,  for  the  bond  connecting  such  persons  with  the 
nations  has  not  been  discovered.  The  theory  that  this  bond 
of  union  is  based  upon  the  will  of  the  masses  transferred  to 
historical  personages  is  an  hypothesis  not  confirmed  by  the 
experience  of  history. 

The  theory  of  the  transference  of  the  will  of  the  masses  to 
the  historical  personages,  perhaps,  explains  many  things  in 
the  domain  of  Law,  and  is  very  possibly  essential  for  its  objects, 
but  in  relation  to  history,  as  soon  as  revolutions,  civil  wars, 
conquests  make  their  appearance,  as  soon  as  history  begins, 
this  theory  no  longer  explains  anything. 

This  theory  seems  to  be  irrefutable,  simply  because  the  act 
of  transference  of  the  will  of  the  nation  cannot  be  verified, 
since  it  never  existed. 

No  matter  what  the  event  may  be,  or  what  personage  may 
stand  at  the  head  of  it,  theory  can  always  say  that  the  per- 
sonage in  question  was  at  the  head  of  the  affairs  for  the  rea- 
son that  the  accumulated  will  of  the  masses  was  transferred 
to  him. 

The  answers  afforded  by  this  theory  to  historical  questions 
are  like  the  answers  of  a  man  who,  watching  a  herd  of  cattle 
moving  about,  and  not  taking  into  consideration  the  varying 
quality  of  the  feed  in  different  parts  of  the  field  or  the  whip 
of  the  drover,  should  attribute  their  movement  in  this  or  that 
direction  to  the  animal  at  the  head  of  the  herd. 

**  The  herd  go  in  that  direction  because  the  animal  at  the 


336  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

head  leads  them  there,  and  the  accumulated  will  of  all  tlie 
other  animals  is  transferred  to  this  leader  of  the  herd." 

Thus  reply  the  first  class  of  historians  —  those  who  belieTe 
in  the  unconditional  transference  of  power. 

'<  If  the  animals  moving  at  the  head  of  the  herd  change  their 
direction,  it  is  because  the  accumulated  will  of  all  the  animals 
is  transferred  from  one  leader  to  another  aooording  as  this  or 
that  animal  conducts  them  in  the  direction  chosen  by  the 
herd." 

Thus  reply  the  historians  who  hold  that  the  accumulated 
will  of  the  masses  is  transferred  to  rulers  under  certain  condi- 
tions which  they  consider  indeterminate.  (In  such  a  method 
of  observation  it  would  often  come  about  that  the  obBerrer, 
drawing  his  conclusions  from  the  direction  taken  by  the  herd, 
would  consider  certain  animals  at  the  side  or  even  at  the  rear 
as  the  leaders,  owing  to  changes  of  direction  taken  wholly  by 
chance !) 

*^  If  the  animals  at  the  head  of  the  herd  constantly  change 
about,  and  if  the  course  of  the  whole  herd  constantly  varies, 
it  is  from  the  fact  that,  in  order  to  attain  the  direction  which 
we  observed,  the  animals  transfer  their  will  to  those  other 
animals  observed  by  us ;  and,  in  order  to  study  the  move- 
ments of  the  herd,  we  must  study  all  the  animals  under  whose 
influence  the  herd  is  led  from  side  to  side." 

Thus  argue  the  historians  of  the  third  class,  w]^o  believs 
that  all  historical  personages,  from  monarolis  to  journalists, 
are  the  expressions  of  their  own  time. 

The  theory  of  the  will  of  the  masses  being  transferred  to 
historical  personages  is  merely  a  periphrase — only  the  ques- 
tion expressed  in  other  words  ! 

What  is  the  cause  of  historical  events  ?    Power. 

What  is  power  ? 

Power  is  the  accumulated  wills  of  the  masses  transferred 
to  a  given  personage. 

Under  what  conditions  are  tilie  wills  of  the  masses  trans- 
ferred to  a  given  personage  ? 

On  condition  that  the  personage  expresses  the  will  of  the 
masses. 

That  is.  Power  is  Power.  That  is,  Power  is  a  word,  the 
meaning  of  which  is  incomprehensible  to  us. 

If  all  human  knowledge  were  comprehended  within  the 
domain  of  abstract  reasoning,  then  humanity,  having  subjected 
to  criticism  the  idea  of  Power  which  ^et^nee  gives,  would  come 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  337 

to  tlie  conclusion  that  Power  is  only  a  word^  and  does  not 
exist,  in  reality,  at  all. 

For  the  knowledge  of  phenomena,  howerer,  man  has  besides 
abstract  reasoning  the  tool  of  experience,  by  which  he  tests 
the  results  of  reasoning.  And  experience  declares  that  Power 
is  not  a  mere  word,  but  a  thing  actually  existing. 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  without  the  concept  of  l*ower  it  is 
impossible  to  describe  the  united  action  of  men,  the  existence 
of  Power  is  proven,  not  only  by  history,  but  by  the  observation 
of  contemporary  events. 

Always,  when  an  historical  event  takes  place,  there  appears 
one  man  or  several  men,  in  accordance  with  whose  will  the 
event  apparently  took  place. 

Napoleon  III.  gives  his  orders,  and  the  French  go  to  Mexico. 

The  King  of  Prussia  and  Bismarck  give  their  orders,  and 
the  troops  enter  Bohemia. 

Napoleon  I.  gives  his  orders,  and  the  troops  march  into 
Bussia. 

Alexander  I.  gives  his  orders^  and  the  French  submit  to  the 
Bourbons. 

Experience  shows  us  that  whatever  event  has  come  to  pass 
is  always  connected  with  the  will  of  one  man  or  several  men, 
who  gave  the  commands. 

Historians  who,  according  to  the  old  custom,  recognize  the 
participation  of  the  Divinity  in  the  affairs  of  humanity,  try 
to  find  the  cause  of  an  event  in  the  expression  of  the  will  of 
the  individual  who  is  clothed  with  the  Power,  but  this  conclu- 
sion is  confirmed  neither  by  ri^ason  nor  by  experience. 

On  the  one  hand,  reason  shows  us  that  the  expression  of 
the  will  of  a  man  —  his  words — is  but  a  part  of  tlie  general 
activity  expressed  in  an  event,  for  example,  a  war  or  a  revolu- 
tion ;  and,  therefore,  without  the  acknowledgment  of  the  exist- 
ence of  an  incomprehensible,  supernatural  force  —  a  miracle — 
it  is  impossible  to  grant  that  mere  words  can  be  the  proximate 
cause  of  the  movement  of  millions  of  men ;  on  the  other  hand, 
if  we  grant  that  words  can  be  the  cause  of  an  event,  then  his- 
tory proves  that  in  many  cases  the  expression  of  the  will  of 
historical  personages  has  been  productive  of  no  effect  what- 
ever— that  is,  not  only  have  their  decrees  been  often  dis- 
obeyed, but  sometimes  the  exact  opposite  of  what  they  ordered 
has  been  brought  to  pass. 

Unless  we  grant  that  the  Divinity  participates  in  human 
affairs,  we  cannot  regard  Power  as  the  cause  of  events. 

Power,  from  the  standpoint  of  experience,  is  merely  the 
vol,.  4.— 22. 


o 


38  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


relationship  existing  between  the  expressed  will  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  accomplishment  of  that  will  by  other  men. 

To  explain  the  conditions  of  this  i-elationship,  we  must  first 
of  all  establish  the  idea  of  the  expression  of  will  by  referring 
it  to  man  and  not  to  the  Divinity. 

If  the  Divinity  gives  commands,  expresses  his  will,  as  the 
history  written  by  the  ancients  would  have  us  believe,  then 
the  expression  of  this  will  is  not  dependent  upon  time,  or  con- 
ditioned by  any  determining  cause,  since  the  Divinity  is 
wholly  aloof  from  the  event. 

But  when  we  speak  of  decrees  as  the  expression  of  the  will 
of  men  who,  in  their  acts,  are  subject  to  time  and  dependent 
upon  one  another,  in  ordef  to  understand  the  connection  be- 
tween decrees  and  events,  we  must  establish :  — 

1.  The  condition  under  which  everything  happens :  con- 
tinuity in  time  of  action,  both  of  the  historical  movement 
and  the  person  who  gives  the  command ;  and 

2.  The  condition  of  the  inevitable  connection  between  the 
personage  who  gives  the  command  and  the  men  who  carry  out 
his  command. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Only  the  expression  of  the  will  of  the  Divinity,  which  is 
independent  of  time,  can  be  related  to  the  whole  series  of 
events  extending  over  a  few  years  or  centuries,  and  only  the 
Divinity,  which  is  unconditioned  by  anything,  can  by  its  own 
will  alone  determine  the  direction  of  the  movements  of  hu- 
manity ;  man,  however,  acts  in  time,  and  himself  participates 
in  events. 

Having  established  the  first  neglected  condition — the  con- 
dition of  Time — we  shall  see  that  no  command  can  be 
executed  without  the  existence  of  some  previous  command, 
making  the  fulfilment  of  the  latter  possible. 

A  command  is  never  a  spontaneous  utterance,  and  it  never 
includes  in  itself  a  whole  series  of  events  ;  but  each  command 
lias  its  source  in  another,  and  is  never  related  to  a  whole  series 
of  events,  but  only  to  the  one  moment  of  the  event. 

When  we  say,  for  instance,  that  Napoleon  commanded  his 
armies  to  go  to  war,  we  combine  in  one  simultaneous  expres- 
sion, "  command,"  a  series  of  consecutive  orders,  dependent 
one  upon  another. 

Napoleon  could  never  have  decreed  the  campaign  to  KossiSi 
and  he  never  did  decree  it. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  889 

He  gave  orders  one  day  to  write  such  and  such  letters  to 
Vienna,  to  Berlin,  and  to  Petersburg ;  the  next  day  certain 
decrees  and  "  orders  "  to  the  army,  the  navy,  and  the  commis- 
sariat department,  and  so  on  and  so  on, — millions  of  commands, 
forming  a  series  of  commands  corresponding  to  a  series  of 
events,  which  brought  the  French  army  into  Russia. 

If  Napoleon  throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  reign  con- 
tinues to  issue  commands  concerning  the  expedition  against 
England,  and  if  on  no  single  one  of  his  designs  he  wastes  so 
much  time  and  energy,  and  yet  during  the  whole  course  of  his 
reign  not  once  attempts  to'  carry  out  his  intention,  but  makes 
the  expedition  to  Eussia,  with  which,  as  he  expressed  himself 
repeatedly,  he  considered  it  advantageous  to  be  in  alliance, 
then  this  results  from  the  fact  that  the  first  orders  do  not  cor- 
respond to  any  series  of  events,  whereas  the  second  do. 

In  order  that  a  command  should  be  genuinely  carried  out,  it 
is  necessary  that  a  man  should  express  an  order  that  can  bo 
carried  out.  To  know  what  can  and  what  cannot  be  carried 
out  is  impossible,  not  merely  in  case  of  a  Napoleonic  expedi- 
tion against  Bussia  in  which  millions  participate,  but  even  in 
the  simplest  event :  since  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  one 
or  the  other,  millions  of  obstacles  may  be  encountered. 

For  every  command  that  is  carried  out,  there  are  always 
enormous  n\imbers  that  are  not  carried  out. 

All  infeasible  commands  have  no  connection  with  the  event, 
and  are  not  carried  out.  Only  those  which  are  feasible  be- 
come connected  with  consecutive  series  of  commands  accom- 
panying whole  series  of  events,  and  are  carried  out. 

Our  false  conception  that  the  command  preceding  the  event 
is  the  cause  of  the  event,  arises  from  the  fact  that  when  an 
event  has  taken  place,  and  only  those  out  of  a  thousand  com- 
mands which  are  connected  with  the  event  are  carried  out,  wo 
forget  those  which  were  not  carried  out  because  they  could 
not  be  carried  out. 

Moreover,  the  chief  source  of  our  error  in  this  way  of 
thinking  arises  from  the  fact  that  in  historical  narratives  a 
whole  series  of  numberless,  various,  petty  events,  as,  for  exam- 
ple, what  brought  the  French  armies  into  Russia,  are  general- 
ized into  one  event  according  to  the  result  which  proceeded 
from  this  series  of  events,  and,  corresponding  with  this  gener- 
alization, the  whole  series  of  commands  is  also  generalized 
into  one  expression  of  will. 

We  say  :  Napoleon  wished  and  made  an  expedition  against 
Russia. 


340  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

In  reality,  we  never  find  in  all  Napoleon's  career  anything 
like  the  expression  of  this  will,  but  we  find  a  series  of  com- 
mands or  expressions  of  his  will  in  the  most  varied  and  inde^ 
terminate  sort  of  direction* 

Out  of  the  nunlbeifless  Series  of  Napoleonic  decrees  that 
were  never  executed  proceeded  a  Betiee  of  commands  eoncem- 
ing  the  campaign  of  '12  that  Were  executed,  not  because  these 
commands  were  in  any  respect  different  from  the  other  oom- 
mands  that  were  not  executed,  but  because  the  series  of  these 
commands  coincided  with  a  seried  of  events  which  brought 
the  French  army  into  Kussia,  — just  as  by  a  stencil  this  or  that 
figure  is  designed,  not  because  it  makes  any  difference  on  what 
side  or  how  the  color  is  applied,  but  because  the  color  was 
smeared  over  the  whole  side,  including  the  figure  that  had 
been  cut  out  of  the  stencil  plate. 

So  that,  by  considering  the  relation  of  the  commands  to  the 
events  in  time,  we  shall  find  that  in  no  case  can  the  command 
be  the  cause  of  the  event,  but  that  between  the  two  exists  a 
certain  definite  connection. 

In  order  to  comprehend  what  this  connection  is,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  establish  a  second  neglected  condition  of  ev^ry  com- 
mand that  proceeds,  not  from  the  Divinity,  but  from  a  man ; 
and  this  is  the  fact  that  the  man  who  gives  the  command  most 
himself  be  a  participant  in  the  event. 

This  relationship  between  the  person  giving  the  command 
and  the  one  to  whom  the  command  is  given  is  precisely  that 
which  is  called  Power. 

This  relationship  consists  in  the  following :  — 

In  order  to  undertake  action  in  common,  men  always  form 
themselves  into  certain  groups  in  which,  notwithstanding  the 
variety  of  the  objects  which  impel  them  to  united  action,  the 
relation  between  the  men  who  participate  in  the  action  is 
always  the  same. 

Having  united  into  these  groups,  men  always  establish 
among  themselves  such  a  relationship  that  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  men  take  the  greatest  direct  part,  and  the  smaller 
number  take  the  smallest  direct  part,  in  the  mutual  action  for 
which  they  have  united  their  forces. 

Of  all  such  groups  into  which  men  have  ever  joined  them- 
selves for  the  accomplishment  of  a  common  activity,  the  naoat 
definite  and  clearly  defined  is  the  army. 

Every  army  is  composed  of  the  lower  members,  "  the  rank 
and  file  "  in  military  parlance,  the  privates,  who  always  form 
the  majority ;  then  of  those  who  in  military  parlance  hold  higher 


WAR  AND  PEACS.  84l 

tank — cotporalsi  non-commissioned  officers^  less  in  numbet 
than  the  first ;  then  those  still  higher,  the  number  of  whom 
is  still  less,  and  so  on  up  to  the  highest  power  of  all,  which  is 
concentrated  in  a  single  individual. 

The  organization  of  an  army  may  be  expressed  with  perfect 
ftecoracy  under  the  figure  of  a  cone,  in  which  the  base,  having 
the  greatest  diameter,  is  represented  by  the  privates,  the 
higher  and  smaller  plane  sections  representing  the  higher 
ranks  of  the  army^  and  so  on  up  to  the  very  top  of  the  cone^ 
the  apex  of  which  will  be  represented  by  the  commander-in- 
chief. 

The  soldiers  forming  the  majority  constitute  the  lowest  por- 
tion of  the  cone  and  its  base.  The  soldier  himself  directly 
does  the  killing,  burning,  pillaging,  and  always  receives  com- 
mands from  those  who  stand  above  him;  he  himself  never 
gives  commands. 

The  non-commissioned  officer  —  the  number  of  non-commis- 
sioned officers  is  still  less  —  more  seldom  than  the  soldier 
takes  part  in  these  acts,  but  he  gives  commands. 

The  officer  still  more  rarely  takes  part  in  the  action  him- 
self, and  gives  orders  still  more  frequently. 

Th<d  general  only  commands  the  troops  to  march,  and  tells 
them  where  they  are  to  go,  but  he  almost  never  uses  weapons. 

The  commander-in-chief  never  can  take  a  direct  pai*t  in  the 
action  itself,  but  merely  issues  general  dispositions  concerning 
the  movements  of  the  masses. 

The  same  mutual  relationship  of  individuals  is  to  be  noted 
in  every  union  of  men  for  common  activity — in  agriculture, 
trade,  and  in  every  other  enterprise. 

Thus,  without  elaborately  carrying  out  all  the  complicated 
divisions  of  the  cone  and  the  grades  of  the  army  or  of  any 
calling  and  establishment  of  any  kind  whatever,  or  of  any 
mutual  business,  from  highest  to  lowest,  the  law  everywhere 
holds  by  which  men,  for  the  accomplishment  of  mutual  activi- 
ties, join  together  in  such  a  relationship  that  in  proportion  as 
they  take  a  greater  direct  share  in  the  actual  work,  and  the  more 
they  are  in  numbers,  the  less  they  give  orders,  and  in  propor- 
tion as  they  take  a  less  direct  part  in  the  work  itself,  the  more 
they  give  orders,  and  the  fewer  they  are ;  thus  passing  up 
from  the  lowest  strata  to  the  one  man  standing  alone,  taking 
the  smallest  possible  part  in  the  work,  and  more  than  all  the 
others  directing  his  activity  to  the  giving  of  commands. 

This  relationship  of  the  individuals  who  command  to  those 
who  are  commanded  is  the  very  essence  of  the  concept  which 
we  call  Power. 


842  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

Having  established  the  conditions  in  time  under  which  aU 
events  are  accomplished,  we  have  found  that  the  command  is 
executed  only  when  it  bears  some  relation  to  the  correspond- 
ing series  of  events. 

Having  established  the  inevitable  condition  of  the  eonneo- 
tion  between  the  commander  and  the  commanded,  we  have 
found  that  by  its  very  nature  those  who  most  issue  the  com- 
mands take  the  least  part  in  the  event  itself,  and  that  their 
activity  is  exclusively  directed  toward  commanding. 


CHAPTEB  Vn. 

When  any  event  whatever  is  taking  place,  men  express 
their  various  opinions  and  wishes  concerning  the  event,  and, 
as  the  event  proceeds  from  the  united  action  of  many  men, 
some  one  of  the  expressed  opinions  or  wishes  is  sure  to  be 
executed,  even  though  it  may  be  approximately. 

When  one  of  the  opinions  expressed  is  fulfilled,  this  opinion 
seems  to  be  connected  with  the  event  as  a  command  preceding 
it. 

Men  are  dragging  along  a  beam.  Each  expresses  his  opin- 
ions as  to  how  and  where  it  should  be  dragged.  They  drag 
the  beam  to  its  destination,  and  it  is  shown  that  it  has  been 
done  in  accordance  with  what  one  of  them  said. 

He  gave  the  command. 

Here  the  command  and  the  power  are  seen  in  their  primi- 
tive form. 

The  man  who  labored  hardest  with  his  arms  could  not  so 
well  think  what  he  was  doing,  or  be  able  to  consider  what  would 
be  the  result  of  the  common  activity,  or  to  command. 

The  one  who  gave  the  most  commands  could,  by  reason  of 
his  activity  with  his  words,  evidently  do  less  with  his  arms. 

In  a  large  concourse  of  men  who  are  directing  their  activity 
to  one  end,  still  more  sharply  defined  is  the  class  of  those 
who,  in  proportion  as  they  take  a  less  active  part  in  the  gene- 
ral business,  direct  their  activity  all  the  more  toward  giving 
commands. 

A  man,  when  he  acts  alone,  always  carries  with  him  a  cei^ 
tain  series  of  considerations  which  seem  to  him  to  have  guided 
his  past  activity,  and  serve  to  facilitate  his  activity  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  to  assist  him  in  his  plans  for  his  future  enterprises. 

In  exactly  the  same,  way  assemblages  of  men  act,  leaving 
those  who  take  no  paiii  in  the  actual  work  to  do  their  thinking 


WAR  AND  PEACn.  B43 

for  them^  and  to  justify  their  Operations^  and  to  make  their 
plans  for  their  future  activity! 

For  reasons  known  or  unknown  to  us,  the  French  suddenly 
begin  to  ruin  and  murder  each  other,  and  the  justification  of 
ii  is  found  in  the  expressed  will  of  the  people,  who  declare 
that  this  was  essential  for  the  well-being  of  France,  for  liberty, 
for  equality ! 

The  French  cease  to  murder  each  other,  and  the  justification 
of  it  is  found  in  the  necessity  for  the  unity  of  Power,  for  re- 
sistance to  Europe  and  the  like. 

Men  march  from  the  west  to  the  east,  killing  their  fellow- 
men,  and  this  event  is  accompanied  by  the  words :  "  the 
glory  of  France,"  "  the  humiliation  of  England,"  and  the  like. 

History  shows  us  that  these  justifications  of  events  have  no 
common  sense,  are  mutually  contradictory,  like  the  murder  of 
a  man  in  consequence  of  the  acknowledgment  of  his  rights, 
and  the  massacre  of  millions  in  Russia  for  the  humiliation  of 
England.  But  these  justifications  have  a  necessary  signifi- 
cance at  the  time  they  are  made. 

These  justifications  release  the  men  who  brought  these 
events  about  from  moral  responsibility.  These  temporary 
objects  are  like  the  cow-eatchers,  which  serve  to  clear  the  road 
along  the  rails  in  front  of  the  train :  they  clear  the  road  of 
the  moral  responsibility  of  men. 

Without  these  justifications  we  could  not  answer  the  sim- 
plest questions  which  stand  in  the  way  of  the  examination  of 
every  event:  "How  did  millions  of  men  commit  wholesale 
crimes  —  wars,  massacres,  and  the  like  ?  " 

Would  it  be  possible  in  the  present  complicated  forms  of 
political  and  social  life  in  Europe  to  find  any  event  whatever 
that  would  not  have  been  predicted,  prescribed,  ordained,  by 
sovereigns,  ministers,  parliaments,  newspapers  ?  Could  there 
be  any  united  action  which  would  not  find  justification  for 
itself  in  National  Unity,  in  the  Balance  of  Europe,  in  Civiliza- 
tion ? 

So  that  every  accomplished  event  inevitably  corresponds  to 
some  expressed  wish,  and,  having  found  justification  for  itself, 
appears  as  the  fulfilment  of  the  will  of  one  or  several  men. 

When  a  ship  moves,  whatever  may  be  her  course,  there  will 
always  be  visible,  in  front  of  the  prow,  a  ripple  of  the  sun- 
dered waves.  For  the  men  who  are  on  board  of  the  ship  the 
movement  of  this  ripple  would  be  the  only  observable  motion. 

Only  by  observing  closely,  moment*  by  moment,  the  move- 
ment of  this  ripple,  and  comparing  this  movement  with  the 


844  WAR  AND  PEACB. 

motion  of  the  ship,  can  we  persuade  ourselves  that  each  mo- 
ment of  the  movement  of  the  ripple  is  determined  by  the 
motion  of  the  ship,  and  that  we  were  led  into  error  bj  the 
very  fact  that  we  ourselves  wete  imperceptibly  moying. 

We  see  the  same  thing  in  following,  moment  by  moinenk» 
the  motion  of  historical  personages  (that  is,  by  establishing 
the  necessary  condition  of  everything  that  is  accomplished 
—  the  condition  of  uninterrupted  motion  in  time)  —  and  by 
not  losing  from  sight  the  inevitable  connection  of  historiciil 
personages  with  the  masses. 

Whatever  has  happened,  it  always  seems  that  this  Tety 
thing  has  been  predicted  and  pre-ordained.  In  whatever  direo- 
tion  the  ship  moves,  the  ripple,  which  does  not  guide  or  even 
condition  its  movement,  boils  in  front  of  her,  and  will  seem, 
to  an  observer  at  a  distance,  not  only  to  be  spontaneously 
moving,  but  even  directing  the  movement  of  the  ship. 

Historians^  regarding  only  those  expressions  of  the  will  of 
historical  personages  which  bore  to  events  the  relation  of  com- 
mands, have  supposed  that  events  are  dependent  upon  com- 
mands. 

Regarding  the  events  themselves,  and  that  connection  with 
the  masses  by  which  historical  personages  have  been  bound, 
we  have  discovered  that  historical  personages  and  their  com- 
mands are  dependent  on  the  events. 

An  undoubted  proof  of  this  deduction  is  given  by  the  fact 
that,  no  matter  how  many  commands  are  uttered,  the  event 
will  not  take  place  if  there  be  no  other  causes  for  it ;  but  so 
soon  as  any  event  —  no  matter  what  it  is  —  is  accomplished, 
then  out  of  the  number  of  all  the  continuously  expressed  wills 
of  the  various  individuals,  there  will  be  found  some  which 
in  meaning  and  time  will  bear  to  the  event  the  relation  of 
commands. 

In  coming  to  this  conclusion,  we  are  able  to  give  a  direct 
and  circumstantial  reply  to  the  two  essential  questions  of  his- 
tory,— 

(1^  What  is  Power  ? 

(2)  What  force  causes  the  movement  of  the  nations  ? 

(1)  Power  is  a  relationship  established  between  a  certain 
person  and  other  persons,  in  virtue  of  which  this  person,  in 
inverse  proportion  to  the  part  which  he  takes  in  action,  ex- 
presses opinions,  suppositions,  and  justifications  concerning  the 
common  action  to  be  accomplished. 

(2)  The  movement  of  the  nations  is  due,  not  to  Power  nor 


WAk  AlfD  PSACS.  846 

uo  intellectual  activity,  not*  even  to  a  union  of  the  two,  as 
some  of  the  historians  have  thought,  but  to  the  activity  of  all 
the  men  who  took  part  in  the  events  and  who  always  group 
themselves  together  in  such  a  Way  that  those  who  take  the 
g^atest  difect  share  in  the  eVent  assume  the  least  responsi- 
bility, and  vice  versa. 

In  the  moral  relation  Power  is  the  cause  of  the  event ;  in 
the  physical  relation  it  is  those  who  submit  to  the  Power. 
But  since  moral  activity  is  meaningless  without  physical  ac* 
tiyity,  therefore  the  cause  of  an  event  is  found  neither  in  the 
one  nor  in  the  other,  but  in  a  combination  of  the  two. 

Or,  in  other  words,  the  concept  of  a  cause  is  inapplicable  to 
the  phenomenon  which  we  are  regarding. 

In  last  analysis  we  reach  the  circle  of  Etemitv,  to  that  ulti- 
mate limit  to  which  in  every  domain  of  thought  the  human 
intellect  must  come,  unless  it  is  playing  with  its  subject. 

Electricity  produces  heat  j  heat  produces  electricity.  Atoms 
attract  each  other ;  atoms  repel  each  other. 

Speaking  of  the  reciprocal  action  of  heat  and  electricity 
and  about  the  atoms,  we  cannot  say  why  this  is  so,  but  we  say 
that  it  is,  because  it  is  unthinkable  in  any  other  way,  because 
it  must  be  so,  because  it  is  a  law. 

The  same  holds  true  about  historical  phenomena. 

Why  are  there  wars  or  revolutions?  We  know  not;  we 
only  know  that  for  the  accomplishment  of  this  or  that  action 
men  band  together  into  a  certain  group  in  which  all  take  a  share, 
and  we  say  that  this  is  so  because  it  is  unthinkable  otherwise, 
that  it  is  a  law. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

If  history  had  to  do  with  external  phenomena,  the  estab- 
lishment of  this  simple  and  evident  law  would  be  sufficient, 
and  we  might  end  our  discussion. 

But  the  law  of  history  relates  to  man.  A  particle  of  matter 
cannot  tell  us  at  all  tha^  it  is  unconscious  of  the  attraction  or 
repulsion  of  force,  and  that  it  is  not  true. 

Man,  however,  who  is  the  object  of  history,  declares  stoutly, 
"  I  am  free,  and  therefore  I  am  not  subjected  to  laws.^' 

The  presence  of  the  question  of  the  freedom  of  the  will, 
though  not  acknowledged,  is  felt  at  every  step  in  history. 

All  serious-minded  historians  have  had,  in  spite  of  them- 
selves, to  face  this  question.     All  the  contradictions,  the  ob- 


846  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

scurities  of  history^  that  false  route  by  which  this  science  has 
trayelledy  are  based  upon  the  impossibility  of  solving  this 
question. 

If  the  will  of  every  man  were  f ree^  that  is,  if  every  one  oonld 
do  as  he  pleased^  then  history  would  be  a  series  of  discon- 
nected chances. 

If  even  one  man  out  of  millions,  during  a  period  of  thou- 
sands of  years,  had  the  power  of  acting  freely,  that  is,  in  con- 
formity with  his  own  wishes,  then  evidently  the  free  action  of 
that  man,  being  an  exception  to  the  laws,  would  destroy  the 
possibility  of  the  existence  of  any  laws  whatever  for  all 
humanity. 

If  there  were  one  single  law  which  di^cted  the  activities  of 
men,  then  there  could  be  no  free  will,  since  the  will  of  men 
must  be  subjected  to  this  law. 

In  this  contrariety  is  included  the  whole  question  of  the 
freedom  of  the  will,  a  question  which  from  the  most  ancient 
times  has  attracted  the  best  intellects  of  the  human  race,  and 
which  from  the  most  ancient  times  has  loomed  up  in  all  its 
colossal  significance. 

The  question,  at  bottom,  is  this:  -^ 

Looking  at  man  as  upon  the  object  of  observation  from  any 
standpoint  that  we  please,  —  theological,  historical,  ethnical 
philosophical  —  we  find  the  general  law  of  Fate  or  necessity  to 
which  he,  like  everything  else  in  existence,  is  subjected.  Yet, 
looking  upon  him  subjectively,  as  upon  something  of  which  we 
have  a  consciousness,  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  free. 

This  knowledge  is  a  perfectly  distinct  source  of  self-con- 
sciousness, and  independent  of  reason.  By  means  of  reason 
man  observes  himself ;  but  he  knows  himself  only  through 
consciousness. 

Without  consciousness  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  ob- 
servation or  application  of  the  reason. 

In  order  to  understand,  to  observe,  to  reason,  man  must  first 
recognize  that  he  is  existent. 

As  a  living  being,  man  cannot  recognize  himself  other  than 
as  a  wishing  one ;  that  is,  he  recognizes  his  own  wilL 

His  will,  which  constitutes  the  essence  of  his  life,  man  con- 
ceives and  cannot  conceive  otherwise  than  as  free. 

If,  on  subjecting  himself  to  study,  man  sees  that  his  will  is 
always  directed  in  accordance  with  one  and  the  same  law 
(whether  he  observe  the  necessity  of  taking  food  or  the  activ- 
ity of  the  brain,  or  anything  else),  he  cannot  understand  this 
invariable  direction  of  his  will  otherwise  than  as  a  limitatioa 
of  it. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  847 

Wliatever  sboald  be  free  could  not  be  also  limited.  Tbe 
will  of  man  appears  to  bim  limited  for  tbe  very  reason  tbat  be 
can  conceive  of  it  in  no  otber  way  tban  as  free. 

You  say,  '<  I  am  not  f ree,  yet  I  raised  and  dropped  my 
hand."  Every  one  understands  tbat  tbis  illogical  answer  is 
an  irrefutable  proof  of  freedom. 

Tbis  answer  is  tbe  expression  of  consciousness,  wbicb  is  not 
subordinate  to  reason. 

If  tbe  consciousness  of  freedom  were  not  a  separate  source 
of  self-consciou&ness  independent  of  reason,  it  would  be  sub- 
jected to  reason  and  experience,  but  in  reality  suob  subordina- 
tion never  exists  and  is  untbinkable. 

A  series  of  experiments  and  judgments  sbows  every  man 
tbat  be,  as  an  object  of  observation,  is  subordinate  to  certain 
laws,  and  man  submits  to  tbem  and  never  quarrels  witb  tbe 
laws  of  gravity  or  impenetrability  wben  once  be  bas  learned 
tbem. 

But  tbis  series  of  experiments  and  argument  proves  to  bim 
tbat  tbe  perfect  freedom  of  wbicb  be  is  conscious  witbin  bim- 
self  is  an  impossibility,  tbat  bis  every  act  is  dependent  upon 
bis  organization,  bis  cbaracter,  and  tbe  motives  tbat  act  upon 
bim,  but  man  will  never  submit  bimself  to  tbe  deduction  from 
tbese  experiments  and  arguments. 

Knowing  from  experiment  and  argument  tbat  a  stone  al- 
ways falls,  man  infallibly  believes  in  tbis,  and  in  all  circum- 
stances be  expects  to  see  tbe  fulfilment  of  tbis  law  wbicb  be 
bas  learned. 

But,  tbougb  be  bas  learned  just  as  indubitably  tbat  bis 
will  is  subject  to  laws,  be  does  not  believe  it  and  cannot 
believe  it. 

However  many  times  experience  and  reason  bave  sbown  a 
man  tbat  in  tbe  same  circumstances,  witb  tbe  same  cbaracter, 
be  will  always  act  in  tbe  same  way  as  before,  be  for  tbe  tbou- 
sandtb  time  coming,  under  tbe  same  conditions  witb  tbe  same 
cbaracter,  to  a  deed  wbicb  always  ends  in  tbe  same  way,  never- 
tbeless  indubitably  feels  bimself  just  as  firmly  convinced  tbat 
be  can  act  as  be  pleases,  as  be  did  before  tbe  experiment, 

Every  man,  wbetber  savage  or  cultivated,  bowever  irrefra- 
gably  reason  and  experiment  bave  taugbt  bim  tbat  it  is  impos- 
sible to  imagine  two  different  courses  of  action  in  tbe  same 
circumstances,  feels  tbat  witbout  bis  unreasoning  idea  (wbicb 
constitutes  tbe  essence  of  freedom)  be  could  not  imagine  life 
possible. 

He  feels  tbat,  bowever  impossible  it  is,  still  it  is  true,  sincQ 


848  WAR  AND  PEACE, 

without  this  notion  of  freedom  he  would  not  only  not  under- 
stand life,  but  could  not  live  a  single  instant. 

He  could  not  live,  because  all  the  aspirations  of  men,  all  the 
incitements  to  living,  are  only  the  aspirations  towards  enhance- 
ment of  freedom. 

Eiches,  poverty ;  f ame^  obscurity ;  power,  subjection ;  strength, 
weakness ;  health,  sickness ;  knowledge,  ignorance ;  labor,  lei- 
sure ;  feasting,  hunger ;  virtue,  vice,  —  are  only  the  greater  or 
less  degrees  of  freedom. 

To  imagine  a  man  not  having  freedom  is  impossible  exeept 
he  be  deprived  of  life. 

If  the  concept  of  freedom  seem  to  reason  as  a  senseless  con- 
tradiction, like  the  possibility  of  accomplishing  two  courses  of 
action  at  one  and  the  same  time,  or  an  effect  without  a  cause, 
then  this  only  goes  to  prove  that  consciousness  does  not  belong 
to  reason. 

This  immovable,  incontestable  consciousness  of  freedom, 
which  is  not  subject  to  experiment  and  reason,  recognized  bj 
all  thinkers  and  admitted  by  all  men  without  exception,  a 
consciousness  without  which  any  conception  of  man  is  non- 
sense, constitutes  another  side  of  the  question. 

Man  is  the  work  of  an  omnipotent,  omniscient,  and  infinitely 
good  God.  What  is  the  sin  the  notion  of  which  takes  ite 
origin  from  the  consciousness  of  the  freedom  of  man  ? 

Such  i$  the  question  of  theology. 

The  actions  of  men  are  subject  to  invariable  general  laws 
expressed  by  statistics.  What  constitutes  man's  responsibility 
to  society,  the  notion  of  which  takes  its  origin  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  free  will  ? 

Such  is  the  question  of  Law. 

The  actions  of  man  flow  from  his  natural  temperament  and 
the  motives  acting  upon  him.  What  is  conscience  and  the  coo- 
sciousness  of  the  good  and  evil  of  the  acts  that  take  their 
origin  from   the  consciousness  of  free  will? 

Such  is  the  question  of  ethics. 

Man,  relatively  to  the  general  life  of  humanity,  seems  to  be 
subject  to  the  laws  that  determine  this  life.  But  this  same 
man,  independently  of  this  relation,  seems  to  be  free.  Must 
the  past  life  of  nations  and  of  humanity  be  regarded  as  the 
product  of  the  free  or  of  the  unfree  acts  of  men  ?  Such  is 
the  question  of  history. 

But  in  these  self-confident  days  of  the  popularization  of 
knowledge  by  that  great  instrument  of  ignorance,  the  diflfo- 
3iou  of  literature,  the  question  of  the  freedom  of  the  will 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  849 

has  been  taken  into  a  field  where  it  cannot  be  a  question 
at  all. 

In  our  time^  most  of  the  men  who  call  themselves  advanced 
-*that  is,  a  mob  of  ignoramuses  — accept  the  works  of  the 
naturalists,  who  look  at  only  one  side  of  the  question,  as  the 
solution  of  the  question. 

''  There  is  no  soul,  no  free  will,  because  the  life  of  man  is 
expressed  by  muscular  movements,  but  these  muscular  move- 
ments are  conditioned  by  nervous  action ;  there  is  no  soul,  no 
free  will,  because,  in  some  unknown  period  of  time,  we  came 
from  monkeys." 

This  is  spoken,  written,  and  printed  by  men  who  do  not 
even  suspect  that  for  thousands  of  years  all  religions,  all 
thinkers  have  not  only  recognized,  but  have  never  denied,  this 
same  law  of  necessity  which  they  have  been  striving  so 
eagerly  to  prove,  with  the  aid  of  physiology  and  comparative 
zoology. 

They  do  not  see  that  in  regard  to  this  question  the  natural 
sciences  are  only  to  serve  as  a  means  of  throwing  light  upon 
one  side  of  it. 

Since  from  the  standpoint  of  observation,  reason  and  will 
are  only  secretions  (sScretions)  of  the  brain,  and  man,  fol- 
lowing the  general  law,  may  have  developed  from  lower  ani- 
mals in  an  Indeterminate  period  of  time,  it  only  explains 
from  a  new  side  the  truth  which  has  been  recognized  for  thou- 
sands of  years  by  all  religions  and  all  philosophical  theories, 
that  from  the  standpoint  of  reason  man  is  subject  to  the  laws 
of  necessity,  but  it  does  not  advance  by  a  single  hair's-breadth 
the  solution  of  the  question  which  has  another  and  contradic- 
tory side,  based  upon  the  consciousness  of  liberty. 

If  men  could  have  come  from  monkeys  in  an  indeterminate 
period  of  time,  it  is  just  as  comprehensible  that  they  could  have 
been  formed  from  a  handful  of  clay  during  a  determined  period 
of  time  (in  the  first  place,  x  is  the  time ;  in  the  second,  it  is 
descent)  ;  and  the  question  as  to  how  far  man's  consciousness 
of  freedom  can  be  reconciled  with  the  law  of  necessity  to 
which  man  is  subject,  cannot  be  solved  by  physiology  and 
Eoology,  for  we  can  observe  only  the  muscular  activity  of  the 
frog,  the  rabbit,  or  the  monkey,  while  in  man  we  can  observe 
neuro-muscular  activitv  and  consciousness. 

The  naturalists  and  their  disciples,  who  think  they  have 
solved  the  question,  are  like  masons  commissioned  to  stucco 
one  side  of  the  walls  of  a  church,  and  who,  in  a  fit  of  zeal, 
taking  i^lyantage  of  the  absence  of  the  overseer,  should  put  |i 


860  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

coat  of  plaster  over  the  windows,  the  sacred  pictuiesy  the 
scaffolding,  and  the  walls  as  yet  uncemented,  and  should  be 
delighted,  from  their  plasterers'  standpoint,  at  having  made 
the  whole  so  eren  and  smooth ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

In  the  decision  of  the  question  of  Free  Will  and  Necessity, 
History  has  the  advantage  over  all  the  other  branches  of 
knowledge  which  have  ta^en  this  question  in  hand,  that  for 
history  this  question  touches  not  the  very  essence  of  man's 
will,  but  the  manifestation  of  the  display  of  this  will  in  the 
past  and  under  certain  conditions. 

History,  by  its  decision  of  this  question,  stands  toward 
other  sciences  in  the  position  of  an  empirical  science  toward 
speculative  sciences. 

History  has  for  its  object  not  the  will  of  man,  but  our  rep- 
resentation of  it. 

And  therefore  the  impenetrable  mystery  of  the  reconcilia- 
tion of  the  two  contradictories.  Free  Will  and  Necessity, 
cannot  exist  for  History  —  as  it  does  for  tiieology,  ethics,  anid 
philosophy. 

History  examines  that  manifestation  of  the  life  of  man,  in 
which  the  reconciliation  of  these  two  contradictions  is  already 
effected. 

In  actual  life,  every  historical  event,  every  act  of  man,  is 
understood  clearly  and  definitely,  without  any  sense  of  the 
slightest  inconsistency,  although  every  event  appears  in  part 
free  and  in  part  necessitated. 

For  deciding  the  question  how  freedom  and  necessity  are 
united,  and  what  constitutes  the  essence  of  these  two  con- 
cepts, the  philosophy  of  history  can  and  must  pursue  a  route 
contrary  to  that  taken  by  the  other  sciences.  Instead  of 
defining  the  concepts  of  Free  Will  and  Necessity,  and  then  sub- 
jecting the  phenomena  of  history  to  the  definitions  prepared. 
History,  from  the  enormous  collection  .of  phenomena  s^  her 
service,  and  which  always  seem  dependent  upon  Free  Will  and 
Necessity,  is  obliged  to  deduce  her  definition  from  the  con- 
cepts themselves  of  Free  Will  and  Necessity. 

However  we  may  regard  the  manifestation  of  the  activities 
of  many  men  or  of  one  man,  we  cannot  fail  to  understand  it 
as  the  product,  in  part  of  the  freedom  of  man,  in  part  of  the 
laws  of  necessity. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  861 

When  we  speak  of  the  transmigrations  of  nations  and  the 
invasions  of  barbarians,  or  of  the  arrangements  of  Napo- 
leon III.,  or  of  a  man's  act  performed  an  hour  ago,  and  con* 
sisting  in  the  fact  that  from  various  directions  for  his  walk 
he  chose  one,  we  detect  not  the  slightest  contradiction.  The 
measure  of  Free  Will  and  Necessity  involved  in  the  actions  of 
these  men  is  clearly  defined  for  us. 

Very  often,  the  manifestation  of  greater  or  less  freedom 
varies  according  to  the  standpoint  from  which  we  regard  the 
phenomenon ;  but  always  and  invariably  every  action  of  man 
presents  itself  to  us  as  a  reconciliation  of  Free  Will  and 
Necessity. 

In  every  act  that  we  take  under  consideration  we  see  a 
certain  share  of  Freedom  and  a  certain  share  of  Necessity. 
And  always  the  more  Freedom  we  see  in  any  action,  the  less  is 
there  of  Necessity,  and  the  more  Necessity  the  less  Freedom. 

The  relation  between  Freedom  and  Necessity  diminishes 
and  increases  according  to  the  standpoint  from  which  the 
action  is  viewed;  but  this  relation  always  remains  propor- 
tional. 

A  drowning  man,  who  clutches  another  and  causes  him  to 
drown ;  or  a  starving  mother,  exhausted  in  suckling  her  baby, 
who  steals  food ;  or  a  soldier  in  the  ranks,  subjected  to  army 
discipline,  who  kills  a  defenceless  man  by  command  of  his 
superior,  —  all  appear  less  guilty,  that  is,  less  free,  and  more 
subjected  to  the  law  of  Necessity,  to  one  who  knows  the  condi- 
tions in  which  these  people  were  brought,  and  more  free  to 
the  one  who  knows  not  that  the  man  himself  was  drowning, 
that  the  mother  was  starving,  that  the  soldier  was  in  line, 
and  so  on. 

In  exactly  the  same  way,  a  man  who,  twenty  years  ago, 
should  have  committed  a  murder,  and  after  that  should  have 
lived  peaceably  and  harmlessly  in  society,  appears  less  guil^ ; 
his  action  is  more  subordinated  to  the  law  of  Necessity  n>r 
the  one  who  should  consider  his  crime  after  the  lapse  of 
twenty  years,  and  more  free  to  the  one  who  should  consider 
the  same  action  a  day  after  it  had  been  perpetrated. 

And  exactly  in  the  same  way  every  action  of  a  lunatio, 
of  a  drunken  man,  or  of  a  person  under  strong  provocation, 
seems  less  free  and  more  inevitable  to  the  one  who  knows 
the  mental  condition  of  the  person  committing  the  act,  and 
more  free  and  less  inevitable  to  the  one  who  knows  not. 

In  all  these  cases  the  conception  of  Free  Will  is  increased  or 
diminished,  and  proportionally  the  conception  of  Necessity  is 


352  WAR  AND  PEACR, 

increased  or  diminishedy  according  ta  tha  staodpoint  imft 
which  the  action  is  viewed.  The  greater  ajj^pean  the  Keces- 
sity,  tlie  less  appears  the  Freedom  g^  the  WUL 

And  ffice  vena. 

Keligion,  the  common  sense  of  hamanityy  tte  ac&nee  ^f 
law,  and  history  itself,  accept  in  exaotiy  the  sans  wa^  tiiis 
relationship  between  Necessity  and  Fmo-  WiiL 

All  cases  without  exception  in  which  occr  reproacutation  of 
Free  Will  and  Necessity  inoreaaes  aod  diininisliea  nmy  he 
reduced  to  three  fundamental  principles  ^ — 

(1)  The  relation  of  the  man  committing  the  act  to  the  onU 
side  world, 

(2)  To  time. 

And  (3)  to  the  causes  which  biotight  about  the  act. 

The  nrst  principle  is  the  more  or  less  palpaUe  relatkm  of 
the  man  to  the  outside  world,  the  more  or  fesa  cliatittct  otm- 
cept  of  that  definite  place  which  every  ikian  occupiea  towaxd 
every  other  man  existing  eontemporaneously  with  mm. 

This  is  the  principle  which  makes  it  evident  that  the 
drowning  man  is  less  free  and  tuore  svkb^jact  to  Necasaity  than 
a  man  standing  on  dry  hoA  y  the  principle  which  makea  the 
acts  of  a  man  living  in  close  connection  with  other  men,  in 
densely  populated  loealities,  the  acts  of  a  maa  bocmd  by 
family,  by  service,  by  engagements,  seem  lesa  free  and  more 
subjected  to  Necessity  tb^  the  acta  of  a  single  lasm  living 
alone. 

(1)  If  we  examine  an  isolated  man  without  aey  relations  to 
his  environment,  then  his  every  act  seems  to  us  free.  But  if  we 
detect  any  relation  whatever  to  what  surrounds  him,  if  we  de- 
tect any  connection  with  anything  whatever,  —  with  the  man 
who  talks  with  him,  with  the  book  that  he  reads,  with  tiie 
labor  that  he  undertakes,  even  with  the  atmosphere  that  sor- 
rounds  him,  even  with  the  light  that  falls  uj^n  surrounding 
objects,  we  see  that  each  one  of  these  etmditions  has  some 
influence  upon  him,  and  governs  at  least  one  phase  of  his 
activity. 

And  so  far  as  we  see  these  influences,  so  far  our  representa- 
tion of  his  freedom  diminishes  and  our  representation  of  tiie 
necessity  to  which  he  is  subjected  increases. 

(2)  The  second  principle  is  the  more  or  less  visible  rela- 
tion of  man  to  the  outside  world  In  time ;  the  more  or  less 
distinct  conception  of  the  place  which  the  man's  aotivitj 
occupies  in  time. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  863 

This  is  the  principle  whereby  the  fall  of  the  first  man, 
which  had  for  its  consequences  the  origin  of  the  human  race, 
seems  evidently  less  free  than  the  marriage  of  a  man  of  our 
day. 

This  is  the  principle  in  consequence  of  which  the  lives  and 
activities  of  men  who  lived  a  century  ago  and  are  bound  with 
me  in  time  cannot  seem  to  me  so  free  as  the  lives  of  con- 
temporaries, the  consequences  of  which  are  as  yet  unknown 
to  me. 

The  scale  of  apprehension  of  the  greater  or  less  Freedom 
or  Necessity  in  this  relation  depends  upon  the  greater  or  less 
interval  of  time  between  the  accomplishment  of  the  action 
and  my  judgment  upon  it. 

If  I  regard  an  act  which  I  performed  a  moment  before  under 
approximately  the  same  conditions  in  which  I  find  myself 
now,  my  action  seems  to  me  undoubtedly  free. 

But  if  1  judge  an  act  which  I  performed  a  month  back, 
then  finding  myself  in  different  conditions,  I  cannot  help 
recognizing  that  if  this  act  had  not  been  performed,  many 
things  advantageous,  agreeable,  and  even  indispensable,  would 
not  have  taken  place. 

If  I  go  back  m  memory  to  some  act  still  further  back, — 
that  I  did  ten  years  ago  and  more,  —  then  the  consequences 
of  my  act  present  themselves  to  me  as  still  more  evidently 
necessitated,  and  it  would  be  hard  for  me  to  imagine  what 
would  have  happened  if  this  act  had  not  taken  place. 

The  further  back  I  go  in  memory,  or,  what  is  the  same 
thing,  the  longer  I  refrain  from  judgment,  the  more  doubtful 
will  be  my  decision  as  to  the  freedom  of  any  act. 

In  history  we  find  also  exactly  the  same  progression  of  per- 
suasion as  to  the  part  that  free  will  plays  in  the  actions  of 
the  human  race.  A  contemporary  event  taking  place  seems 
to  us  undoubtedly  the  product  of  all  the  eminent  men ;  but 
if  the  event  is  further  away  in  time,  we  begin  to  see  its  inevi- 
table consequences,  other  than  which  we  could  not  imagine 
flowing  from  it.  And  the  further  we  go  back  in  our  investi 
gation  of  events,  the  less  do  they  seem  to  us  spontaneous  and 
free. 

The  Austro-Prussian  war  seems  to  us  the  undoubted  conse- 
quence of  the  acts  of  the  astute  Bismarck  and  so  on. 

The  Napoleonic  wars,  though  with  some  shadow  of  doubt, 

still  present  themselves  to  us  as  the  results  of  the  will  of 

heroes ;  but  in  the  crusades  we  see  an  event  definitely  taking 

its  place,  an  event  without  which  the  modern  history  of 

VOL.  4.  ^23. 


54  WAR  AND  PEACE. 


Europe  would  be  meaningless,  and  yet  in  exactly  the  same 
way  this  event  presented  itself  to  the  chroniclers  of  tba 
crusades  as  merely  the  outcome  of  the  will  of  certain 
individuals. 

In  the  migration  of  the  nations,  even  in  our  time,  it  never 
occurs  to  us  that  it  depended  upon  the  pleasure  of  Attila  to 
reconstitute  the  European  world. 

The  further  back  into  history  we  carry  the  object  of  our 
investigation,  the  more  doubtful  appears  the  freedom  of  the 
men  who  brought  events  about,  and  the  more  evident  grows 
the  law  of  Necessity. 

(3)  The  third  principle  is  the  greater  or  less  accessibility 
to  us  of  that  endless  chain  of  causes,  inevitably  claimed  by 
reason,  in  which  every  comprehensible  phenomenon,  and  there- 
fore every  act  of  man,  must  take  its  definite  place,  as  the 
result  of  what  is  past,  and  as  the  cause  of  what  is  to  come. 

This  is  the  principle  which  makes  our  deeds  and  those  of 
other  men  seem  to  us,  on  the  one  hand,  the  more  free  and  the 
less  subjected  to  Necessity,  according  as  we  know  the  physio- 
logical, psychological,  and  historical  laws  to  which  man  is 
subject,  and  the  more  faithfully  we  examine  the  physiological, 
psychological,  and  historical  causes  of  events:  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  proportion  as  the  action  under  examination  is 
simple  and  uncomplicated  by  the  character  and  intellect  of 
the  man  whose  act  we  are  examining. 

When  we  absolutely  fail  to  comprehend  the  reasons  of  any 
act,  —  in  case  of  crime,  an  act  of  virtue,  or  even  an  act  which 
has  no  reference  to  good  and  evil,  —  we  are  apt  to  attribute 
the  greatest  share  of  freedom  in  such  a  case. 

In  the  case  of  a  crime,  we  demand  especially  for  such  an 
act  the  extreme  penalty;  in  case  of  a  good  action  we  espe- 
cially reward  such  a  virtuous  deed. 

In  the  case  of  something  unique,  we  recognize  the  greatest 
individuality,  originality,  freedom. 

But  if  a  single  one  of  the  iimumerable  motives  be  known 
to  us,  we  recognize  a  certain  degree  of  necessity,  and  are  not 
so  eager  in  our  demand  for  the  punishment  of  the  crime ;  we 
recognize  less  service  in  the  virtuous  action,  less  freedom  in 
the  apparently  original  performance. 

The  fact  that  a  criminal  was  brought  up  among  evil-doers 
mitigates  his  fault.  The  self-denial  of  a  father  or  mother  — 
self-denial  with  the  possibility  of  a  reward  —  is  more  compre- 
hensible than  self-denial  without  reason,  and  therefore  seems 
to  us  deserving  of  sympathy,  —  less  free. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  866 

The  founder  of  a  sect  or  of  a  party^  an  inventor,  surprises 
OS  less  when  we  know  how  and  when  his  actiyity  was  pre- 
pared  beforehand. 

If  we  have  a  long  series  of  experiences,  if  our  observation 
IS  constantly  directed  to  searching  into  the  correlation  be- 
tween cause  and  effect  in  the  relations  of  men,  then  the  acts 
of  men  will  seem  to  us  proportionally  more  necessitated  and 
less  free,  the  more  accurately  we  trace  causes  and  effects  in 
events. 

If  the  acts  under  consideration  are  simple,  and  we  have  for 
our  study  an  enormous  number  of  such  acts,  then  our  notion 
of  their  Necessity  will  be  still  more  complete. 

The  dishonorable  act  of  a  man  whose  father  was  dishonor- 
able; the  evil  conduct  of  a  woman  who  has  fallen  in  with 
low  associates;  the  return  of  the  drunkard  to  his  drunken- 
ness, and  the  like,  are  cases  which  will  seem  to  us  less  free 
the  clearer  we  comprehend  their  causes. 

If,  again,  a  man  whose  actions  we  are  examining  stands  on 
the  lowest  plane  of  mental  development,  —  as  a  child,  a 
lunatic,  an  idiot,  ^  we  who  know  the  causes  of  his  activity 
and  lack  of  complexity  in  his  character  and  intellect,  see 
forthwith  a  decidedly  large  proportion  of  necessity  and  so 
little  freedom  of  will  that  so  soon  as  we  know  the  cause  that 
must  have  produced  the  act  we  can  foretell  the  act. 

These  three  principles  alone  make  possible  the  theory  of 
irresponsibility  for  crime  that  is  recognized  in  all  codes,  and 
that  of  extenuating  circumstances. 

Responsibility  seems  greater  or  less  in  proportion  to  our 
greater  or  less  knowledge  of  the  conditions  in  which  the  man 
found  himself  whose  crime  is  under  judgment,  in  proportion 
to  the  longer  or  shorter  interval  of  time  between  the  perpe- 
tration of  the  crime  and  our  judgment  of  it,  and  in  proportion 
to  our  more  or  less  complete  comprehension  of  the  causes  of 
the  act. 

CHAPTER  X. 

Thus  our  conception  of  Free  Will  and  Necessity  in  the 
phenomenon  of  the  life  of  man  gradually  diminishes  and  in- 
creases in  proportion  as  we  look  at  the  greater  or  less  connec- 
tion with  the  outer  world,  in  proportion  to  the  greater  or  less 
interval  of  time,  and  the  greater  or  less  dependence  upon  the 
motives. 

So  that  if  we  consider  the  position  of  a  man  in  whose  case 


85C  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

the  connection  with  the  external  world  is  best  known,  when 
the  period  of  time  between  our  judgment  and  the  act  is  tiie 
very  greatest  possible,  and  the  causes  of  the  act  most  acces- 
sible, then  we  shall  gain  a  conception  of  the  most  perfect 
necessity  and  the  least  possible  freedom. 

Whereas  if  we  consider  a  man  who  shows  the  least  depend- 
ence upon  external  conditions ;  if  his  act  is  consummated  at 
the  nearest  possible  moment  to  the  present  time,  and  the 
motives  of  his  act  are  inaccessible  to  us,  then  we  shall  gain  a 
conception  of  the  least  possible  necessity  and  the  greatest 
possible  freedom. 

But  neither  in  the  one  case  nor  the  other,  however  we 
might  change  our  standpoint,  however  clear  we  might  make 
the  connection  between  the  man  and  the  outer  world,  or  how- 
ever  inaccessible  it  might  appear  to  us,  how^ever  remote  or 
however  near  might  be  the  period  of  time,  however  comprehen- 
sible or  incomprehensible  for  us  the  motives,  we  could  never 
formulate  to  ourselves  the  idea  of  perfect  Freedom  or  of  com- 
plete Necessity. 

(1)  However  hard  we  might  endeavor  to  imagine  a  man 
freed  from  all  influence  of  the  external  world,  we  could  never 
conceive  of  such  a  thing  as  Freedom  in  space. 

Every  act  of  a  man  is  inexorably  conditioned  also  by  the 
fact  that  he  is  bounded  by  the  very  nature  of  his  body. 

I  raise  my  arm  and  drop  it  again.  My  action  seems  free, 
but,  on  asking  myself,  "  Can  I  raise  my  arm  in  every  direc- 
tion ?  "  I  see  that  I  have  raised  my  arm  in  that  direction  where 
there  would  be  the  least  resistance  to  such  an  action  —  either 
the  human  bodies  around  me  or  the  organization  of  my  own 
body. 

If  among  all  possible  directions  I  choose  one,  then  I  choose 
it  because  there  were  less  obstacles  in  that  direction. 

In  order  that  my  action  should  be  free,  it  would  be  indis- 
pensable that  it  should  meet  no  obstacles  at  all.  In  order  to 
conceive  of  a  man  as  being  free,  we  should  imagine  him  out- 
side of  space,  which  is  evidently  impossible. 

(2)  However  close  we  may  approximate  the  time  of  an 
event  to  the  present,  we  can  never  gain  the  notion  of  Freedom 
in  time. 

For  if  I  witness  an  act  which  was  accomplished  a  second 
ago,  I  am  nevertheless  obliged  to  recognize  tnat  the  act  was 
not  free,  since  the  act  is  conditioned  by  that  very  moment  of 
time  in  which  it  took  place. 

Can  I  raise  my  arm  ? 


WAk  AXD  PSACS.  357 

I  taise  i^  bat  t  ask  m^lf>  Cotild  I  have  helped  raising  my 
ami  aft  tiiak  moment  of  time  already  past  ? 

In  otder  to  oonvince  myself,  at  nie  next  moment  I  do  not 
raise  my  arm.  Bnt  I  did  not  refrain  from  raising  my  arm  at 
that  former  moment  when  I  asked  the  question  about  freedom. 

The  time  has  passed^  and  to  retain  it  was  not  in  my  power ; 
and  the  arm  which  I  then  raised,  and  the  atmosphere  in  which 
I  made  the  gesture,  are  no  longer  the  atmosphere  which  now 
surrounds  me,  or  the  arm  with  which  I  now  refrain  from  mak- 
ing the  motion. 

That  moment  in  which  the  first  gesture  was  made  is  irrevo- 
cable, and  at  that  moment  I  could  make  only  one  gesture,  and, 
whaterer  gesture  I  made,  that  gesture  could  have  been  only 
one. 

The  fact  that  in  the  subsequent  moment  of  time  I  did  not 
raise  my  arm  is  no  proof  that  I  might  have  refrained  from  rais- 
ing it  then.  And  since  my  motion  could  have  been  only  one, 
at  one  moment  of  time,  then  it  could  not  have  been  any  other. 
In  order  to  represent  it  as  free,  it  is  necessary  to  represent  it 
at  the  present  time,  at  the  meeting  point  >f  the  past  and  the 
iuture,  that  is  to  say,  outside  of  time,  which  is  impossible  \ 
and 

(3)  However  much  we  may  magnify  the  difficulty  of  com- 
prehending motives,  we  can  never  arrive  at  a  representation 
of  absolute  freedom,  that  is,  to  an  absence  of  motive. 

However  unattainable  for  us  may  be  the  motive  for  the 
expression  of  will  as  manifested  in  an  action  performed  by 
ourselves  or  others,  the  intellect  first  demands  an  assumption 
and  search  for  the  motive  without  which  any  phenomenon  is 
unthinkable. 

I  raise  my  arm  for  the  purpose  of  accomplishing  an  act 
independent  of  any  motive,  but  the  fact  that  I  wish  to  per- 
form the  act  that  has  no  motive  is  the  cause  of  my  act. 

But  even  if,  representing  to  ourselves  a  man  absolutely 
freed  from  all  influences,  regarding  merely  his  momentary 
action  as  of  the  present,  and  not  called  forth  by  any  motive, 
if  we  grant  that  the  infinitely  small  residuum  of  Necessity  is 
equal  to  zero,  even  then  we  should  not  arrive  at  the  notion  of 
the  absolute  freedom  of  man ;  since  a  being  that  does  not 
respond  to  any  influences  from  the  outside  world,  exists  out- 
side of  time,  and  is  independent  of  motives,  is  no  longer  man. 

In  exactly  the  same  way  we  can  never  conceive  of  the  acts 
of  a  man  without  a  share  of  freedom,  and  subjected  only  to 
the  law  of  Necessity. 


868  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

(1)  However  great  may  be  our  knowledge  of  the  conditioiis 
of  space  in  which  man  linds  himself,  this  knowledge  can  never 
be  perfect,  since  the  number  of  these  conditions  is  infinitely 
great,  in  the  same  way  as  space  is  limitless.  And  conse- 
quently, so  long  as  all  the  conditions  that  influence  man  are 
not  known,  there  can  be  no  absolute  Necessity,  bat  there  is  a 
certain  measure  of  Freedom. 

(2)  However  much  we  may  lengthen  out  the  period  of  time 
between  the  act  which  we  are  examining,  and  the  time  when 
our  judgment  is  passed,  this  period  will  be  finite ;  but  time  is 
endless,  and  therefore  in  this  relation  there  can  never  be 
absolute  Necessity. 

(3)  However  accessible  may  be  the  chain  of  motives  for 
any  act  whatever,  we  should  never  know  the  whole  chain, 
since  it  is  endless,  and  again  we  should  never  have  abeolnte 
Necessity. 

But,  moreover,  even  if,  granting  a  residuum  of  the  least  pos- 
sible Freedom,  equal  to  zero,  we  were  to  recognize,  in  any 
possible  case,  as  for  example  a  dying  man,  an  unborn  child, 
an  idiot,  absolute  lack  of  freedom,  then  by  that  very  act  we 
should  destroy  our  concept  of  man  which  we  were  examining: 
for  without  freedom  of  the  will  man  is  not  man. 

And  therefore  our  perception  of  the  activity  of  man,  subor- 
dinated only  to  the  law  of  Necessity,  without  the  slightest 
trace  of  Free  Will,  is  just  as  impossible  as  the  conception  of 
the  absolute  Freedom  of  the  acts  of  man. 

Thus,  in  order  to  represent  to  ourselves  the  act  of  a  man 
subjected  only  to  the  law  of  Necessity  without  any  Freedom 
of  the  will,  we  must  have  knowledge  of  an  infinite  number  of 
the  conditions  in  space,  an  infinitely  long  period  of  time,  and 
an  infinite  series  of  motives. 

In  order  to  represent  a  man  absolutely  free  and  unsubor- 
dinated to  the  law  of  Necessity,  we  must  represent  liim  as  one 
outside  of  space,  outside  of  time,  and  outside  of  all  dependence 
upon  motives. 

In  the  first  case,  if  Necessity  were  possible  without  Free- 
dom, we  should  be  brought  to  define  the  laws  of  Necessity  by 
Necessity  itself ;  that  is,  a  mere  form  without  substance. 

In  the  second  case,  if  Freedom  without  Necessity  were 
possible,  we  should  arrive  at  absolute  Freedom  outside  of 
space,  time,  and  cause,  which,  for  the  verv  reason  that  it 
would  be  unconditional  and  illimitable,  would  be  nothing,  or 
substance  without  form. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  859 

We  shonld  have  arrived  in  general  terms  at  those  two  fun- 
damental principles  on  which  man's  whole  conception  of  the 
world  depends,  the  searchless  essence  of  life^  and  the  laws 
which  condition  this  essence. 

Reason  says,  — 

(1)  Space,  with  all  its  forms,  which  are  given  to  it  by  its 
quality  of  vistbleness, — matter,  —  is  infinite,  and  cannot  be 
conceived  otherwise. 

(2)  Time  is  endless  motion  without  a  moment  of  rest,  and 
it  cannot  be  conceived  otherwise. 

^3)  The  chain  of  cause  and  effect  can  have  no  beginning 
r.na  can  have  no  end. 
Consciousness  says,  — 

(1)  I  am  one,  and  all  that  happens  is  only  I ;  consequently 
I  include  space ; 

(2)  I  measure  fleeting  time  by  the  motionless  moment  of 
the  present,  at  which  alone  I  recognize  that  I  am  alive ;  con* 
sequently  I  am  outside  of  time,  and 

(3)  I  am  outside  of  motives,  since  I  feel  conscious  that  I 
myself  am  the  motive  of  every  manifestation  of  my  life. 

Eeason  expresses  the  laws  of  Necessity.  Consciousness 
expresses  the  essence  of  Free  Will. 

Freedom,  unconditioned  by  anything,  is  the  essence  of  life 
in  the  consciousness  of  man. 

Necessity  without  substance  is  the  reason  of  man  in  its 
three  forms. 

Freedom  is  that  which  is  examined.  Necessity  is  that 
which  examines. 

Freedom  is  substance.    Necessity  is  form. 

Only  by  sundering  the  two  sources  of  knowledge  which  are? 
related  to  each  other,  as  form  and  substance,  do  we  arrive  at 
the  separate,  mutually  excluding  and  inscrutable  concepts  of 
Free  Will  and  Necessity. 

Only  by  uniting  them  is  a  clear  presentation  of  the  life  of 
man  obtained. 

Outside  of  these  two  concepts,  mutually  by  their  union  de- 
fining one  another,  —  form  and  substance,  —  any  representa- 
tion of  man's  life  is  impossible. 

All  that  we  know  of  the  life  of  man  is  merely  the  relation 
of  Freedom  to  Necessi^  j  that  is,  an  avowal  of  the  laws  of 
Reason. 

^All  that  we  know  of  the  outer  world  of  Nature  is  only  a 
certain  relationship  of  the  forces  of  Nature  to  Necessity ;  that 
is,  the  essence  of  life  related  to  the  laws  of  reason. 


860  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  life  forces  of  Nature  lie  outaide  of  us,  and  are  nnknivirn 
to  uSy  and  we  call  these  forces  gravity,  inertiai  electricity,  Tital 
force,  and  so  on ;  but  the  life  forces  of  man  are  reoognized  fay 
us,  and  we  call  them  Freedom  of  the  WilL 

But  just  as  the  force  of  gravitation,  in  itself  unattainable, 
inscrutable,  though  felt  by  every  man,  is  only  oomprehensible 
to  us  so  far  as  we  know  the  laws  of  Necessity  to  which  it  is 
subject  (from  the  first  consciousness  that  all  bodies  ai6  heavy 
up  to  the  laws  of  Newton),  in  exactly  the  same  way  incompre- 
hensible, inscrutable  in  itself,  is  the  force  of  Free  Will,  though 
recognized  by  every  one,  and  is  only  understood  by  us  so  &r 
as  we  know  the  laws  of  Necessity  to  which  it  is  subject  (begin- 
ning with  the  fact  that  every  man  must  die,  up  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  most  complicated  laws  of  politick  economy  and 
history). 

All  knowledge  is  but  the  bringing  of  the  essence  of  life 
under  the  laws  of  Eeason. 

Man's  Free  Will  is  differentiated  from  every  other  force  by 
the  fact  that  man  is  conscious  of  this  force;  but  Reason 
regards  it  as  in  no  respect  different  from  any  other  force. 

The  forces  of  gravitation,  electricity,  chemical  affinity,  are 
only  in  this  respect  differentiated  from  one  another  that  these 
forces  are  differently  defined  by  Reason.  Just  so  the  force  of 
man's  Freedom  in  the  eyes  of  Reason  differs  from  other  forces 
of  nature  merely  by  the  definition  which  this  very  Reason 
gives  it. 

Freedom  without  Necessity,  that  is,  without  the  laws  of 
Reason  which  define  it,  is  in  no  respect  different  from  gravity, 
or  heat,  or  the  forces  of  vegetation ;  for  Reason  it  is  a  transi- 
tory, undefined  sensation  of  life. 

And  as  the  undefined  essence  of  force  moving  the  heavenly 
bodies,  the  undefined  essence  of  the  force  of  electricity  and  the 
force  of  chemical  affinity  and  vital  force,  constitute  the  sub- 
stance of  astronomy,  physics,  chemistry,  botany,  zoology,  and 
so  on,  in  exactly  the  same  way  the  essence  of  the  force  of 
Freedom  constitutes  the  substajice  of  History. 

But  just  as  the  object  of  every  science  is  the  manifestation 
of  this  indeterminate  essence  of  life,  while  this  same  essence 
may  be  only  a  subject  for  metaphysics,  so  the  manifestation 
of  the  force  of  the  Free  Will  of  men  in  space,  time,  and  causal- 
ity constitutes  the  object  of  history,  while  Free  Will  itself  is 
the  subject  of  metaphysics. 

In  the  empirical  sciences  that  which  we  know  we  call  the  laiws 
of  Necessity  ;  that  which  we  do  not  know  we  call  vital  force. 


WAR  AND  PBACS.  S6l 

Vital  foToe  is  only  the  expression  of  the  unknown  reserre  of 
what  we  know  of  the  essenee  of  life. 

Just  so  in  History :  that  which  is  known  to  us  we  call  the 
laws  of  Necessity,  that  which  is  unknown  we  call  Free  Will. 

Free  Will  or  History  is  only  the  expression  of  the  unknown 
reserve  of  what  we  know  about  the  laws  of  the  life  of  man. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HiSTOKY  observes  the  manifestations  of  the  Free  Will  of 
man  in  their  relations  with  the  external  world,  with  time,  and 
with  causality ;  that  is,  it  determines  this  freedom  by  the  laws 
of  Reason,  and  therefore  History  is  a  science  only  in  so  far  as 
it  determines  Freedom  by  these  laws. 

For  History  to  regard  the  Free  Will  of  men  as  a  force  able 
to  exert  influence  upon  historical  events,  that  is,  as  not  subject 
to  law,  is  the  same  thing  as  for  astronomy  to  recognize  freedom 
in  the  movement  in  the  heavenly  forces. 

This  admission  would  destroy  the  possibility  of  the  exist- 
ence of  laws,  that  is,  of  any  knowledge  whatever. 

If  a  single  body  existed  endowed  with  freedom  of  move- 
ment, then  the  laws  of  Kepler  and  Newton  would  no  longer 
exist,  and  we  could  have  no  conception  of  the  movements  of 
the  heavenly  bodies. 

If  a  single  human  action  were  free,  there  would  be  no  his- 
torical laws,  no  conception  of  historical  events. 

History  is  concerned  only  with  the  lines  of  the  movement 
of  human  wills;  one  end  of  which  disappears  in  the  unseen; 
while  at  the  other  end  appears  consciousness  of  the  Free  Will 
of  man  in  the  present,  moving  in  space,  time,  and  causality. 

The  more  the  field  of  movement  opens  out  before  our  eyes, 
the  more  evident  become  the  laws  of  this  movement. 

To  grasp  and  define  these  laws  is  the  object  of  History. 

From  the  standpoint  from  which  science  now  looks  at  the 
object  of  its  investigations,  along  that  route  which  it  traverses 
in  seeking  the  causes  of  events  in  the  Free  Will  of  men,  the 
formulation  of  laws  is  impossible,  for,  however  carefully  we 
limit  the  Free  Will  of  men,  as  soon  as  we  recognize  it  as  a 
force  the  existence  of  the  law  is  impossible. 

Only  by  reducing  Will  to  an  infinitesimal,  that  is,  regarding 
it  as  an  infinitely  small  quantity,  do  we  believe  in  the  abso- 
lute accessibility  of  causes,  and  only  then,  instoad  of  seeking 
for  causes,  History  takes  as  its  problem  the  search  for  laws. 


862  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

The  search  for  these  laws  has  been  undertaken  in  times 
pasty  and  the  new  methods  of  thought  which  History  must 
appropriate  must  be  elaborated  simultaneously  with  the  self- 
destruction  toward  which  the  "old  History"  moves  with  its 
constant  differentiation  of  the  causes  of  phenomena. 

Along  this  route  all  the  human  sciences  have  travelled. 

Mathematics,  the  most  exact  of  sciences,  having  reached 
the  infinitely  small,  abandons  the  process  of  differentiation 
and  makes  use  of  a  new  process,  that  of  summing  up  the  un- 
known —  the  differential  or  infinitesimal  calculus. 

Mathematics,  giving  up  the  concept  of  causes,  seeks  for 
laws ;  that  is,  the  qualities  common  to  all  of  unknown,  infini- 
tesimal elements. 

Though  by  another  form,  the  other  sciences  have  followed 
in  the  same  route  of  thought. 

When  Newton  formulated  the  law  of  gravitation,  he  did  not 
say  that  the  sun  or  the  earth  had  the  property  of  attracting;  he 
said  that  all  bodies,  from  the  largest  to  the  smallest,  possessed 
the  property  of  attracting  one  another ;  that  is,  putting  aside 
the  question  of  the  cause  of  the  movement  of  bodies,  he  sim- 
ply formulated  a  quality  common  to  all  bodies,  from  the 
infinitely  great  to  the  infinitely  small. 

The  natural  sciences  do  the  same ;  putting  aside  the  ques- 
tion  of  causation,  they  seek  for  laws. 

History  also  stands  on  the  same  path,  and  if  history  has  for 
its  object  the  study  of  the  movements  of  peoples  and  of  human- 
ity, and  not  a  description  of  episodes  in  the  lives  of  men,  it 
must  put  aside  the  notion  of  cause,  and  search  for  the  laws 
common  to  all  the  closely  united,  infinitesimal  elements  of 
Freedom. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

From  the  time  that  the  law  of  Copernicus  was  discovered 
and  demonstrated,  the  mere  recognition  of  the  fact  that  the 
sun  does  not  move,  but  the  earth,  has  overturned  the  entire 
cosmography  of  the  ancients. 

It  was  possible,  by  rejecting  the  law,  to  hold  fast  to  the  old 
view  of  the  motion  of  bodies ;  but  unless  the  law  was  rejected, 
it  became  impossible,  apparently,  to  continue  in  the  teaching 
of  the  Ptolemaic  worlds.  And  yet,  even  after  the  disooveiy 
of  the  law  of  Copernicus^  the  Ptolemaic  worlds  were  still 
taught. 


WAR  AND  PEACE.  368 

From  the  time  when  man  fiist  said  and  proyed  that  the 
number  of  births  or  crimes  was  subject  to  mathematical  laws, 
and  that  certain  geographical  and  politico-economical  condi- 
tions determined  this  or  that  form  of  goyernmenty  that  certain 
relations  of  the  population  to  the  soil  produce  the  movements 
of  the  nation,  from  that  time  the  fundamental  principles 
whereon  history  was  based  were  entirely  subyerted. 

It  was  possible,  by  rejecting  the  new  laws,  to  hold  to  the 
former  views  of  history ;  but,  unless  they  were  rejected,  it  was 
impossible,  apparently,  to  continue  to  teach  that  historical 
events  were  the  product  of  the  free  will  of  men« 

For  if  any  particular  form  of  government  were  established, 
or  any  movement  of  a  nation  took  place,  as  a  consequence  of 
certain  geographical,  ethnographical,  or  economical  conditions, 
the  wills  of  those  men  who  appeared  to  us  to  have  established 
the  form  of  government  can  no  longer  be  regarded  as  the  cause. 

But  still  the  old  style  of  history  continues  to  be  taught 
side  by  side  with  the  laws  of  statistics,  of  geography,  of 
political  economy,  comparative  philology,  and  geology,  which 
directly  contradict  its  tenets. 

Long  and  stubbornly  the  struggle  between  the  old  view  and 
the  new  went  on  in  the  domain  of  physical  philosophy. 

Theology  stood  on  guard  in  behalf  of  the  old  view,  and  de- 
nounced the  new  for  its  destruction  of  Revelation.  But  when 
truth  won  the  day,  Theology  intrenched  herself  just  as  solidly 
in  the  new  ground. 

Just  as  long  and  stubbornly  at  the  present  time  rages  the 
struggle  between  the  old  and  the  new  view  of  history,  and, 
just  as  before,  Theology  stands  on  guard  in  behalf  of  the  old 
view,  and  denounces  the  new  for  its  subversion  of  Bevelation. 

In  the  one  case,  just  as  in  the  other,  passions  have  been 
called  into  play  on  both  sides,  and  the  truth  has  been  ob- 
scured. On  the  one  hand,  fear  and  sorrow  for  all  the  knowl- 
edge elaborately  built  up  through  the  centuries  :  on  the  other, 
the  passion  for  destruction. 

For  the  men  who  opposed  the  rising  truth  of  physics,  it 
seemed  as  if  by  their  acknowledgment  of  this  truth,  their 
faith  in  God,  in  the  creation  of  the  universe,  in  the  miracle  of 
Joshua  the  son  of  Nun,  would  be  destroyed. 

To  the  defenders  of  the  laws  of  Copernicus  and  Newton,  to 
Voltaire,  for  instance,  it  seemed  that  the  laws  of  astronomy 
were  subversive  of  religion,  and  he  made  the  laws  of  gravita- 
tion a  weapon  against  ireligion. 

In  exactly  the  same  way  now  it  is  only  necessary  to  recog- 


864  WAR  AND  PEACE. 

nize  the  law  of  neeefisity  and  the  idea  of  the  son],  of  good  and 
evil,  and  all  state  and  church  inetitntions  that  revolve  around 
these  concepts  would  be  subverted. 

Now,  just  as  Voltaire  in  his  time,  the  uninvited  defenders 
of  the  law  of  Necessity  employ  this  law  against  religion ;  and 
exactly  the  same  way  as  the  law  of  Copernicus  in  astronomy, 
so  now  the  law  of  Necessity  in  history  not  only  does  not  sub- 
vert, but  even  strengthens,  the  foundation  upon  which  are 
erected  state  and  ecclesiastical  institutions. 

As  at  that  time  in  the  question  of  astrimomy,  so  now  in 
the  question  of  history,  every  variety  of  view  is  based  upon 
the  recognition  or  non-recognition  of  the  absolute  unit  which 
serves  as  the  standard  measure  of  all  visible  phenomena.  In 
astronomy  this  standard  was  the  immovability  of  the  earth ; 
in  history  it  was  the  independence  of  the  individual  — Free- 
dom of  the  Will. 

As  for  astronomy,  the  difficulty  in  the  way  of  recognizing 
the  immovability  of  the  earth  consisted  in  having  to  rid  one's 
self  of  the  immediate  sensation  that  the  earth  was  immovable, 
and  of  a  similar  sense  as  to  the  motion  of  the  planets ;  so  also 
in  history  the  difficulty  in  the  way  of  recognizing  the  subjec- 
tion of  personality  to  the  laws  of  space,  time,  and  causality 
consisted  in  being  obliged  to  rid  one's  self  of  the  sense  of 
the  independence  of  one's  personality. 

But,  as  in  astronomy,  the  new  theory  says,  -^ 

'<  It  is  true  we  are  not  conscious  of  the  motion  of  the  earth, 
but  if  we  grant  its  immobility,  we  arrive  at  an  absurdity; 
whereas,  if  we  admit  the  motion  of  which  we  are  not  conscious, 
we  arrive  at  laws,"  in  the  same  way,  in  history  the  new  view 
says,  — 

"  It  is  true  we  are  not  conscious  of  our  dependence,  but,  by 
admitting  the  Freedom  of  the  Will,  we  arrive  at  an  absurdity ; 
whereas,  by  admitting  our  dependence  upon  the  external 
world,  time,  and  causality,  we  arrive  at  laws." 

In  the  first  case  it  was  necessary  to  get  rid  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  non-existent  immobility  in  space,  and  to  recognize  a 
motion  that  was  not  present  to  our  consciousness;  in  the 
present  case,  in  exactly  the  same  way,  it  is  essential  to  get 
rid  of  a  Freedom  of  the  Will  that  does  not  exist,  and  to  rec(^- 
nize  a  dependence  that  is  not  present  to  our  consciousness. 

EKD   OF  WAR  AND   PEACE. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  "WAR  AND  PEACE." 


VOL.  I.  — PART   I.  (1805). 

GHAPTSR  I.    Paqk  1. 

Soiree  at  Mile.  Scheier's.  Discunion  with  Prince  Vasfli  about  politios. 
MUe.  Scherer'8  proposal  that  Anatdl  Koragin  marry  the  Ptincess  Miuf ya. 

GHAPTBB  n.    P.  6. 

IfUe.  Soberer's  drawing-room.  The  old  aunt.  The  PrlnoeflS  Bolkdnskaya. 
Pierre.    Anna  Pavlovna  as  mistress  of  ceremonies. 

CHAPTER  III.    P.  la 

The  various  groups.  The  Viscount  Montemart.  Discussion  of  the  mur- 
der of  the  l>ttc  d'Enehlen.  Ellen  the  beautiful.  The  story  at  the  duke 
meeting  Napoleon  at  Mile.  George's. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  15. 

The  Princess  Dmb^takaya  urges  Prince  Vasfli  to  forward  the  interests  of 
her  son  Sons.  The  Talue  of  influence.  Discussion  of  the  ooronation  of 
Bonaparte  at  Milan.  The  viscount's  views  of  matters  in  France.  Pierre's 
eulogy  of  Napoleon.    Pierre's  smile.    Prince  Ippolit's  story. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  33. 

Desoriptloa  of  Pierre.  Pierre  and  Prince  Andrei  arguing  about  war  and 
Kapoleon. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  27. 

The  prineess  Johu  the  gentlemen.  Almost  a  family  uuarrel.  Prince 
Andres  adrioe  to  Pierre  never  to  marry,  and  his  reasons.  Pierre  promises 
not  to  join  Anatol's  dissipations  any  more. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  33. 

Pierre  breaks  his  promise  and  goes  once  more.  The  scene  at  the  Horse- 
guard  Barracks.  The  waeer  between  Stevens  and  Doldkhof.  Character 
of  Doldkhof .  Doldkhof  dnuns  the  bottle,  and  wins  the  fifty  rubles.  Pierre's 
frolic  with  the  bear. 

865 


866  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE." 


CHAPTER  Vin.    P.  39. 

Borfs  Drnb^tskoi  attached  to  Semvdnoysky  raiment  of  the  Guards.  Tnte 
Prinoeos  Drubetskaya  visits  at  the  Bostdfs  at  Moscow.  The  Coanteas  Ro»- 
tova.  Her  dignitv.  The  countess's  Name-day  reception.  Talk  aboat  the 
old  Count  Bezukhoi  and  his  illegitimate  son.  Account  of  Pierre's 
with  Anatdl.    Possibility  of  Pierre  inheriting  a  name  and  fortune. 


CHAPTER  IX.    P.  43. 

Irruption  of  the  children.    NaUCsha  Rostdva  at  thirteen.    NikoUi  Boatof. 
CharacteristicB  of  Boris  Drub^tskoi. 


CHAPTER  X.    P.  46. 

Sdnya  the  niece;  compared  to  a  kitten.    Her  jealousy.    The  Count 
Roetdya  and  Mme.  Kartfgina  discuss  children's  education.    Appearance  of 
the  Countess  Vi^ra. 

CHAPTER  XL    P.  ^. 

NikolC[  comforts  Sdn^a  in  the  conseryatory.  NaUksha's  mischieyoiDS  kiss. 
Her  engagement  to  Boris.  Vie'ra  shows  her  character  to  her  brothen  and 
sister. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  51. 

The  countess  and  Anna  Mikhiiloyna  haye  a  confidential  talk.  Theprii^ 
«ess  acknowledges  her  want  of  money.  Determines  to  call  upon  Coont 
Beziikhoi. 

CHAPTER  Xin.    P.  M. 

Boris  and  his  mother  driye  to  Kirill  Yladimiroyitoh's.  Anna  lOkhii- 
lovna's  interview  with  Prince  Yasili.  Prince  VasfU's  opinion  of  Gouu 
Rostdf .    Boris  sent  to  Pierre. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  eO. 

Pierre's  visit  at  his  father's  house.  The  count's  three  nieces  reoeiye  him 
like  **  a  ghost  or  a  leper."  Pierre  left  severely  to  himself.  Kerre  and 
Boris.  Pierre's  confusion.  Anna  Mikhtfiloma's  zeal  for  the  old  Coimt 
Beziikho'i's  salvation. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  65. 

Count  Rosttff  s  manner  of  raising  seven  hundred  rubles.  The  coonteas 
presents  the  money  to  Anna  Mikhiilovna. 


CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  67. 

Mirya  Dmftrievna  Akhrdslmova.  Shfnshin  and  Berg.  Berg's  defence 
of  his  ambition.  His  egotism.  Arrival  of  Pierre.  Description  of  Mtftya 
Dmitrievna,  Her  semi-humorous  attack  upon  Pierre,  The  count's  dinner 
party.    Girls  in  love. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.*"  867 

CHAPTER  XVII.    P.  73. 

Animated  oonvenation.  Colonel  Schubert's  defence  of  the  Bmperor's 
manifesto.  Nikolai's  interest  in  the  war.  His  enthnsiagtio  speech.  Nata- 
sha's miflchieyous  remark  about  the  ices. 

CHAPTER  XVIIL    P.  76. 


I 


CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  81. 

Count  Bezdkhol  receives  his  sixth  stroke  of  apoplexy.  Scenes  at  the 
mansion.  Prince  Vasili's  interview  with  the  Princess  Katish.  Discussion 
of  Pierre's  chances  of  the  inheritance.   Prince  Vasili's  scheme  for  preventing 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  88. 

Anna  Mikhailovna  takes  Pierre  to  his  dyins  father.  She  promises  to  look 
oat  for  his  interests.  They  discover  Prince  vasili  and  the  Princess  Katish 
in  consultation.    Scene  in  the  anteroom. 


CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  93. 

Glimpse  of  Count  Kirill  Beziikhoi,  Description  of  the  bedroom.  The 
ceremony  of  extreme  unction.  Prince  Vasfli's  strange  action*  Pierre  kisses 
his  father's  hand.    The  count's  last  look. 

CHAPTER  XXn.    P.  98. 

The  midnight  0cene  in  the  petit  scUon.  Altercation  between  Anna 
Mikhailovna  and  Katish.  Anna  Mikhailovna  rescues  the  mosaic  portfolio, 
The  struggle  for  the  same.  Death  of  the  count.  Effect  of  the  count's  death 
on  Prince  Yasili.  Anna  Mikhailovna's  account  of  the  count's  death.  He? 
liopes  from  Pierre, 

CHAPTJSR  XXIII.    p.  102. 

Prince  Nikolai  A.  Bolkonsky  at  home.  His  character  and  notions.  The 
prince  at  his  lathe.  His  lesson  to  his  daughter.  His  praise  of  mathematics, 
^ulie^  Kar^gina's  letter  to  Princess  Manya.  Julie's  description  of  NikoUi 
Rostdf .    Mariya'9  reply.    Con^cting  ideas  of  Pierre, 

CHAPTER  XXIV.    P.  111. 

Arrival  of  Prince  Andrei  and  his  wife.  Meeting  of  Liza  and  Mai^ra. 
Prince  Andrei's  annoyance.  Prince  Andrei  and  his  father.  The  old  prince 
dressing. 

■ CHAPTER  XXV.    P.  116. 

In  the  prince's  dining-room.  The  ancestral  tree.  Meeting  of  the  old 
prince  and  Liza.    Discussion  of  politics  at  table. 


368  SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACE." 

CHAPTER  XXVI.    P.  121. 

Prince  Andrei's  preparations  for  departure.  Serious  thoughta.  FSaieireU 
interview  between  Manya  and  Andrei.  Marfya  persuades  Andr^  to  wear 
the  blessed  medallion.  Man'ya's  criticisms  on  her  father's  religious  riews. 
Coquettish  Mile.  Bourienne.  Liza's  fliehty  tails.  Andrei's  farawell  to  hii 
father.    The  prince's  memoirs.    Farewell  to  Liza. 


PART    IL    (1805). 

CHAPTER  L    PAOB130. 

The  Russian  army  and  Kutiizof  near  Braunaa.  Prepaiatikm  for  UMpeo- 
tion.  Condition  of  the  r^ments.  The  regimental  commander.  A^  cbMige 
of  orders.  Doldkhof  cashiered.  The  blue  capote.  Captain  Timdkhin  of 
Company  Three. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  134. 

Arrival  of  Kutiizof.  The  review.  Prince  Andr^  and  SemwitAj, 
Zherkdf.  The  Hussar  mimic.  Prince  Andr^  reminds  Kutdzof  of  Dolokhof. 
Timokhin's  account  of  Doltfkhof.  Regimental  comments  on  Kntitxc^ 
<<  Singers  to  the  front!  "    Zherkdf  tries  to  make  friends  with  DoldkhoL 

CHAPTER  HL    P.  143. 

Kutiizof  and  the  member  of  the  Hofskriegsrath.  KatiSzcrf's  excoaes  for 
not  taking  an  active  part  in  offensive  operations.  Change  in  Prince  AndreL 
Kutuzof 's  report  of  him  to  his  father.  How  regarded  by  the  staff.  Arrival 
of  the  defeated  General  Mack.  Le  meUheureux  Mouak.  Preparations  for 
the  campaign.  Zherkdf  insults  General  Straach.  Prince  Andrei's  resent- 
ment. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  149. 

Nikolai  Rostdf  as  yunker.  Nikolai  and  his  horse.  His  conv6r8ati0n  with 
his  German  host.  Description  of  Denisof.  Lieutenant  Tely^Snin.  Disap- 
pearance of  the  purse.    NikoUi  forces  Tely^in  to  refund. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  167. 

Nikolii  refuses  to  apologize  to  the  regimental  commander.  Diamwifla 
of  the  matter.    Nikolai's  pnde.    End  of  inaction. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  leO. 

Rutifzof  in  retreat.  The  army  crossing  the  BnoB.  The  nene.  Vi«v 
from  the  hill.    Firing  from  the  battery. 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  163. 

The  Russians  crossing  the  bridge.  Kesvitsky  on  the  bridge.  Sonnt  nt 
soldier  talk.  The  Ge^map  household.  Denfsol  on  the  biddm.  Mil&iy 
repartees,  t        .  ,  tt-  tt»  ^ 


SYNOPSIS  OF  'WAR  AND  PEACE."  369 

CHAFTBB  VIII.    P.  167. 

Appearance  of  the  French.  The  Cossack  natrol.  The  solemn  gap 
between  the  two  helligeients.  The  Unknown.  Under  fire.  Passage  of  the 
Hassan.  Nikolai  Boetof .  Ordered  to  bum  the  bridge.  Misunderstanding. 
Grape.  The  beauty  of  the  scene.  Contrast  with  death  and  the  destruction 
4oi  battle.    Bostdf's  prayer.    Under  fire  for  the  first  time. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  176. 

The  retreat  of  the  Russians.  November  9, 1805.  Condition  of  the  army. 
Prince  Andreli  wounded.  Sent  with  a  special  courier  to  the  Austrian  court 
at  Briinn.  Driving  through  the  night.  Weird  sensations.  Prince  Andrei 
at  the  palace.  Invited  to  meet  the  war-minister.  Cool  reception.  Thoughts 
jniggested  by  officialdom. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  181. 

Prince  Andr^  entertained  by  the  witty  Bilibin.  His  character  and 
career.  Diplomatic  subtleties.  Occupation  of  Vienna.  Buonaparte  or 
jBonaparte?    Illusions. 

CHAPTEB  XL    P.  186. 

Prince  Andrei  meets  the  fashionable  set— "les  notres."  Prince  Ippolit 
Knragin  and  the  others  at  Bilibin's.    Prince  Ippolit,  the  butt,  entanglea. 

CHAPTER  Xn.    P.  189. 

Prince  Andrdi  at  the  levee.  Received  by  the  Emperor  Franz.  Over- 
whelmed with  Invitations.  Invested  with  the  order  of  Maria  Theresa  of  the 
third  degree.  Hasty  departure  of  the  Court.  BiKbin  relates  the  story 
4ot  the  capture  of  theThabor  Bridge. 

CHAPTER  Xni.    P.  194. 

Prince  Andrei  returns  to  the  army.  The  confusion  of  the  Russian  army. 
The  doctor's  wife.  The  drunken  officer.  Prince  Andrei  finds  Nesvitsky. 
Kutdzof  with  Prince  Ba^ration  and  Weirother.  The  dispositions.  Descrip- 
tion of  Bagration.  Kutuzof  gives  Bagr^tion  his  blessing.  Description  of 
Kutiizof.    Prince  Andrei  begs  to  join  Bagration. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  200. 

KnttSzof  decides  to  retreat  from  Krems  to  Znaim  and  Olmiitz.  Bagrtftion 
sent  across  the  mountains.  '*  The  impossible  possible."  A  trick  that  failed. 
The  armistice.  Bonaparte's  indignation  at  the  delay.  His  letter  to  Prince 
Murat.    Bagrittion's  four  thousand. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  203. 

Prince  Andr^  reports  to  Bagration.  Cordially  received.  Reconnoitres 
the  position.  The  sutler's  tent.  Captain  Tushin  with  his  boots  off.  The 
soldiers  at  the  front.  Punishment  of  the  thief.  Gossip  with  the  French, 
Siddrot.    X>oldkhof  spokesman.    Sidorof 's  glibberish  French. 

<70L.  4.-24. 


370  SYNOPSIS  OF  '*WAR  AND  PEACE/* 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  209. 

The  scene  from  the  hill.  The  lay  of  the  land.  Prince  Andre's  oooiiite- 
hension  of  the  position.  Discussion  of  death.  The  cannon-shot.  Optyjn 
Tushf  n  again. 

CHAPTER  XVII.    P.  211. 

The  heginnine  of  the  action.  Inflaence  of  the  fact.  The  auditor. 
"French  pan-cakes."  The  Cossack  killed.  Tushin's  batterr.  Setting 
Bchongraben  on  fire.  Toshin's  covering  forces  withdrawn.  Toshin  forgot- 
ten. Importanoe  of  the  general's  presence  in  spite  of  the  fortuitouaoeai  of 
events. 

CHAPTER  XVIII.    P.  216. 

Battle  scenes.  At  the  front.  Effect  of  the  battle  on  Bagrtftion.  The 
enemy's  charge.  '*LeftI  left!  leftl  "  Charge  of  the  Sixth  Jigecs.  The 
enemy  yield. 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  220. 

The  Pl^vlograd  hussars  attacked  by  Lannes  and  defeated.  Ordered  to 
retreat.  Quarrel  between  the  two  officers.  The  challenge.  The  teet.  Roe- 
t4>f 's  souadron  facing  the  enemy.  The  charge.  Nikolii's  sensations.  Niko- 
lai falls.  The  hook-nosed  Frenchman.  Nikolai  runs.  Escapes.  A 
benumbed  arm. 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  226. 

Demoralization  in  the  ranks.  Timdkhin's  firmness.  Doldkhors  gallantly. 
Tushin  still  at  work.  Death  in  the  battery.  Tushin's  gallantry.  His  im- 
aquation.  M&tushka  Matve'yevna.  Prince  Andrei  sent  to  recall  Tnahin. 
Sights  on  the  battery. 

CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  232. 

KikolCi  given  a  ride  on  the  gun-carriage  of  the  Matvtyevna.  Bivooac. 
The  living  river.  The  night  scene.  After  the  battle.  Rostdrs  sensatioDS. 
Scraps  of  talk.  Tushin  summoned  to  the  general.  Bagration  at  the  cottage. 
The  captured  standard.  The  regimental  commander's  story.  True  because 
he  believes  it  true.  Praise  for  the  blameworthy.  Blame  for  the  praise'sorthj. 
Tushin  called  to  account.  Prince  Andrei  defends  Tushin.  A  splendid 
tribute.    NikoUi's  illusion.    The  conjunction  of  forces  efifected. 


PART   III.    (1806). 

CHAPTER  I.    Pagb  240. 

Prince  Vasfli's  character.  His  scheme  to  marry  his  daughter  to  Piene. 
Pierre  appointed  gentleman-in-waiting.  Pierre  in  demand.  The  effect  of 
wealth.  Behavior  of  the  long-waistedKatish.  Pierre  is  generous.  Prince 
Vasili  manages  Pierre's  affairs.  Keeps  some  for  himself.  Pierre  wannly 
received  in  Petersburg.  Another  reception  at  Mile.  Scherer^s.  Ellen's 
self-reliance.  Pierre's  snuff-boxes.  }fa  tante.  Ellen's  sensuous  beanty. 
Her  power  over  Pierre.  Pierre  fits  up  his  Petersburg  mansioii.  Pierre  auma 
np  Ellen's  character.    Ugly  stories  about  her. 


SYNOPSIS  oP  ''WAR  And  peace.''         371 

CHAPTER  n.    p.  219. 

Pieim  realizes  Us  danger.  Fascinated.  Prince  Vasfli's  tactics.  Ellen's 
name-day.  The  Princess  KurSgina.  Prince  Yasili  the  life  of  the  company. 
His  anecdote  of  Sergy^  Knzmitch  Vyazmftinof  and  the  Imperial  rescript. 
Ellen  and  Pierre.  Yonng  lore  and  its  aloofness.  Pierre  abeent-mindod. 
Prince  Vanli  hrings  the  affair  to  a  crisis.    "  Jt  vwis  aime"    Pierre  married. 

CHAPTER  ni.    P.  257. 

Prince  Yasfli  announces  his  coming  to  Lm'siya  Goroi.  Prince  NikoKTs 
opinion  of  Prince  Vasili.  Out  of  sorts.  The  inspection.  Alpatuitch  has  to 
shoyel  hack  the  snow.  The  prince  at  dinner.  Ldza  at  Lm'siya  Gorui.  Tho 
**  minister."  Mile.  Bourienne's  audacity.  Pirince  Nikolai  VisitB  his  daughte.- 
in-law.  Arrival  of  Prince  Vasfli.  Anat<^'8  character.  The  Princes  t 
Mariya's  dread  of  her  snitor.  Liza  and  Mile.  Boarienne  endeavor  to  im- 
prove Mariya's  heau^  Their  iailnre.  Mariya's  day-dreams*  Qod's  answer 
to  her  prayer. 

OHAPTfiB  IV.    P.  266. 

Princess  Mariya  comes  down  into  the  drawintf-room.  AnatdVs  self-reli- 
ance. His  hehavior  toward  women.  Liza's  liveliness.  General  conver»i- 
tion.  Prince  Nikolai's  thoughts  concerning  the  prospective  snitor.  Prince 
Bolkdnsky  takes  offence  at  his  daughter's  nair.  Prince  Vasili's  proposals. 
Effect  of  Anatol  on  the  women  of  the  household.  Mile.  Bourienne's  aspira- 
tions.   ' '  Ma  pawre  mhre,*'    Anatdl's  breach  of  etiquette  misinterpreted. 


CHAPTER  V.    P.  2T4. 

Liza's  fretfulness.  The  old  prince  considers  and  makes  up  his  mini. 
The  princess  consults  with  her  father.  Princess  Mariya  granted  perfict 
freedom  of  choice.  She  discovers  Anatdl  and  Mile.  Bourienne  in  the  con- 
servatory.   Princeas  Maaya's  adverse  decision.    Foi^ves  Mile.  Bourienne. 


CHAPTER  VI.    P.  280. 

At  the  Rostdf  8.  Letters  from  NikoUi.  How  to  break  the  news  to  the 
countess.  The  girls  try  to  recollect  Kikolai'.  P^^'s  superiority.  The 
countess  told.    Letters  to  NikolCi. 


CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  286. 

In  camp  near  Olmutz.  Nikolii  promoted  to  comet.  Nikolii  visits  Borfs 
who  is  with  Berg.  Difference  between  the  young  men.  Nikola fs  indign.v- 
tion  with  Boris.  Berg's  account  of  the  Grand  Duke.  NikoliCi  tells  aoont 
Schongraben.  Unconscious  exaggeration.  Arrival  of  Prince  Andrei.  Nik- 
olai quarrels  with  him.    Threatened  duel. 


CHAPTER  Vin.    P.  295. 

The  emperon  leyiew  the  troops.     NikoliTs  enthusiasm.     Kikolfi  on 
horseback. 


/ 


S72  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE." 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  300. 

Bona  visitB  Prinoe  Andr^  at  Olmiitz.  HeadquAitera.  The  tmwritteii 
code.  Prince  Andrei  and  the  general.  Prince  Andr^  takes  Boris  to  see 
Prince  Dolgorukof.    The  council  of  war.    Prince  Dolgonikofs  anecdotes  <rf 

Napoleon.    The  men  who  decide  the  fate  of  nations. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  306. 

Beadyfor  action.  Nikolai  in  the  reserve.  The  emperor  again.  Skir- 
mish at  Wisohau.  The  emperor  inspects  the  field.  The  supper.  NikoUrs 
toast. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  311. 

Salary's  mission  to  the  emperor.  Dolgonikof  sent  to  confer  with  Napo- 
leon. December,  1806.  Comparison  of  an  army  to  a  great  clock.  Dolgoniktif 
describes  his  visit  to  Napoleon.    Weirother's  plan.    Kutdzof  s  prophecy. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  316. 

Conncil  of  war.  Comparison  of  Weirother  to  a  horse  attached  to  a  loaded 
team.  Drowsy  Kutdzof.  Weirother's  ''disposition."  DisciiSBion.  After 
tlie  council  of  war.  Prince  Andrei's  doubts.  His  forebodiogs.  His  aspira- 
tions. ^The  servants  teasing  Kutiizofs  cook. 

CHAPTER  XIII.    P.  322. 

The  Battle  of  Austerlitz  (1805).  Nikol^  at  the  front.  His  sensatioos.  His 
Jey  de  mots.  Commotion  among  the  French.  "  Vive  PEmperettry*  Visit 
of  Bagrition.  Nikolai  sent  to  reconnoitre.  NikoliCi  reports.  Asks  to  ba 
transferred  from  the  reserve.    Napoleon's  order  to  his  army. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  328. 

The  morning  of  the  battle.  Limitations  of  a  soldier.  Comimred  to  a 
ship.  Gossip  in  the  lines.  Confusion.  Beginning  of  tlie  battle.  View 
from  the  Pratzer.  Napoleon  and  his  marshab.  The  key  of  the  sitnaticii. 
Napoleon  gives  the  order  to  begin. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  333. 

Kntdzof  at  Pratzen.  The  marching  of  the  troops.  Prinoe  Andr^'e 
emotions.  Kutiizofs  behavior  toward  the  Austrian  colleague.  The  empe> 
ror  and  Kutuzof.  "Why  do  we  not  begin  ?**  The  Apehenm  regigaeDt. 
Milorddovitch's  charge. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  339. 

Unexpected  appearance  of  the  French.  Kutdzof  wounded.  Defeat 
prince  Andrei  tries  to  save  the  day.  Battle  scenes.  Prinoe  Andrfi 
wounded.    Infinite  depths  of  sky. 

CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  343. 

The  right  wing.  Bagrtftion  sends  Nikoltfi  to  Kutuzof.  His  exdting 
ride.  The  charge  of  the  Leib-Uhlans.  Narrow  escape.  Boris.  Beig 
woimded.    Evil  presentiments. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACE."  873 

CHAPTER  XVIII.    P.  348. 

KoBtdf  8  ride  ocmtinued.  Demoralization  of  the  forces.  The  fatal  field. 
RoBt<Sf  finds  the  emperor,  but  dares  not  address  him.  Rostdf's  despair. 
Kntiizofs  cook  agidn.  Five  o'clock  f.m.  The  dike  of  Angest.  Cannonade. 
Doldkhof. 

CHAPTEB  XIX.    P.  8    . 

Prince  Andr^  left  on  the  field.  Napoleon.  Insignificance  of  Napoleon 
compared  to  the  infinite  heaven.  Napoleon  and  Prince  Repnin.  Lieutenant 
Sakntilen's  beantifnl  answer.  Napoleon  addresses  Prince  Andrei.  The 
medallion.    His  feverish  imaginations.    Dr.  Larrey's  diaguoeis.    A  hopeless 


VOL.    IL— PART    L    (1806-1811.) 

CHAPTER  I.    Pagb  1. 

Nikoltfi  goes  home  on  furlopgh.  Arrival.  Qreetings.  Sdn^a's  beauty. 
Reception  of  Denfsof.  The  next  morning.  Natasha's  delight.  Natasha 
burn*  her  arm  for  Sdnya.  Nikolai's  decision  concerning  Sdn^a.  Natasha 
determines  to  be  a  baliet-dancer.  Nikolai  and  S<Snya.  Demsof  surprises 
NikoU'i. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  9. 

Nikolai's  reception  by  his  friends.  He  drifts  away  from  Sdnya.  Count 
I.  A.  Rostdfs  preparation  for  a  dinner  in  honor  of  Prince  Bagration.  Anna 
Mikh^ovna  sympathizes  with  Pierre's  marital  misfortunes.  DoliSkhof's 
baseness.  The  great  banqnet  at  the  English  Clab.  The  leaders  of  society. 
The  heroes  of  the  war.    Berg's  lame. 

CHAPTER  in.    P.  15. . 

The  gnasts.  Pierre.  NariiSshkin's  story.  Shfnshin's  jest.  Count  I.  A. 
Rostdf's  solicitude.  Bagration's  appearance.  NikoU'i  presented.  Moscow 
hospitality  personified.    P.  I.  Kutuzof's  cantata.    The  toasts. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  20. 

The  anonymous  letter.  Pierre's  doubts.  Dolclkhof  and  Ellen.  Do16- 
khof's  insult.  The  quarrel.  The  challenge.  No  apology.  The  duel  at 
Sok<$luiki. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  25. 

The  duel.  Doldkhof  wounded.  Doldkhof  s  tenderness  for- his  mother  and 
sister. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  27. 

Pierre's  reflections  after  the  duel.  His  recollections  of  Ellen's  behavior. 
"Right  or  wrong?*'  Pierre  and  Ellen.  Pierre's  righteous  indignation. 
Separation. 


874  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.'' 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  32. 

Disappearance  of  Prince  Andi^T.  KutiSzof 'a  letter  to  the  old  prince.  The 
old  prince  announces  the  news  to  his  daughter.  Princess  Mariya  tries  to  teil 
Liza.    E£Fect  of  the  news  on  the  old  prince. 


CHAPTER  Vm.    P.  35. 

Liza's  confinement.  Princess  Mariya  in  her  room.  The  solemn  evNit. 
The  weather.  The  old  nyanya's  tale.  The  dohktor.  Arrriyal  of  Prince 
Andrei. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  40. 

The  haby.  Death  of  Liza.  The  old  prince  and  his  son.  The  mate 
appeal.    The  christening  of  Nikolai  Andreyitch. 


CHAPTER  X.    P.  42. 

Nikolai  appointed  adjutant  to  the  Governor-General  of  Moscow.  Niko- 
Ifii's  friendsnip  with  Dol6khof.  Mrs.  Doldkhofs  admiration  for  her  son. 
Dolukhof  s  lofty  philosophy.  The  hapj^y  winter.  The  RosUSfs"  home.  Na- 
tasha's judgment  of  Dolokhof .    Of  Dem'sof.    Young  love.    The  coming  war. 


CHAPTER  XI.    P.  46. 

Sdnya  and  DoMkhof.    Doldkhof  proposes.    Refused.    Natasha's  predio- 
tion.   Nikohli  advises  S<Snya  to  reconsider. 


CHAPTER  XII.    P.  48. 

logeVs  hall.     The  ^rls  transfigured.     Denisofs  enthusiasm.     Natisha 
persuades  Denisof  to  dance  with  her.    Denisofs  wonderful  dancing. 


CHAPTER  XIII.    P.  fl2. 

NikoUi  invited  to  dine  with  Doldkhof .    Cards  and  champagne.    RosUSf 
fleeced. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  55. 
NikoliTs  losses.    **  When  will  you  pay  me  ?  " 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  68. 

The  Rostdfs  at  home.     Denisofs  poem.     Music.     Nikolas  Iboqghta. 
Suicide?    NatlCsha  sings.    Her  voice  and  method.    Her  power. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  62. 

NikoUi  confesses  his  "  debt  of  honor."    Denteof  proposes.    Refused.    Hit 
departure. 


SYNOPSIS  OP  ''WAR  AND  PEACJS."  St6 


PART  II. 

CHAPTIBR  I.    Paqb  66. 

I^ierre'S  jouiltejr  to  Petersburg.  AtTorzh($k.  Pierre's  reflections.  "Right 
and  wrong"  once  more.  The  screw  that  would  not  hold.  The  little  old 
man.    The  strange  seryant.    The  ring. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  69. 

The  stranger  speaks.  Freemasonry.  Ged.  Belief.  Highest  wisdom. 
The  Freemason's  advice.    Bazdeyef's  mflaence. 

CHAPTER  ni.    P.  76. 

Count  Villarsky.  Question  anticipatory.  The  initiation.  The  seven 
▼irtues.    The  signs  and  symbols. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  82. 
The  Fraternity.    The  ceremony. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  86. 

The  sacred  square.  Prince  Vasf  li.  Pierre  refusee  to  submit  to  arbitration. 
Pierre's  departure. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  88.    [1806.] 

Popular  rumors  about  the  duel.  Ellen's  return  to  Petersburg.  Received 
by  society.  Anna  Pavlovna's  receptions.  Boris  Drubetskoi  as  a  lion. 
Borfs's  success.  Boris  relates  his  visit  to  the  Prussian  army.  Ellen  takes 
Boris  up. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  92. 

Ippolit's  jest  about  "  the  king  of  Prussia."  Political  conversation.  Boris 
invited  to  dme  with  Ellen. 

CHAPTER  VIII.    P.  94. 

Prince  Bo1k<Snsky  appointed  local  commander-in-chief  of  the  landwehr. 
Life  at  Luisi^a  Gdrui.  The  monument  to  Liza.  .Prince  Andrei  at  home. 
Prince  Andrei  as  nurse.    The  baby  prince.    Letter  from  the  old  prince. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  98. 

Bilibin's  letter.  Account  of  the  campaign.  The  baby  prince  out  of  dan- 
ger.   "  All  that  is  left  me  now." 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  102. 

Pierre  visits  Kief.  Plans  for  economic  reform.  Pierre's  wealth.  His 
deVt8.  Pierre's  life  in  the  province.  Fulfilling  his  Masonic  obligations. 
Pifficultiee.    Visits  his  estates.    Illusions.    The  chief  overseer's  tricKs. 


376  SYNOPSIS  OF  "WAR  AND  PEACE.** 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  107. 

Pierre  visits  Prince  Andr<fi  at  Boguchirovo.  The  estate.  Chjuice  la 
Priuce  Andrei.  Discussion  of  Pierre's  affairs.  Living  for  one*8  neignbor. 
Happiness  in  life.  Schools.  Ph;^sical  labor.  How  to  treat  the  peasaDtiy. 
Prince  Andrefs  hatred  of  the  military  service.  Prince  Andrei's  acooont  of 
his  father.    Inconsistencies. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  116. 

Journey  to  Luisiya  Gdroi.  Discussion  of  man's  destiny.  Freemasooiiy. 
The  scene  on  the  river.    The  ladder  of  existence.    God.    The  Idtj  heaTeos 

again. 

CHAPTER  XIII.    P.  119. 

The  '*  Men  of  God  "  {Bdzhiye  Liitdi).  The  pilgrim  woman's  stoiy.  The 
miracle.    Prince  Andrei's  "blasphemy." 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  123. 

The  Princess  Man'ya*s  solicitude  about  her  brother.  The  old  prinee 
approves  of  Pierre.    B^eived  as  one  of  the  family. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  126. 

Nikolai  returns  to  his  regiment.  The  anny  life.  Good  resolutioiis.  The 
Pdvlograd  regiment  (PavlognUisiu).  The  weather  in  April,  1806.  Diaeaee. 
The  fatal  root.    Nikolai  and  the  pretty  Polka.    Almost  a  duel. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  12». 

Dem'sof  and  Nikolai  at  the  front.  The  earth  hut.  Mashka's  sweetwofl 
Games.  Dem'sof  in  trouble.  Denisof  *s  indignation.  His  fit.  Exacsecated 
account  of  Deuisof 's  behavior.    Dem'sof  s  ohmnate  gallantsy.    Wounded. 

CHAPTER  XVII.    P.  134. 

Nikolii'i  visits  Dem'sof  at  the  hospital.     Hospital  aoenes.     The  dead 

soldier. 

CHAPTER  XVIII.    P.  138. 
The  officer's  ward.    Captain  Tushin.    Denfaof's  document.    Aakspaxdoo. 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  141. 

The  interview  at  Tilsit  (June  26,  1806).  Boris  on  hand.  Count  Zhllis- 
sky's  dinner.  The  blue  spectacles  of  high  society.  Nikol^Ts  inopportune 
visit.    Nikolai  and  Boris. 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  146. 

Nikolai  tries  to  present  Denisof  s  petition.  RebuiSed.  The  Kmpenr. 
The  Emperor's  decision. 

CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  149. 

The  two  emperors.  Napoleon  decorates  Lasiref.  Napoleon's  appear- 
ance.   Comments  among  the  soldiers.    Nikolai's  painful  leflectiooa.    Uon- 

trasts.    NikoltC'i's  violence  at  dinner. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  **WAR  AND  PEACE."  377 


PART  III. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paqb  154. 

(1808.)  Political  complications.  Prince  Andrei's  life  and  labors  in  the 
eonntry.  Hb  knowledge  of  affairs.  His  journey  to  Biazan.  The  hare  oak. 
PesBimistic  ideas. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  167. 

Prince  Andr^  calls  upon  Count  I.  A.  Rostdf.  The  RosUSfs'  life.  The 
view  from  Prince  Andnfi's  window.  Prince  Andrei  overhears  Natasha  and 
Sdnya  talking. 

CHAPTER  III.    P.  leo. 

The  oak  in  leaf.  Rebirth  of  joy.  Change  in  Prince  Andrei.  Decides  to 
go  to  Petersburg. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  162. 

.  (August,  1809.)  Speransky's  reforms.  Liberal  dreams.  The  Emperor's 
disapproval  of  Prince  Andrei.  Count  Arakcheyef's  waiting-room.  T*ie 
minister  of  war* 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  166. 

tMnoe  Andre'i  in  society.  The  reception  at  Count  Eotohubey's.  Prince 
Andrei's  emancipation  scheme  discussed.  Prince  Andrei  introduced  to 
Bperansky.    Montesquieu's  maxims. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  171. 

Prince  Andr€i*s  absorption  in  affairs.  Intimacy  with  Speransky.  Sper- 
ansky's  personality.  Prince  Andrei  appointed  a  member  of  the  Committee 
on  Revision  of  the  Militaiy  Code. 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  174. 

Pierre  at  Petersburg.  Head  of  the  Masons.  DisillusionB.  The  four 
classes  of  Masons.  Pierre  goes  abroad.  Pierre's  report  of  his  visit  abroad. 
Dissatisfaction  with  Pierre's  theories. 

CHAPTER  Vm.    P.  178. 

Overtures  for  reconciliation  with  Ellen.  Pierre's  melancholy.  His  diary, 
lofiiph  Aleks^yevitch's  exposition  of  Masonic  doctrines.  Pierre  receives  his 
wife  back. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  181* 

Petersburg  cliques.  Ellen's  salon.  Her  reputation  as  a  clerer  woman. 
Her  character.    Borfs  Drubetsko'i.    Society's  views  of  Pierre. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  184. 
Pierre's  mystio  diary.    Pierre  and  Boris.    Strange  visions. 


378  SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACES 

CHAPTEE  XI.    P.  187. 

The  RoBtofB  at  Petersburg.  Their  finances.  Berg  becomes  engaged  to 
Vi^ra.  Berg's  boastfulness.  Story  of  his  engagement.  The  marriage  por- 
tion. 

CHAPTER   XII.    P.  191. 
Natiaha  and  Borfs.    Boris  charmed.    Natitoha  apparently  in  love. 


CHAPTER  XIII*    P.  193i 

Natl^sha's  bedtime  confidences.    The  <^d  countess's  good  advice.    Nata- 
sha's droll  judgment  of  Boris  and  Pierrei  on  herself.  Bons  recelTes  hiseoay^. 


CHAPTER  XIV.    P*  197. 

The  Naruishkins'  ball.    Preparations  at  the  Rostdfs*.    The  girls'  toilets. 
Count  Uytf's  superb  costume.    Last  stitches* 


CHAPTER  XV.    P.  201. 

On  the  way.  The*  arrival.  The  notabilities.  Countess  Beztfkhaya. 
Pierre.    Prince  Andrei. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  204. 

Arrival  of  the  Emperor  and  Empress.  Nat^ha's  disappointment.  A 
family  eathering.  Pierre  introduces  Prince  Andrei'  to  Natasoa.  Natisha's 
maideuTy  charm.    Natasha  in  demand.    Pierre's  moroseneas. 


CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  208. 

Prince  Andrei  dances  a  cotillion  with  Natisha.    Reminds  her  of  his  visit 
to  OtrAdnoy^.    Natitoha's  naive  enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  XVin.    P.  210. 

The  gossip  Bitsky.  Account  of  the  Imperial  Council.  Prinoe  AndrA 
dines  en  famiUe  with  Speransky.  The  laughing  statesmen,  —  Magnitsky, 
Gervais,  and  Stoluipin.  Funny  stories.  Prince  Andrei's  disappoiutmeDt  m 
Speransky. 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  215. 

Prince  Andre!  calls  upon  the  Roetdfs.  Charming  Kattfah*.  Her  mngiag. 
Her  effect  on  Prince  Andrei. 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  217. 

Pierre  invited  to  Berg's  little  party.  The  Bergs  at  home.  Desaltaiy 
talk.    A  characteristic  evening. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.**  879 

CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  220. 

Kat^Uia  and  Prince  Andr^f .    Vidro's  sabtile  diploBiacy.     Impertinent 
BuggestionB,    PiBCussion  of  NatiCsha's  charaoter. 


CHAPTER  XXII.    P.  223. 

Prince  Andrei*  dineg  with  the  Rostdfs.  Nat^ha  confides  In  her  mother. 
The  Countess  Ellen's  roat.  Pierre's  abstraction.  Prince  Andrei  confides  in 
Pierre. 

CHAPTER  XXIII.    P.  227. 

Prince  Andrei  visits  his  father.  The  old  prince  refuses  his  sanction. 
Natasha's  dejection.  Prince  Andrei's  unexpected  arrival.  His  proposal.  A 
secret  engagement. 

CHAPTER  XXIV.    P.  233. 

Relations  between  Nati^ha  and  Prince  Andr^.  Prince  Andrei  com- 
mends Nat^ha  to  go  to  Pierre  for  any  help.  And  goes  abroad.  Effect  on 
Natasha  of  his  absence. 

CHAPTER  XXV.    P.  236. 

Prince  N.  A.  Bolkdnsky's  ill  health.  His  treatment  of  the  Princess 
Mariya.    Princess  Mariya's  letter  to  Julie  Karigina. 

CHAPTER  XXVI.    P.  239. 

Prince  Andrei  writes  to  his  sister  about  his  engagement.  Princess 
Mariya  consults  with  her  father.  The  old  prince's  attentions  to  MUq. 
Bounenne.     Princess  Mariya's  consolations.    Her  pilgrim  outfit. 


PART  IV. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paqb  243. 


The  cnrse  of  idleness.  The  attraction  of  the  military  service.  Kikoliii 
in  1809.  His  letters  home.  Leave  of  absence,  The  parting  dinner.  Niko- 
lai "  tossed."  Thoughts  during  a  journey.  Arrival  at  Otradnoy^.  So^ya'ft 
beauty.    Changes  in  Nat^ha  and  Petya.    The  postponed  marriage. 


CHAPTER  II.    P.  247. 

Nikolii  undertakes  to  regulate  the  finances.    Nikolfi  thrashes  Mftenka, 
The  note  of  hand. 

CHAPTER  III.    P.  249. 

(1810.)    Country  scopes  in  Septemher.    The  dogs.   Mllka.   Daoflointh^ 
hpnsf. 


880  SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACE.** 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  252. 

The  hunt.  The  horaes Ddnete.  Vifl-yan-ka.  The  "Little Uncle."  Karfi 
the  wolf-hound.  The  buffoon,  NasWfaya  lyanovna.  The  wolf-hunt.  Th« 
angry  huntsman. 

CHAPTEB  V.    P.  268. 
NikohTi's  prayer.    Milka  and  Liubim.    The  wolf. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  262. 

The  fox-hunt.  The  Dagins.  The  dispute.  lien's  courtesy.  The  hound 
Ydrza  (Yorzanka).  The  "Little  Uncle's"  Rugtfi  (Rugaiushka).  After 
hares.    The  rivalry. 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  270. 

The  visit  at  the  "Little  Uncle's."  A  Russian  proprietor.  Anisya 
(Anisyushka)  Feddorovna,  the  housekeeper.  A  zakiiska.  Russian  music 
Mftka's  balalaika.  The  "  Little  Uncle  "  plays.  Nat^ha  dances.  Would 
Prince  AndrcK  approve?    The  return  home.    Confidences. 

CHAPTER  VIII.    P.  279. 

The  Rostof  household.  Pecuniary  difficulties.  Attempted  retrenchment 
The  hiintinff  establishment.  The  countess's  hopes  for  Nikolai.  Julie 
Karagina.    Nikolai  objects.    Gloomy  days. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  282. 

The  Christmas  holidays  at  Otridnoy^.  NatiCsha's  loneliness:  '*  I  want 
him"  Natasha  tries  her  power:  rescues  M^vrushka  from  Kondr^tyevna, 
Gives  orders  to  the  surly  Poki.  Madagascar.  NatiUha  and  P^tya.  Na« 
Ueh&  and  Sonya. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  286. 


The  enchanted  casUe. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  295. 

The  masqneraders  re-enforced.  The  dances.  Fortune-telling.  Playing 
games.    Nikolai  and  Sdnya.    'The  moonlight  kiss. 

CHAPTER  XIL    P.  300 

The  ride  home.  "Thou."  Nikolfi  tells  Natasha.  BnchaatmeDt. 
Twelfth  Night  magic.    Sdnya  sees  a  vision.    Re-action. 

CHAPTER  Xni.    P.  303. 

NikoliTf  confesses  to  his  mother.  The  countess  offended.  The  counteoi 
reproaches  Sonva.  The  quarrel.  Natasha  as  peacemaker.  Nikolai  rejoins 
his  regiment.  Natasha's  unsatisfactory  letters.  The  Rostols'  r^tun^  to  A(o^- 
cow. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  '^WAR  AND  PEACE.**  881 


PART  V. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paqb  307. 

Pierre's  nnhappineBS.  Death  of  losiph  Alekse'yevitoh.  Pierre's  dissipa- 
tion. Pierre  weloomed  in  Moscow.  His  generosity.  Retired  Court-Cham- 
berlains.  The  great  question  ''Why?''  Strong  drink.  The  falsehood  of 
life. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  312. 

Prince  N.  A.  Bolkonsky  in  Moscow.  His  peculiar  position.  The  inner 
life  of  the  family.  Princess  Mariya's  sofFerings.  Her  inherited  temper. 
Princess  Mariya  and  Mile.  Boarieune.  The  prince's  treatment  of  the 
Frenchwoman.    Princess  Manya's  compassion  for  her  father. 


CHAPTER  m.    P.  316. 

Doctor  Metivier.  The  old  prince's  name-day^  December  6  (18)  18J1.  The 
doctor  beards  the  lion.  The  prince's  indignation.  Threatens  to  send  his 
daughter  away.  The  dinner  j^arty.  Count  Ro6tc)^)chin*8  epigram.  Discus- 
sion of  current  politics.  Boris  expresses  his  opinion.  Cacoethes  Scribendi. 
General  Chtftrofs  criticism.  The  prince's  treatment  of  his  daughter. 
French  ideas.    The  old  prince  agrees  with  Rostdpchin. 


CHAPTER  IV.    P.  322. 

Pierre  informs  Princess  Mariya  of  Boris  Drubetsko'i's  flattering  atten- 
tions.   Her  surprise.    Her  tears.    Discussion  of  Natitoha. 


CHAPTER  V.    P.  324. 

Boris  in  Moscow.  The  KarlCgins.  Julie  Kanigina's  character.  Capping 
▼erses.  Boris's  sentimentality.  The  colossal  estates  turn  the  scale.  Jmie's 
diplomacy.    Boris  proposes  to  Julie. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  329. 

The  RoBt45f|i  reach  Moscow.  Visit  at  Mllrya  Dmitrieyna's  Akhrdsimova's. 
Mtfrya  Dmitrieyna's  character.  Her  warm  reception.  Gossip.  Congratu- 
latScns.    Plans. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  333. 

Count  hy^  Andrey^Titoh  and  Natiisha  call  at  Prince  Bolkonsky's.  Na- 
USsha  misinterpreted.  The  count  beats  an  inglorious  retreat.  The  old  prince 
appears.    Natasha's  humiliation. 

CHAPTER  Vin.    P.  336. 

The  opera.  NatiCsha  longs  for  Prince  Andr^.  In  the  Rost($fs'  box. 
Kat^ha's  beauty.  Gossip.  The  audience.  Doldkhof  in  Persian  costume. 
(k>unte8s  Ellen. 


382  SYNOPSIS  OF  "H^ifi  AND  PEACE.'' 

CHAPTER  DC.    P.  340. 

Mook  descrii^tion  of  the  opera.  The  intoxication  of  bocccm,  Aiiah>l 
Kiirigin,  Gossip.  Pierre  appeaia.  The  second  act.  Katiaba  sits  in  £llen*B 
box.    The  ballet.    Daport. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  346. 

Ellen  presents  her  brother  to  Nat^ha.  The  barrier  of  modeatf .  Anatidl'a 
audacity.    Retrospect.    Nat^ha  needs  her  mother's  counsel. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  349. 

Explanation  of  Anatdl's  porition.  His  clandestine  marriage.  Hla  cbaiw 
acter.    His  intimacy  with  Doldkhof .    His  scheme. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  382. 

M^rya  Dmitrievna's  unsuccessful  attempt  at  mediation.  Nattfaba's  unliAp- 
piness.    New  dresses,    Ellen's  call.    Her  flattery.    Her  bad  inflnenoe. 


CHAPTER  XIII.    P.  3fi5. 

Ellen's  reception.    Mile.  Georges's  dramatic  reoeptkm.    The  impnnrted 
ball.    Anatdl's  declaration.    Natasha  bewitched. 


CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  358. 

Miry  a  DmitrieTna  advises  the  Rostdfs  to  return  ^to  OtridnoyC     Her 
proposal  to  Nattfsha.    Princess  Manya's  letter.    Anatdl's  letter. 


CHAPTER  XV.    P.  362. 

Sdnya  disooyers  Anatdl's  letter.    Natasha's  strange  mood.    Sdnya's  doubt 

?f  Anat(>I.    NatiCsha  breaks  her  engagement  with  Prince  Andrei.    Coont 
lya  Andreyevitch  yisits  his  Podmoskdvnaya  estate.  Sdnya  siupectB  Katiaha. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  367. 

Anatdl  at  Doldkhof's.  The  proposed  abduction.  The  witneasea,  Khr 
i-kof  and  Makarin  (Mak^ka).  Dolo'kliof  remonstrates.  Anatdl's  « 
pients.    The  tiolika  driver,  Balagi.    Reminiscences. 

CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  373. 

Anatdl's  farewell.    The  gypsy  nrl,  Matridna  (Matrit^sliA)  MaM(fB?]ia«ad 
the  foxHSkin  shiiba.    The  signal.    Betrayed. 

CHAPTER  XVin.    P.  375. 
adnya  tells  Mtfrya  Pmftrievjia.    Nat^ha  soolded.    Natishft's  oondlttao. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.'*  888 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  »78. 

Pierre  returns  to  Moscow.  Pierre's  judgment  of  Anatdl.  Pierre  in- 
formed of  the  attempted  elopement,  Pierre^s  amazement,  Pierre's  inter- 
Tiew  with  Natasha. 

CHAPTBB  XX.    P.  382. 

Pierre  in  search  of  Anat($l.  A  stormv  interview.  His  apology.  Anatdl 
leayes  Mosoow.    Nat^ha  attempts  to  poison  herself. 


CHAPTBB  XXI.    P.  885. 

Prince    Andre's    return.     Speransky's   banishment.     M.    DeflsalleB* 
Prince  Andrei  sends  back  NatlEsha's  letters.    His  excitement. 


CHAPTER  XXII.    P.  389. 

Pierre  deliyers  Prince  Andrei's  message.    Pierre's  outburst  of  frankness. 
The  comet  of  1812. 


VOL.    III.— PART   L 

CHAPTER  I.    PaqeI. 

The  alleged  causes  of  the  war  of  1812.  Theory  of  Fatalism.  Coopera> 
tion  of  causes.  Personal  freedom  and  necessity.  Emperors  subordinated 
to  laws.    The  complexily  of  causes.    "Great  Men."    Kapoleon. 

CHAPTER  IT.    P.  6. 

Napoleon  at  Dresden,  June,  1811.  Joins  the  army  on  the  Niemen. 
Crosses  the  river.  Enthusiasm  of  the  army.  The  Polish  colonel  of  Uhlans. 
Grossing  the  Vistula. 

CHAPTER  ni.    P.  10. 

Alexander  I.  at  Vilno.  The  ball  at  Count  Benigsen's.  Countess  Ellen 
and  Boris.  General-adjutant  Balashdf .  Arrival  of  the  news.  Boris  first 
to  leam  it.    Alexander's  Indignation.    His  letter  to  Napoleon. 

CHAPTBB  IV.    P.  14. 

Balash<$rs  mission  to  Napoleon.  Cavalier  treatment.  Interview  with 
Murat.    Taken  to  Davoust. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  18. 

Character  of  Davoust.  Balashdf  s  interview  with  Davoust  Kept  wait* 
Ing.    Napoleon  at  Vilno. 


884  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE/* 

CHAPTKBVL    P.  aL 

Balashofs  Interview  with  Napoleon.  DeactiptiQii  of  KaiMilMin.  Napo- 
leon's pretended  desire  for  peaoe.  The  trembling  leg.  Korakin'B  passport. 
What  might  have  been.  Alexander's  reception  oi  Kapoleon's  enenues. 
Napoleon's  irritation.    His  threat. 

CHAPTER  YU.    P.». 

Balashdl  dines  with  Napoleon.  BaUshdfs  repartees.  Napoleon  polls  his 
ear. 

CHAPTBBVin.    P.M. 

Prinoe  Andrei  in  search  of  Anatrfl.  Joins  Kntdcof  In  HoldaTia.  His 
zeal.  Transferred  to  tiie  Western  army.  Vlstts  Loirija  Gdnii.  Chaagas. 
Nikoldslika.  Strained  relations.  Plain  talk  with  the  old  prinoeu  Prmca 
Andrei  dismissed.    His  talk  with  Princess  Manya.    Fate. 


CHAPTSB  IX.    P.  Sr. 


Prince  Andrei  at  the  camp  on  the  Drissa.  Chilling  reception  by  Barclay  de 
Tolly.  Prince  Andrei  studies  the  situation.  The  tnree  armies.  The  com- 
manders. The  essential  idea.  Theories.  The  eight  great  parties.  T6rm6> 
lof 's  famous  jest.    The  ninth  party.    Shishkdf  urges  the  emperor  to  leave 

the  army. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  45. 

Prince  Andrei  invited  to  meet  the  emperor.  Theoooncll.  Pfnhl,  asa 
tvpe  of  the  German  martinet.  Types  of  conceit,  Freaoht  English,  Italian, 
German,  and  Russian. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  49. 

Prinoe  Piotr  MikhCi'lovitofa  Yolkonsky.  General  Armfeldt's  crIticlsiiiaoB 
the  armed  camp.  Colonel  Toll.  Paulucci.  Woltsocen.  Confusion.  Panic 
fear  of  Napoleon.  Prince  Andrei's  sympathy  with  ftohl.  Pfcinoa  AndicTs 
conclusions.    Prince  Andrei  elects  active  service. 

CHAPTER  XII.   P.M. 

Nikolii  learos  of  the  broken  engagement.  His  letter  to  8^nja.  His 
ideals.  Promotion.  Retreat  of  the  artnv.  The  drvinken  eamp.  'rn%  thun- 
der shower.  Story  of  the  battle  of  Saltinovo.  General  IBimrwkj^B  gal- 
lantry. Value  of  personal  example.  Zdrzhinsky.  Marie  Heinrichovna. 
Ilyin. 

CHAPTER  Xni.    P.  59. 

At  the  tavern.    Getting  dry.     Marie  Heinriobovna  does  the 
Gallantry  of  the  officers.    The  regimental  doctor's  jealouffy.    JoUy 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.«2. 

Sunrise  after  the  storm.  Feelings  before  an  angigemMlt.  Bhtti*  e< 
Ostrovno.    The  charge.    Count  Ostermann-Tolstoi, 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACE."  886 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  65. 

Hostdfs  gallant  chaiwe  njpon  the  French  dragoons.    Gaptoie  of  the  young 
officer.    Re-action.    Nikolai's  promotion.    Thoughts  snggested. 


CHAPTER  XVT.    P. 

The  Rofltdfs  in  Moscow.  NatiCsha's  illness.  The  utility  of  doctors.  Na- 
t^ha's  symptoms. 

CHAPTER  XV  jl.    P.  72. 

Natitoha's  mental  condition.  Improvement.  Her  affection  for  P<^tya. 
Relations  to  Pierre.  Agrafena  lyanovna  Bi^oya(i.e.  White).  KatiUha's  deyo- 
Uons.    Their  effect.    The  doctor's  mistake. 


CHAPTER  XVIII.    P.  75. 

July,  1812.    The  emperor's  manifesto.    Mass  at  the  Razumdvsky  chapel. 
KaUEsha's  conscious  beauty.    Her  prayers.    The  new  inyasion  prayer. 


CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  80. 

Pierre's  passion  for  Natasha.  Pierre  and  the  Apocalyptic  vision.  The 
mvstic  (number)  666.  His  excitement.  His  reasons  for  not  entering  the 
military  service. 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  84. 

Pierre  at  the  RostdfeV  Nat^ha's  singing.  P^tya's  anxiety  to  enter  the 
army.  Moscow  gossip.  Shinshin's  jests.  Beading  the  manizesto.  Petya's 
outbreak.    Pierre  almost  betrays  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  91. 

Arrival  of  the  Tsar.  Petya's  experiences  at  the  Kreml.  Crushed.  Ser- 
vice at  the  Uspiensky  (Assumption)  Cathedral.  The  dinner  at  the  palace. 
P^^a  gets  the  biscuit.    And  is  allowed  to  enter  the  army. 


CHAPTER  XXII.    P.  96. 

The  Slobodsky  palace  (July  27,  1812).  The  meeting.  Uniforms.  Discus- 
sions. Pierre's  enthusiasm  and  hopes.  Speeches.  Pierre's.  Its  effect. 
Glinka's  patriotism.    Count  llya  Andreyevitch. 


CHAPTER  XXIII.    P.  102. 

Arrival  of  the  emperor.     Rostopchin's  speech.    The  emperor's  words. 
The  proposed  levy.    Pierre's  munificence. 

VOL.  4.-25. 


S86  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.'' 


PART  n. 

CHAPTER  i.    Paob  106. 

Philosophy  of  Napoleon's  inyasion.  Theory  of  necessity. 
Ex-post-/acto  prediction.  Faots  opposed  to  hypotheses.  Statement  of  facts. 
HistoFjT  as  seen  from  the  peispeotiye  of  distanoe.  Union  of  the  armies. 
Bagr^tion's  letter  to  Arakcheyef. 

CHAPTER  II.    P.m. 

Prince  Bolkdnsky  and  his  daughter.  Princess  Marfya's  Idea  of  the  war. 
The  prince's  hreak  with  Mile,  ^ourienne.  Correspondence  with  Julie. 
The  old  prince's  activity.  His  restlessness  at  night.*  Letter  from  Prtnoe 
Andrei.    The  old  prince's  incredulity.    His  f orgeUulness.    His  will. 

CHAPTER  ni.    P.  115. 

The  prince's  instructions  to  Alpitoitch.  The  prince  letires.  A  Tision  of 
the  past.    Potemkin  (Pat-ydm-kin). 

CHAPTER  rV.    P.  118. 

Princess  Mariya  writes  to  the  eoTemor.  Alj^iCtuitoh's  departure.  The 
bells.  The  crops.  Journey  to  Smolensk  (Smal-yensk).  The  tayem-keeper 
Ferapontof.  Gossip.  Alp^tuitch's  interview  with  the  governor.  Baron 
Asche.  The  Baron^s  message.  Barclay  de  Tolly's  false  '*  order  of  the  day." 
Scenes  in  Smolensk.  Ferapontof  thrashes  his  wife.  The  price  of  wheat. 
Story  of  Matvy^i  Iv^nuitch  Platof .  The  cannonade.  In  the  cellar.  The 
conflagration.  Plundering  Ferapontof  s  shop.  Prinoe  Andr^  meets  AJpa- 
tuitch.    Berg's  misplaced  zeal.    Prince  Anor^'s  message  to  his  sister. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  129. 

The  retreat.  The  drought.  Prince  Andre's  popularity.  His  detour  to 
Lm'siya  Gdrui.  Scenes  on  the  place.  The  little  girls  and  the  plums.  The 
men  bathing.    Chair  a  canon.    Letter  from  Prince  Bagration  to  Arakcheyef. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  136. 

Matter  and  form.  Anna  Pavlovna's  salon  in  1812.  Ellen's  clic^ue.  Prinoe 
Vasili  as  go-between.  Vhomme  de  beaucoup  de  m^rite.  Criticisms  on 
Kutiizof .  KutUzof  made  Prince  (Kniaz).  Change  in  opinion.  Ill  breeding 
of  the  homme  de  beaucoup  de  m4rite. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  140. 

Was  Napoleon  lured  on  to  Moscow  ?  Thiers's  opinion.  Napoleon's  order. 
Moscov!  ISapoleou's  conversation  with  L^vrushka.  Thiers's  version  of  the 
interview. 

*  This  peculiarity  of  Prince  Bolkonsky  ia  evidently  imitated  from  Nf^eon  at  St. 
Helena:  see  Bourrienne's  Memoirt. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACB."  887 


CHAPTER  Tin.    P.  Uft 


Plinoe  BolkanakT  anus  the  Undvehr.  Prinoen  Many  a  refuaeB  to  leaTO. 
The  stroke  of  paralysis.  Taken  to  Bogncha'roTo.  The  change.  ManVm's 
hopes.  Her  remorse.  Her  fiarevell  interriew  with  her  father.  His  affec- 
tion for  her.  His  death.  His  appearance  oo  the  death-hed.  On  the  cata- 
falqae. 

CHAPTKE  IX.    P.  153. 

Characteristics  of  the  Bos:achaioyo  peasantry.  The  approach  of  Anti- 
Christ.  Dronnshka.  The  starosta.  His  excuses  for  not  fnmighing  hones. 
Conrersatioa  hetween  Yakof  Alpatnitch  and  Dnoi. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  158. 

Princess  Manjra.  Her  interriew  with  Mile.  Boorienne.  Bonrienne 
urges  her  to  accept  General  Ramean's  protection.  Princess  Mariya's  indig- 
nation. Her  interview  with  Dron.  Dron*s  falsehood.  Princess  Mariya  s 
proposal  to  share  the  com. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  163. 

The  gathering  of  the  peasants.  Princess  Mariya's  speech.  The  repiesen- 
tatiye  of  her  family.    Misunderstanding. 

CHAPTER  Xn.    P.  166. 

Princess  Mariya's  retrospection.  Midnight  at  BognchlCroVD.  Review  of 
her  father's  illness. 

CHAPTER  Xni.    P.  168. 

Nikol^  and  Hyin  visit  BogachiCroTO.  NikoU'i  and  the  drunken  men. 
NikolCi  and  Alpituitch.  Dron  sides  with  the  peasants.  Nikolai's  interview 
with  Princess  Mariya.    His  courtesy. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  173. 

Nikol^  manages  the  insurgent  peasants.  Escorts  Princess  Mariya  to 
Yinkovo.    Her  gratitude.    Romance.    Nikol^  loses  his  temper. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  178. 

Prince  Andrei  joins  Eutuzof  at  Tsarevo-Zaimishchi.  Denfsof  again. 
Denisof's  bold  scheme.  Arrival  of  Kutuzof.  His  appearance.  Sorrow  at 
Prince  Bolkdnsky's  death.  Denisof  broaches  his  scheme.  Katdzof  trans- 
acts business.    ELutiizof 's  scorn  of  sense  and  science.    German  punctilio. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  184. 

Interview  between  Prince  Andrei  and  Kuttizof.  Entdzof  cunotator. 
"  Time  and  patience."    His  genuine  Russian  character.    *'  Don't.*' 

CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  188. 

Life  in  Moscow.  The  two  voices.  Rostdpchin's  placards.  Ei^rpushka 
Chigirin.  Shinshin's  jest.  Picking  lint.  Fines  for  talking  French.  Gos- 
sip concerning  the  Rostofs.    Nikolai  and  Princess  Mariya. 


n88  SYNOPSIS  OP  ''WAR  AND  PS  ACS.'* 


CHAPTER  XVlIi. 

False  reports.  Pierre's  doubts.  The  princess's  alarm.  Pierre  iemalns  ill 
Moscow.  Difficulty  in  raising  money.  Lieppich's  balloon.  Alexander's  let- 
ter to  Rostopchin.  The  Hogging  of  a  French  cook.  Pierre's  ooachman  Yer- 
Btaf  ye vitch .  Pierre  at  Perkhushkdto.  Pierte  bean  of  the  battle  of  Boiodind. 
Pierre  at  Mozhiiisk.    The  joy  of  sacrifloe. 


CHAPTBR  ItlX.    P.  196. 

Borodino,  September  7, 1812.  DisoUssion  of  the  advantaged  of  Borodino. 
The  result.  Risk  to  Napoleon.  Comparison  between  war  and  checkeis. 
Absurdity  of  the  historians.  Description  of  the  battle.  Sketch  of  the  battle- 
field. The  fallacy.  Proofb.  Necessity  of  shielding  Kutiizof.  The  real  stata 
of  the  case. 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  204. 

Pierre  leaves  Mozhiisk.  The  train  of  wounded.  The  cavalry  regiineni* 
The  singers.  Pierre  and  the  soldiers.  Pierre  and  the  doctor.  Pierre's  reflec- 
tions before  the  battle.    Pierre  reaches  Gorki.   The  landwehr  at  work  on  the 

fortifications. 

CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  208. 

Bird's-eye  view  of  the  battle-field.  The  officer's  account  of  the  Russian 
position.  The  procession  of  the  Iv^rskaya  Virgin.  The  field  Te  Denxn. 
KutUzof  before  the  ikon. 

CHAPTER  XXII.    P.  212. 

Boris  Dmbetskoi.  Proposes  to  Pierre  to  witness  the  battle  with  Henig- 
sen's  staff.  Criticises  Kutuzof.  PlTisi  Serg^yevitch  Ka'isiLrof.  Kutiixof 
summons  Pierre.  Doldkhof  again.  Marin's  poem.  Doldkhof  apologises* 
Benigsen's  invitation. 

CHAPTER  XXm.    P.  216. 

Riding  round  the  lines.  The  Kurgannaya  battery.  Bagrati<m*8  fl^bes. 
The  hare.    Benigsen  changes  one  of  Kutiizof 's  dispoeitians. 

CHAPTER  XXIV.    P.  218. 

Prince  Andrei  at  Kni&zkovo.    New  views  of  life,  love,  and  death, 
tain  Timdkhin.    Pierre  arrives.    Prince  Andrei's  annoyance. 

CHAPTER  XXV.    P.  221. 

Discussion  of  men  and  measures.  Timdkhin's  pun.  "A  skilful 
mander."  Prince  Andrei  on  Barclay  de  Tolly.  Prince  Andrei's  science  of 
war.  Those  who  win.  Woltzogen  and  Klauzewitz  ride  by.  A  fragment  of 
talk.  "  No  quarter."  Significance  of  the  war.  Latent  heat  of  patriotism. 
Prince  Andrei's  idea  of  war.  **  Good-by."  Prince  Andrei's  recoUecUoiifl  of 
NatlKsha.    Why  he  loved  her. 

CHAPTER  XXVI.    P.  229. 

Napoleon's  camp  at  Valiiyevo.  Napoleon  at  his  toilet.  The  EmpnMs'^ 
^ft.  Gerard's  portrait.  The  King  of  Rome.  Making  history.  Snthnaiasm 
m  the  French  army. 


SYNOPSIS  OP  ''WAR  AND  PBACB."  889 

CHAPTKR  XXYU.    P.  233. 

TbB  day  btfcn«  Bwodind.  Napoleon's  aetioas.  Hla  dispoaittoiia.  The 
famous  plan.  Criticisn&  of  the  pten.  Why  the  vaiioas  details  failed  to  be 
earried  out. 

OHAPTXB  XXTin.    P.  336. 

Kapoleon'a  iaUlveiiak  BSeol  on  the  battle.  Was  a  negligent  valet  the 
savior  of  Russia  ?  Fatalism  in  hialofy.  Kapolesn  as  the  repv^eentatlTe  of 
Power.    A  fictitions  oonunander. 


CHAPTER  XXIX.    P.  239. 


« 


Napoleon  before  the  battle.    '^The  chessmen  are  set.''    His  coolness. 
Fortune  is  a  flokle  jade."    Definition  of  < '  our  bodies."    ' '  The  art  of  war." 
The  signal  guns. 

CHAPTER  XXX.    P.  242. 

Pierre  views  the  battle-field  from  the  hill.  Magnificence  of  the  panorama. 
The  firing. 

CHAPTER  XXXT.    P.  245. 

Pieire  at  the  bridge.  Under  fire.  Le  baptime  du  feu.  Pierre  at  the 
Knrgibi.  Adopted  by  the  artillerymen.  Scraps  of  oonveraation.  Lack  of 
ammonltion.  Death  of  the  little  officer.  Pierre  goes  after  ammunition. 
Stunned. 

CHAPTER  XXXII.    P.  253. 
The  straggle  in  the  battery.    Yermdlof  s  chazge. 

CHAPTER  XXXin.    P.  255. 

Chief  action  of  Borodin<5.  Napoleon's  enforced  ignorance.  Impossibility 
of  directing  such  a  battle.    The  domain  of  death. 

CHAPTER  XXXrV.    P.  259. 

Re-enforcements.  Napoleon's  indecision.  Napoleon  and  Belliard.  Beaos- 
set  proDoses  breakfast.  Napoleon  like  a  eamDler.  Meaning  of  the  long- 
deferrea  viotoiy.    Napoleon  inspects  the  field.    Wholesale  butchery. 

CHAPTER  XXXV.    P.  264. 

Kut6sof.  The  German  generals.  Shcherbfnin's  report.  Woltzogen's 
despair.    Kutdzofs  indignation.    Raytfvsky.    Esprit  du  corps, 

CHAPTER  XXXVI.    P.  268. 

Prince  AndrA  with  the  reserve  under  fire.  Incidents.  The  cinnamon- 
oolored  pnppv.  The  bunch  of  wormwood.  The  bursting  shell.  Prince 
Andrei  wounaed.    Carried  to  the  field  lazaret. 


8d0  SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACE.'' 

CHAPTBB  XXXVn.    P.  273. 

The  gfOBnl  imnraaaioii.  The  Tatar  under  the  probe.  BeooUeetiaBS  of 
childhood.    Anatdrs  leg  amputated.    Nat^ha. 

CHAPTER  XXXVm.    P.  276. 

Napoleon^  tang-fuHd.  GonsentB  to  a  masring  of  artilleTy.  N^oleoii'i 
St.  Helena  judgment  of  the  Buasian  war. 

CHAPTER   XXXIX.    P.  280. 

After  the  battle.  The  message  of  the  ndn.  Reasons  for  quieeceoce. 
Would  the  battle  hare  been  won  had  Napoleon  nsed  his  Old  Guard? 
Exhaustion  of  the  French  morale.  What  is  yictory  ?  The  wounded  beast 
of  prey.    Consequence  of  the  battle. 


PART  in. 

CHAPTER  I.    Pagb  283. 

Continuous  motion.  Achilles  and  the  tortoise.  The  law  of  infinitesimals. 
Reasons  for  the  national  movement,  1800-1812.  Fallacies.  Simultaneous 
causes.    The  proper  course  of  history. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  286. 

The  law  of  yelodty  applied  to  the  Invasion.  The  "  beast "  fatally  wounded. 
Kutdzof s  report  of  victory.  Why  no  attempt  to  fight  another  battie  was 
made.  Conaitions  which  hedge  a  commander.  Criticisms  on  KutoaoC. 
The  decision  to  abandon  Moscow.    When  really  made. 

CHAPTER  in.    P.  290. 

Kutftzof  on  Pakldnnaya  Hill.  Council  of  war.  The  various  gronna. 
Benigsen's  zeal  to  defend  Moscow.  His  motive.  Kutitzof  cuts  short  tae 
disciusion. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  293. 

The  coanoil  at  Savosty^nofs  cottage.  Little  MaUsha.  The  participants: 
Ka'isl^rof,  Termdlof,  Barclay  de  Tolly,  Dvirof,  Dokhtifrof,  Ostennann- 
Tolstoi,  Konovnitsuin,  Benigsen.  The  question  broached.  Moscow  prac- 
tically abandoned.  Dispute  between  the  "  little  grandfather  "  and  "  Long- 
Skirt."    Final  decision. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  297. 

Rostdpohin's  behavior.  The  people.  Rnssian  fatalism.  Why  did  ttie 
rich  abandon  Moscow  ?  Its  majestic  significance.  Count  Roatdpohin'ft 
behavior.    His  doggerel.    Like  a  child. 


I 


SYNOPSIS  OF  '*WAR  AND  PEACE:'  891 

CHAPTBR  VI.    P.  300. 

Elian's  dilemma.  The  old  grandee  or  the  young  prince  ?  Her  nltimatnm. 
Her  belief  in  her  own  prerogative.  Her  arguinents  for  divorce  a  la  Napo- 
Uon.  Ellen  and  tlie  Romanist  priest.  The  result.  Her  conyersion  to 
Roman  Catholicism.    Her  idea  of  religion.    Venial  sin.    M.  de  Jobert. 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  303. 

Ellen's  scheme.  Gossip.  M^rja  Akhrosimoya's  frankness.  Prince 
Vasili's  advice.  Bilibin's  suggestion.  His  ban  mot,  Ellen's  mother. 
Her  jealousy.  Visit  from  the  Prim.  Ellen's  diplomacy.  Her  letter  to 
Pierre. 

CHAPTER  Vin.    P.  307. 

Pierre  after  the  battle.  The  three  soldiers.  Pierre  joins  them.  Retoms 
to  MozhCisk.    Discovered  by  his  man. 


CHAPTER  IX.    P.  810. 

Subjective  sensations.    They.    Pierre's  dream.    The  Benefactor.     Con* 
fused  wUung.    Pierre  sets  forth  from  Mozhaisk.    News. 


CHAPTER  X.    P.  313. 

(September  11,  1812.)  Pierre  summoned  before  Rostdpchin  at  Sokdlniki. 
The  ante-room.  The  bulletin.  Rumors  about  Pierre's  divorce.  Veresh- 
chagin  the  traitor.    Anecdotes.    EUiucharef. 


CHAPTER  XI.    P.  316. 

Pierre  before   RostiSpchin.     Advised  to  leave  Moscow.     Goes  home. 
Reads  his  wife's  letter.    Pierre's  disappearance. 


CHAPTER  XII.    P.  319. 

The  Countess  RosUSva's  anxiety  about  her  sons.  Her  predilection  for 
Pe'^a.  P^tya  with  Obolyensky's  Cossacks.  His  independence.  Rumors 
in  MOSCOW.  Packing  up.  Sonya's  practical  activity.  Her  melancholy. 
NatlSsha's  gayety.    Reasons  for  it. 


CHAPTER  Xin.    P.  323. 

Scene  at  the  RostiSfs'  (Sept.  11, 1812).  Getting  ready  to  start.  KatlEsha's 
idleness.  Arrival  of  the  wounded  train.  Mavra  Kuzminitchna.  NatiUha 
invites  them  in.  Extorts  her  mother's  permission.  The  count's  agitation. 
Pe'tya's  budget  of  news.    The  countess's  wile. 

CHAPTER  XrV.    P.  827. 

Hastening  preparations.  Natisha  suddenly  shows  her  capacity.  SoooesB 
in  packing.    Arrival  of  Prince  Andreli. 


&9i  SYNOPSIS  OP  ""WAR  AND  PEACS.'* 


GHAPTEB  XV.    P.  380. 

*'Lastday'' of  Moscow.    Indications.    Value  of  teams.    ThadeoHBdoa 
the  count.    The  count  yields.    The  countess's  indignatioo. 


CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  333. 

Arrival  of  Bers.  Berg's  present  positi(m.  His  account  of  aiEsin.  Aflki 
a  favor.  The  chiffonier.  NatiCsha's  outburst.  "The  eggs  teach  the  old 
hen.''    The  order  to  unpack.    The  teams  given  over  to  the  wmmded. 


CHAPTER  XVII.    P.  339. 

Sdnya  learns  of  Prince  Andrei's  presence.  She  tells  the  countesL  Nata- 
sha suspects  something.  The  farewell  prayer.  The  departure.  Natiaha 
discovers  Pierre  in  peasant  costume.  The  interview.  Pierre's  ooofuaioa. 
Natasha  wishes  she  were  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XVni.    P.  9^ 

Account  of  Pierre's  motions.  Bazdeyef  *s  books.  Geri^slm.  liakir  Alek- 
s^yevitch  Bazdeyef.    The  library.    Pierre  incognito. 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  347. 

(Sept.  13^812.)  The  Russian  troops  evacuate  Moeoow.  Napoleon  on 
Salutation  Hill.  September  weather.  View  of  Moscow.  Momcou  as  a  de- 
flowered virgin.  Napoleon's  ruminations.  His  projective  speech.  Koo- 
appearance  of  the  expected  deputation.  Alarm  of  the  suite.  Moaoow 
deserted.    Advance  on  the  city.    ^  ridicule* 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  361. 

Comparison  of  deserted  Moscow  to  a  queenless  bee-hive.  Kapoleoo 
informed.    A  fiasco. 

CHAPTER  XXI.    P.  3M. 

Tlie  Russian  soldiery  leaving  Moscow.  Plundering.  The  glimpee  of 
convicts.  Attempts  to  stop  looting.  Appeal  of  the  pimply  mercha&t. 
Attempts  to  bribe.    Comical  scene  at  the  bridge. 

CHAPTER  XXn.    P.  3B7. 

The  Ro8t4$f  mansion.  IgniCt  and  Mishka.  Ml^vra  Kunufnitchna  brings 
order  out  of  chaos.  Count  Kostdf 's  nephew  (?).  Mivra  Kuzminitchna  gives 
him  money. 

CHAPTER  XXIII.    P.  369. 

The  kabtfk  on  the  Varvdrka.  The  factory  hands.  The  dispute  between 
the  leather  worker  and  the  smith.    The  row.     Off  to  Roettfpchin's.    The 

Sowing  mob.    Rosttfpchin's  placud  of  Sept.  U.    The  chief  of  police.    Cheat- 
g  the  mob. 


sryopsis  op  '^war  and  peace:"         898 

CHAPTER  XXIV.    P.  364. 

lRoBt6pchin  retazns  to  Moscow.  His  indignation.  Iietter  from  Kntdzof. 
Criticism  upon  RoeUSpchin's  conduct.  Self-constituted  director  of  popular 
sentiment.  His  orders  to  the  different  nachlUniks.  Lunatics  and  convicts 
released. 

GHAPTBB  XXV.    P.  368. 

The  mlot  of  the  ship  of  state.  Political  storm.  Rostdpchin  and  the  mob. 
Young  Vereshch^igin  ( Vee-resh-ichdh-geen).  Kostdpchin  offers  a  scapegoat. 
*"  One  God  over  us."  The  crime.  Murder  of  Vereshohagin.  The  frenzied 
mob.  The  factory-  hand  rescued.  Remorse.  RosUSpchiu's  escape.  His  ter- 
ror. Consoling  thoughts.  Le  6ien  publiqiie.  The  escaped  lunatics.  The 
lunatic's  address  to  Rost^hin.  Rostdpchin  and  Kutiuof  on  tiie  Ytfuca 
•bridge.    Kntiizof  s  lie:  '*  We  will  not  give  up  Moscow." 

CHAPTER  XXVI.    P.  377. 

Entrance  of  the  French.  Murat.  The  Kreml  closed.  The  barricade. 
The  defence.  The  skirmish.  The  flight  of  jackdaws.  Thiers's  description. 
Soldiers  in  the  Senate  Place.  Disintegration  of  the  French  army.  Fable 
of  the  monkey.  Comparison  of  the  French  army  to  a  herd  of  famished 
cattle.  Water  in  sand.  Generals  in  the  carriage  mart.  Cause  of  the  burn- 
ing of  Moscow. 

CHAPTER  XXVII.    P.  383. 

Pierre's  abnormal  state  of  mind.  VRusse  Bemhof.  His  plan  of  assassi- 
nating Napoleon.  Reasons  for  his  zeal.  Pierre's  rehearsal.  Makir  Alek- 
aeyeyitch  gets  possession  of  his  pistol.  GenEsim  tries  to  disarm  him.  The 
souffle,    .^^yal  of  the  French. 

CHAPTER  XXVin.    P.  387. 

The  gallant  Capitaine  Ramball.  Mak^r  fires  the  pistol.  Pierre  saves  the 
officer's  life.    His  gratitude.    A  Frenchman's  magnanimity.    The  refection. 

CHAPTER  XXIX.    P.  390. 

Mtmsieur  Pierre.  Ramball's  politeness.  His  appetite.  Kvas.  Ramball's 
description  of  his  battles.  "  Where  are  the  ladies  of  Moscow  ?"  "  Paris  the 
capital  of  the  world.-'  The  emperor.  Ramball's  enthusiasm.  The  Wiirt' 
temberg  hussars.  Pierre  realizes  his  own  weakness.  The  captain's  praise 
of  the  Germans.  "Refuge"  in  German.  Ramball's  sympathy.  Story  of 
his  life.  His  gallant  adventures.  Amour!  Pierre  unbosoms  himself.  The 
beginning  of  the  conflagration. 

CHAPTER  XXX.    P.  401. 
The  Rost6fs  on  their  journey.    Distant  views  of  the  conflagration. 

CHAPTER  XXXI.    P.  403. 

Sdnya  tells  Nat^ha  of  Prince  AndrdTs  presence.  Night  in  the  Rostdfs* 
room.  Nat<Ssha  eludes  her  mother.  Visit  to  the  wounded  prince.  Hid 
appearance. 


894  SYNOPSIS  OF  "WAR  AND  PEACES 

CHAPTER  XXXII.    P.  407. 

The  oonne  of  Prince  Andrei's  illneBS.  His  illusions.  The  sphinx. 
Abnormal  condition  of  his  mind.  What  is  lore?  Natasha  appears.  Be- 
comes his  nurse. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII.    P.  413. 

(Sept.  15, 18120  Pierre's  awakening  and  remorse.  The  fires.  Pierre  sets 
forth  to  find  the  Emperor.  His  abstraction.  Scene  near  Prince  Grozinsky's 
(Prince  of  Georgia).  The  AnfertSf  family.  Mirya  NikoUyevna's  grief. 
Pierre  accompanies  Aniska  in  search  of  Kdtitchka.  The  burning  house. 
The  pillagers.    The  good-natured  Frenchman.    Rescue  of  Kdtitchka. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV.    P.  420. 

Disappearance  of  the  chindvnik's  family.  The  Armenians.  The  beauti- 
ful Armianka.  The  robbery.  Pierre  to  the  rescue.  Pierre  arreated  by  the 
Uhlans.    Taken  to  the  ZuboTsky  Val. 


VOL.  IV.  — PART   I. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paor  1. 

Life  in  St.  Petersburg  in  1812.  The  Empress  and  the  Empress  dowager. 
A  reception  at  Anna  Pavlovna's.  The  metropolitan's  letter.  Prince  VasiK 
as  a  reader.  His  art.  Ellen's  illness.  Gossip.  Anna  Paylovna  crushes  the 
indiscreet  young  man.  Bilibin's  witticism.  Prince  IppohVs  attempt  at  wit. 
The  letter.    Anna  Pdvlovna's  presentiment. 

CHAPTER  II.    P.  6. 

The  Te  Deum.  News  of  the  battle  of  Borodintf.  Sorrow  over  KatiCisors 
death.  The  countess's  death.  Count  Rostopchin's  complaint  to  the  Tsar. 
The  Emperor's  rescript. 

CHAPTER  ni.    P.  8. 

Official  report  of  the  abandonment  of  Moscow.  Colonel  Mtchaud's  inter- 
view with  the  Emperor.    His  jest.    Alexander's  emotion.    His  vow. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  11. 

Historical  perspective.  Private  interests.  Profitless  efforts.  Uselem 
knembers  of  society.  Comparison  between  tiAkers  and  doers.  KikoICi  sent 
to  Voronezh.  His  delight  at  the  change.  Interviews  with  officials.  The 
commander  of  the  landwehr.  Tlie  landed  proprietor.  The  horse  trade. 
Reception  at  the  governor's.  Provincial  life  in  1812.  NikoltCTs  popularly. 
His  skill  as  a  dancer.    The  pretty  blonde. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  16. 

Nikolii's  flirtation.  Niki ta  Ivltnovitoh.  Anna  Igntftyevna  HalyintseTa. 
The  j^ovemor's  wife  scolds  Nikolai.  Proposes  that  he  should  mariy  Prinoees 
Many  a.    Nikolai's  frankness. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.''  896 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  20. 

Marfya  at  her  aunt's.  The  unstable  equilibrinm  of  her  emotions. 
Intenriew  with  Nikolai.  Her  mcef  al  manners.  The  alabaster  lamp.  Nik- 
oltff  s  perplexity.  His  ideal  of  the  married  state.  The  service  at  the  cathe- 
dral,   ifikol^  comforts  the  princess.    Impression  made  upon  him. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  24. 

Nikolai's  comparison  between  Sonya  and  Mariya.  His  pzayer  and  the 
answer.    Letters  from  home. 

CHAPTER  Vin.    P.  29. 

The  explanation  of  Sdnya's  letter.  Her  self-saorifloe.  Talk  with  Natl^ 
sha  at  Troitsa.    Reminiscences  of  Twelfth  Night. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  33. 

Pierre  in  the  gnard-honse.  Tried  as  an  incendiary.  The  judicial  gutter. 
Transferred  to  the  coach-house. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  36. 

Pierre  brought  before  the  marshal.  Glimpses  of  the  burnt  city.  The 
wrecked  Russum  nest.  French  order.  Davoust  and  Piezre.  Saved  by  a 
look.    Doubts.    The  chain  of  events. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  40. 

The  execution  in  the  Dievitchye  Pole.  The  prisoners.  **  Two  at  a  time.*' 
"No.  5."    Buried  alive. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  44. 

Reprieved.  The  balagtfn.  Platon  Karatliyef.  The  pink  puppy.  Kan^ 
Uiyef  s  proverbs.    The  story  of  his  life.    His  prayer. 

CHAPTER  XIII.    P.  49. 

Karatlivef  as  the  embodiment  of  the  truly  Russian.  His  general  rotundity. 
His  peculiarities.    Life. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  62. 

Princess  Mariya  plans  to  go  to  her  brother.  Her  outfit.  Her  firmness  of 
purpose.  Her^  feelings  toward  Nikolai.  Arrival  at  YarosUvl.  Meeting 
with  the  Rostdf  family.  The  old  countess.  Sdnya.  Change  in  the  count. 
Natasha.    Understandmgs. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  68. 

Princess  Mariya  sees  her  brother.  His  lack  of  Interest  in  all  earthly 
things.    NikoltSshka. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  62. 

Change  in  Prince  Andrei.  His  realization  of  death.  Love.  Andrei  and 
Nati»ha.  His  strange  dream.  **It"  The  awakening  from  life  into  death. 
Tlie  farewell.    Death. 


896  SYNOPSIS  OF  ^'WAR  AND  PEACRT 


PART  II. 

GHAPTEB  I.    PAGBflD. 

AflBOoiation  of  CAUse  and  effect.  The  will  of  historical  heioeB.  The  flank 
moyement.  CriticiBms  on  the  historiaoB.  The  poesibilitr  of  other  reaolta. 
The  war  connoil  at  Ffli.  The  real  reason  for  abandoning  direct  retreat.  Bn 
post  facto  judgments. 

CHAPTER  II.    P.  72. 


The  change  of  roate.  Kntilzof  at  Tamtind.  His  peonliar  merit.  Lanris- 
ton's  errand.  The  cry  of  the  wounded  Beast.  "  The  spirit  of  the  people." 
Changed  relations  of  the  armies.    The  chime  of  bells. 

CHAPTER  ni.    P.  75. 

The  directors  of  the  Russian  army.  Changes  in  the  staff.  Intrigues. 
The  Emperor's  letter  to  Kutdzof.  The  Cossack  Shapov^lof.  The  baSUe. 
Kutiizof  s  inability  to  restrain  the  army.    Consenting  to  a/ott  aecMnpU. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  77. 

Kutifzof  signs  the  order  drawn  up  by  Toll.  Admirable  plan.  Feasibility. 
The  messenger  in  search  of  Yermdlof .  The  ball  at  General  K£kln*s.  Dan- 
cing the  Triepaka. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  79. 

Kutnzof  sets  forth.  The  misunderstanding.  His  fuy.  BidMii  and 
Captain  Brozin.    Bepentanoe. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  81. 

The  rendezTous.  Count  Orlof-Denisof.  The  Polish  deserter.  The jno- 
jected  attack  on  Murat.  "Too  late."  Called  back.  The  charge.  Ms- 
oners.  Murat's  narrow  escape.  Cossack  plunders.  Failure  of  the  plan. 
Bagaviit  and  Toll.    Taratind. 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  85. 

Kutiizof  s  nonchalance.  Result  of  the  battle  of  Tarutind.  The  essential 
condition  of  any  battle.  Inipoasibility  of  controlling  forces.  Pliradoxical 
value  of  the  battle  of  Tamtind. 

CHAPTER  Vni.    P.  87. 

Napoleon  at  Moscow.  Brilliancy  of  his  position.  Stupidity  of  hie  actoal 
course.    His  genius  and  activity. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  89. 

Napoleon's  actions.  Captain  Yakdvlef  sent  to  Petenborg.  Matien  miB- 
tarv,  diplomatic,  judicial,  administrative,  etc.  Proclamationa  TUeis's 
"  eloquent  narratiTe.'' 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  9a. 

Failure  of  his  projeots.  Reports  of  French  offldals.  The  wounded  Firut, 
Napoleon's  power. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE."  897 


CHAPTBR  XI.    P.  90. 

(Oct  18,  1812.)  Pierre  in  the  balagin.  The  ^ink  poppy.  Pierre's  dieas. 
The  change  in  him.  Indian  Summer  (Bibye  lie'to).  Corpond  St.  Thomas, 
Karatayei  and  the  French  soldier.    The  new  shirt. 

CHAPTER  Xn.    P.  lOL 

PriyatioDS.  The  secret  of  life.  The  concept  "happiness."  Hopes  for 
the  fatore.    Pierre's  standing  among  the  prisoners. 

CHAPTER  Xin.    P.  104. 

BMdnning  to  retreat.  The  siok  soldier  Sokdlof.  The  corporal.  The 
fatefiU  force.    Off.    Bnmt  Moscow.    The  corpse. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  107. 

Scenes  in  the  retreatingarmy.  Treatment  of  the  prisoners.  Hoise-flesh. 
Piwre's  sadden  hilarity.    Mis  immortal  soul. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  112. 

Napoleon's  second  letter.  Defensire  operations  demanded.  Dokhtrfrot 
sent  against  Broossier.  Character  of  Dokhtdrof.  An  nnsang  hero.  The 
silent  moU»  and  the  diaving.    Bolkhovitinof  sent  to  headquarters  for  orders* 


CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  115. 

Bolkhovitfnof s  arrival  at  headquarters.    Shcherbfnin.    KonovnitBiiin'a 
oharaoter.    At  swords'  points. 


CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  117. 

Kutdzof .    Time  and  Patience.    His  yiews  concerning  the  wounded  Beast 
The  desire  of  his  heart.    Hearing  the  news.    How  affected. 


CHAPTER  XVin.    P.  121. 

Eatdzofs  efforts  to  prevent  active  operations.  Criticisms  on  Napoleon's 
historians.  Ir'J9durraA  de  PEmpereur,  Napoleon's  timidly.  Decides  to 
retreat 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  U2. 

The  obJeotiTe  of  a  journey.  Limited  perspective.  Power  increased  in 
an  aggregation.  Kutdzof  resists  offensive  operations.  The  fatal  raad  to 
Smoleiisk. 


898  SYNOPSIS  OF  ^'WAR  AND  PEACSJ^ 


PART  m. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paqs  126. 

Philoeophyof  conqaest.    Fallacy  of  the  ordinary  theory.    The  daellisi 
out  of  rale.   Theoluh.    Irregular  warfare.    Honor  to  the  BnawaiiB. 

CHAPTBR  n.    P.  129. 
PttrtlBan  warfare.    The  unknown  quantity.    Spirit  of  the  aimy.    Tkotlcs. 

CHAPTER  m.    P.  131. 

Organization  of  the  partisan  warfare.  Davnf dof.  Different  hands.  De- 
msof  in  the  forest.  Plan  to  join  forces  with  Doldkhof.  200  o«.  1500.  "Ci^ 
taring  a  tongue." 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  135. 

Denfsof 8  hand.  The  esaol  Mikhail  Feokltftuitoh  LortfiikL  The  Frsoch 
drommer  boy.    Arrival  of  P^tya  Rostdf . 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  139. 

Reconnaissance  of  Shimsheyo.  Escape  of  Tfkhon  Shcherbtftol  TCkhon^ 
character. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  142. 
Tflchon  relates  his  experiences. 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  14B. 

P^tya's  career.  Scene  at  the  forest  izbtf.  Petya's  generosity.  *'I  like 
something  sweet."    Vincent  Bosse:  Ves^nnoi. 

CHAPTBR  Vni.    P.  148. 

Doldkhofs  arrival.  P^tya  volunteers  to  enter  the  French  lines.  Dold* 
khof 'b  treatment  of  prisoners. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  151. 
The  visit  to  the  French  camp.    Doldkhof  s  audacity.    P^tym%  enthusiani. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  154. 

Ptftya  returns.    Illusions.    The  orchestral  conoert.    Theaheipened 
Dawn  in  the  woods. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ""WAR  AND  PEACE.''  899 


CHAPTER  XI.    P.  169. 

The  start.  The  signAl.  The  attack.  P^tgpa  killed.  Denfsofs  soxiow. 
Pierre  set  free. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  162. 
Pierre's  ezperienoes.    KaratiCyef.    Sufferings.    The  power  of  yitality. 

CHAPTER  Xin.    P<^ 
Si^mi.    Karattfyefs  story  of  the  merohant  unjustly  punished. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  168. 
The  marshal.    Ezecutioa  of  Karat&yef .    The  soldiers. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  170. 

Pierre's  dream  of  life.  The  liquid  sphere.  Rude  awakening.  Dreams. 
Idheration.    Burial  of  P^tya. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  172. 

Beginning  of  cold  weather.  Melting  away  of  the  French  army.  Beiv 
thier's  letter  to  Napoleon. 

CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  174. 

Relations  of  the  French  and  Russian  armies.  Blind-man's-huff.  Flight 
of  the  French.    Escape  of  Napoleon. 

CHAPTER  XVIII.    P.  176. 

Criticism  upon  historians  who  consider  the  action  of  the  masses  suhsert 
▼lent  to  Uie  will  of  one  man.    The  ugly  truth.    Greatness. 

CHAPTER  XIX.    P.  178. 

Why  the  Russians  failed  to  cut  off  the  French.  Reply  to  the  historians. 
Object  of  the  campaign.  Senseless  reasons.  Comparison  of  cattle  in  a  gar- 
den.   Impossibility  of  cutting  off  an  army.    Difficulty  of  the  march. 


PART    IV. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paob  183. 


Horror  of  death.  Nattfsha  and  Princess  Marfya.  Effect*  of  Prince 
Andre's  death.  The  necessity  of  living.  Nattfsha's  retrospection.  The 
solution  of  the  mystery.    Bad  news. 

CHAPTER  n.    P.  187. 

NaUCsha's  mental  state.  Effect  of  the  bad  news  on  the  old  count.  Ob 
the  countess.    Re-action. 


400  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE/" 

OHAPTEB  III.    P.  189. 

Natasha's  influence  oyer  her  mother.  Healing  of  Natasha's  heart  woond. 
Her  friendship  with  Prinoeas  Mariya.  The  mutual  love  of  women.  Nat^ 
sha's  health. 

GHAPTBR  IV.    P.  192. 

The  Russians  pursue  the  Frenoh.  Losses  of  the  Bnsisans.  Direction  d 
Kutiizof's  intuitions.  His  efforts.  Skirmish  at  Krasnoye.  Gritidsms  on 
Kutiizof. 

OHAPTEB  V.    P.  195. 

Eulogy  of  Kutiizof  s  oharacter.  Reasons  for  the  choioe  of  him  as  leader 
of  the  popular  war. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  199. 

(Koy.  17,  1812.)  After  the  hattle.  Kutdzofs  speech.  His  emoifeioiL 
Popular  en^usiasm. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  203. 
A  snowy  night  in  oamp.    The  wattled  hedge. 

CHAPTER  Vin.    P.  206. 
Camp  scenes.    The  danoe  and  song.    Soldiers'  gossip. 


CHAPTER  IX.    P.  209. 

Captain  Ramhall.     Kindly  received.     Morel  sings.    Zalettfyef  tries  to 
sing  Frenoh.    The  stars. 

CHAPTER  X.    P.  211. 


Kntilzol 

Vilno.    ^   ^^_.    _ 

Emperor.    Effect  on  KutUzof.    Alexander  offers  blame.    The  decoration. 


CHAPTER  XI.    P.  217. 

Kuttfzof 8  banquet.  The  Emperor's  covert  politeness.  Tlie  war  not 
ended.  Kutiizof  a  stumbling-block.  Reconstitutmg  the  staff.  "HI  health" 
an  excuse.    The  European  significance  of  the  movement.    Death  of  Kntiisol 


CHAPTER  Xn.    P.  219. 

Pierre's  illness.  Dim  recollections.  Awakening  to  new  life.  The  }oyoas 
sense  of  freedom.  His  faith  in  an  everywhere  present  God.  The  simple 
answer. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  "WAR  AND  PEACE.*'  401 


CHAPTER  XIII.    P.  222. 

Change  in  Pierre.  His  ooiisin  the  princess.  His  servant  Terentii.  The 
doctor's  enthnsiasm.  The  Italian  officer's  devotion  to  him.  Villarsky. 
Pierre's  gentleness  of  judgment.  "  To  give  or  not  to  give."  New  standards. 
The  ^>ench  colonel  refused.  Pierre's  losses.  His  wife's  debts.  His  head 
overseer  Savelyitch.    Views  of  Russia. 


CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  227. 

Comparison  of  Moscow  to  an  ant-hill.  The  "  something  indestructible." 
The  population.  Plundering.  Comparison  between  the  pillage  of  the  French 
and  Russians.    Restoration  of  order. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  230. 

(February,  1815.)  Pierre  in  Moscow.  Calls  upon  Princess  Manya.  The 
"  kompanyonka."  The  rusty  door.  Natasha.  Pierre's  delight.  Change  in 
Natdsha. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  233. 
Condolence.    Story  of  Prince  Andrei's  death.    Nat^ha's  narration. 


CHAPTER  XVn.    P.  236. 

A  midnight  supper.    Re-action  after  a  solemn  talk.    Mdrya  Avrdmovna's 

fossip.  "An  interesting  personage."  Pierre's  reflection  on  his  wife's  death, 
lerre  relates  the  story  of  his  captivity.  Effect  of  a  genuine  woman.  Nata- 
sha's intuitions.  Prince.ss  Manya's  forecast.  Pierre's  self-jgratulation  on  his 
experiences.  Natasha  bursts  into  tears.  Is  Prince  Andrei  to  be  forgotten? 
**  Pierre's  moral  bath." 

CHAPTER  XVIII.    P.  241. 

Pierre's  resolution.  Postpones  his  journey  to  Petersburg.  Offers  Savtfl- 
yitch  his  freedom.  SavcHyitch  advises  Fiim  to  marry.  Pierre's  cousin  fails  to 
inid«t8tand.  Love  changes  the  world.  Burnt  Moscow.  Dreams.  Natasha 
transformed.  Embarrassment.  Pierre  confides  in  Princess  Mariya.  "I 
shall  await  your  return  with  impatience." 

CHAPTER  XIX.    :ff  247. 
Pierre's  joyous  insanity.    His  judgments  of  men. 

CHAPTER  XX.    P.  249. 
The  change  in  Nat^ha.    Princess  Marfya*s  amazement. 

VOL,4.  —  26. 


402  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.'* 


EPILOG.  — PART    I. 

CHAPTER  I.     Paqb  251. 

(1819.)  The  storm-tossed  historical  sea.  Re-action  and  progress.  Alsr^ 
ander  I.  Reproaches  on  his  re-actiouary  tendencies.  The  welfare  oi 
humanity.    The  activity  of  Napoleon  and  Alexander. 

CHAPTER  II.    P.  264. 
Chance.    Genius.    The  parable  of  the  fattened  sheep.    Facts  and  obJectSp 

CHAPTER  in.    P.  256. 

The  movements  of  the  nations.  R^stim^  of  Napoleon's  life.  The  man 
needed.  The  readiness  of  the  forces.  The  movement  from  west  to  east. 
The  counter-movement. 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  261. 

The  new  upheaval.  The  return  of  the  man  of  destiny.  The  last  act. 
Fate.  R^8um6  of  Alexander's  career.  Dual  relationship  of  man.  The 
final  object  of  bees. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  263. 

Nat^ha's  marriage.  The  Rostdf  family.  The  count's  death.  His  debts. 
Nikolai's  sense  of  honor.  Inclemency  of  the  debtors.  Hard  ds^.  Sdnya's 
character.    Nikold'i  misanthropic. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  267. 

Princess  Mariya'a  call  at  the  Rostdfs'.  NikolA''s  reserve.  The  countess 
urges  Nikolai  to  call  on  the  princess.  Nikolai's  call.  The  princess's  ab- 
straction.   A  personal  turn  to  the  conversation.    An  explanation. 

CHAPTER  VII.    P.  271. 

Nikolai's  marriage.  His  mode  of  conducting  his  estate.  His  confidence 
in  the  muzhik.  His  rule  of  conduct.  His  worlu  apart.  Countess  Mariya's 
jealous  amazement.    His  theories. 

CH.*PTER  VIII.    P.  275. 

Nikoliii's  quick  temper.  Mariya's  ^ef.  Nikolai's  repentance.  The 
broken  cameo.  His  position  in  the  province.  His  routine.  His  love  for  his 
wife.  S<5nya.  Natasha's  judgment  upon  ScSnya.  "A  sterile  flower."  The 
establishment  at  Liusiya  Gorui. 

CHAPTER  IX.    P.  279. 

St.  Nioholafl  Day,  1820.  Visitors  at  the  Rostdfs*.  Nikolai's  Ul-humor. 
A  slight  misunderstanding.  Nikolai's  broken  nap.  Nikol£['8  son  and 
daughter.  The  misunderstanding  righted.  Jjoving  one's  little  finger.  The 
baby's  logic.  NikoU'i's  partiality.  Retrospect.  Countess  Man'ya/s  happi- 
ness. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE."  403 


CHAPTER  X.    P.  284. 

Change  in  Natilsha.  The  old  fire.  A  model  wife  and  mother.  Accom- 
plishments abandoned.  Vital  questions.  The  significance  of  marriage. 
Domesticity.  Pieire's  subjection.  Natasha's  logic.  Seven  years  of  mar- 
ried life. 

CHAPTER  XI.    P.  289. 

Pierre  goes  to  Petersburg.  His  long  stay.  Nat&ha's  annoyance.  The 
baby  as  a  consolation.  Pierre's  arrival.  NatiCsha's  delight.  A  revulsion. 
A  passing  storm. 

CHAPTER  XII.    P.  293. 

Effect  of  Pierre's  arrival  on  the  various  members  of  the  household.  Prince 
Nikdlenka  Bolkdnsky.    Gifts.    The  old  countess.    Second  childhood. 

CHAPTER  Xin.    P.  298. 

The  old  countess's  moods.  Anna  Timofeyevna  By^lova.  GkMsip.  De- 
m'sof.  The  Bible  Society.  Dangerous  ground.  The  children's  hour.  The 
mysterious  stocking. 

CHAPTER  XIV.    P.  301. 

Nikdlenka  asks  to  stay  with  his  elders.  Denisof's  oridoisms  on  the 
government.  Rottenness  in  public  affairs.  The  discussion.  The  secret 
society.  Nikdlenka's  excitement.  Nikolai's  threat.  Natasha's  calming 
influence.    The  broken  quills. 

CHAPTER  XV.    P.  306. 

Extracts  from  Countess  Mariya's  journal.  Nikol^Ts  approval.  Plans  for 
Nikdienka.    Domestic  confidences. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    P.  311. 

Natasha  and  Pierre.  Other  domestic  confidences.  Would  Karat^yef 
approve?    A  hint  of  jealousy.    Young  Bolkdnsky's  dream.    His  tow. 


PART  II. 

CHAPTER  I.    Paob  317. 

The  object  of  history.  The  two  schools  of  History.  The  chosen  Man. 
The  Will  of  the  Divinity.  The  old  theories  still  obtain.  The  movement 
of  the  nations.  Legitimate  questions.  The  New  History's  statement  of 
facts.  A  caricature  disclaimed.  "What  force  moves  the  Nations?"  A 
new  force. 

CHAPTER  II.    P.  322. 

Contradictory  views.  Thiers  and  Lanfrey.  General  historians.  Power 
and  its  factors.  Personal  power.  Historians  of  culture.  Intellectual  activ- 
ity.   The  Contrat  Social.    Faulty  reasoning. 


404  SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.'' 

CHAPTER  III.    P.  326. 
The  parable  of  the  looomotiye.    The  idea  of  Power.    Metaphor  of  money- 

CHAPTER  IV.    P.  328. 

Two  alternatives.  Power  given  by  God.  Moral  siii>eriori1y.  The  Science 
of  Law.  Accnmalated  wills.  Napoleon  as  a  representative.  Fallacies.  The 
three  answers.  Criticism  upon  them.  Parable  of  the  botanist.  The  life  of 
nations  not  expressed  in  historical  characters.  Abstractions.  The  Cnuades. 
Distinction  between  personal  biographies  and  real  history. 

CHAPTER  V.    P.  336. 

The  parable  of  the  herd.  Reasoning  in  a  circle:  ''Power  is  Power."  Is 
Power  only  a  word  ?  Men  and  commands.  Miracles.  Power  not  the  cause 
of  events.  Continuity  in  time.  Connection  between  eommander  and  oom- 
manded. 

CHAPTER  VI.    P.  338. 

What  is  a  command?  Mistalcen  conception.  The  expedition  against 
England.  Infeasible  commands.  Metaphor  of  the  stencil  jilate.  Anocia- 
tion  and  co-operation.  Commanders  and  workers.  Illustration:  the  army. 
The  cone.  The  universality  of  this  mutual  relationship.  The  concept 
"Power." 

CHAPTER  Vn.    P.  342. 

Further  illustrations  of  Power.  Men  who  do  the  planning  and  justifying. 
Parable  of  the  sbip  and  the  ripple.  Events  not  dependent  upon  commands. 
The  real  answer  to  the  question:  "What  Is  Power?"  To  the  question: 
"  What  force  moves  the  nations  ?  "    The  phenomena. 


CHAPTER  Vni.    P.  345. 

History  concerned  not  alone  with  external  phenomena.  Free  Will  and 
Fate  (Necessity).  No  example  in  History  of  free  will.  Apparent  contra- 
diction. Consciousness.  Will  must  be  free.  Will  must  be  limited.  Sub- 
jection to  laws.  Tlie  will  and  gravitation.  Greater  or  less  degrees  of 
freedom.  Theology,  Law,  Ethics,  and  History.  Scorn  for  the  "diflfusion 
of  literature."  Tlie  physicists.  Laws  of  Necessity  always  recognized.  Ab- 
surdities of  Evolution.    Fable  of  the  masons. 


CHAPTER  IX.    P.  350. 

Advantage  of  History  as  an  empirical  science.  The  reconciliation  of  the 
contradictions.  Union  of  Free  Will  and  Fate.  Mutual  variation.  The 
standpoint.  The  three  fundamental  principles:  Space,  Time,  and  Caoa- 
ality.    Extenuating  circumstances.    Besponsibility. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.'*  406 


OHAPTBR  X.    P.  355. 

Greatest  poesible  Freedom  and  Neoessitv.  Absolute  Freedom  or  Neces- 
sity unthinkable.  Proof.  Impossibility  of  being  outside  of  space,  time,  and 
causality.  Reason  and  consciousness.  Substance  and  form.  Comparison 
between  Gravity  and  the  force  of  Free  Will.  The  Force  of  Free  Will  the 
substance.    Vital  force. 

CHAPTBB  XI.    P.  361. 

How  far  History  is  a  science.    The  grasping  and  definition  of  laws  the 
object  of  History.    The  application  of  the  theory  of  differentiation. 


CHAPTER  XII.    P.  362. 

Subyersiye  discoveries.  The  struggle  between  the  old  view  and  the  new. 
The  position  of  Theoloey.  The  new  theory  not  destructive.  Astronomy  and 
History.    Fallacious  dictates  of  consGiousness.    What  is  needed. 


PRINCIPAL  CHARACTERS  IN   "WAR 

AND  PEACE." 


Beznkh^      Count  Kirill  Vladimiroyitch. 

Count  Pidtr  (Pierre)  KirilloTitoh  (KirHuitch). 
Bolkonsky:       Prince  Nikolai  Andreyevitch. 

Prince  Andrei  (Andre,  Andr^yuaha)  Nikol^yeyitch  (Kiko- 

l^itch). 
Prince  NikoliTi  (Nikoltisha,  Nikdienka). 
Bolkdnflkaya:  Princess  Yelizayieta  (Liza,  Lise)  Karlovna  (n^e  Meinen). 

Princess  Mariya  (Marie,  Masha,  Miishenka)  Kikolityevna, 
afterwards  Countess  Bostdva. 


Knrigin: 
Kurdgina: 
Boetdf: 
Bostdva: 


Berg: 

Dmb^tskoi: 
Drub^tskaya : 
Karagina : 


Mamdntoya: 


Denisof: 

Doldkhof: 
Doldkhoya: 

Akhrasimoya: 
Shinshin : 
Timdkhin: 


Prince  VasHi  (Basil)  Sergeyevitch  (Sergcyitch). 
Prince  Ippolit  Vasilyevitch. 
Prince  Anatol  Vasilyeyitch. 

Princess  Yel^na  (Elena,  Ellen,  Lydlina,  Lydlya)  Vasilyeyna, 
afterwards  Countess  Beziikhaya. 

Count  llya  Andreyeyitch  (Andr^yitch). 

Count  Nikolai  (Nikdienka,  Nikdlnshka,  Ediya,  Koko)  llyitch. 

Count  Pidtr  (Petya,  Petnishka,  P^tenka)  Ilyitch. 

Countess  Nat^lya^n^e  Shinshina. 

Countess  Vie'ra  (Yie'rushka,  Vierotchka)  Ilyinitchna,  after- 
wards Mrs.  Berg. 

Countess  Natalya  (Nathalie,  Natisba)  Ilyinitchna,  afterwards 
Countess  Beziikhaya. 

Sdfya  (Sophie,  Sdnya,  Sdnyushka)  Aleksandroyna,  the  niece 
01  the  Rostofs. 

Dmitri  (Mi  tenka)  Vasilyeyitch,  the  adopted  son  and  manager. 

Alphonse  Karluitch. 

Prince  Boris  (Bdrenka). 
Princess  Anna  Mikhailoyna. 
M^rya  Lvdvna  and  her  daughter 
Julie,  afterwards  Princess  Drub^tskaya. 

Princess  Yekatyerina(Ekat6rina,  Catherine,  Katish,  Katiche) 

Semydnovna. 
Princess  Sdfya  Semydnovna.  |  p.       ,   oo^gina. 
Pnncess  Olga  Semydnovna.    J  *  wi«**«. 

Vasili  (Vaska)  Feddorovitch. 

Feddor  (F^dya)  Iv^novitch,  son  of 
Mirya  IvfCnovna. 

Marya  Dmitrievna. 
Pi6tr  NikoUyevitch. 
Prokhdr  Ignatyevitch. 

406 


PRINCIPAL  CHARACTERS  IJST  ''WAR  AND  PEACE.*'   407 

Bazd^yef :  (^ip  (Idsiph)  Aleks<fyevitch  (vol.  ii,  p.  68). 

Schubert:  General  I£arl  Bogdanovitch  (Bogd^nuitch). 

Perdnskaya :  Marya  Igiiatyevna  (vol.  ii.  p.  198). 

Karatayef :  Platon  (Platdsha,  Platoche),  yol.  iv.  p.  45. 

Smolyaninof :  Lieutenant  Telyanin. 

Mel^kova:  Pela^ava  Danilovna  (vol.  ii.  p.  296). 

Scherer:  Anna  Pavlovna  (Annette). 

Bouricnne  (Biirienka) :  Mile.  Amelie. 

Mikhail  Nikanorovitch  ("  The  Little  Uncle"). 

Semydn  Chekmar,  Daniio  (Danila)  Terentyitch,  £duard  Karluitch  Dimmler, 
ZaKhar,  Luiza  Ivanovna  Schoss,  Tikhon,  Maksimka,  Marya  Bogdtfnovna 
the  midwife,  Feoktist  the  cook,  Praskdvya  Savishna  the  old  uyanya, 
Ivanushka  the  old  pilgrim,  Feddsyushka,  Father  AmHIokhi,  MiCvrushka 
the  maid,  6eK[8im  the  servant,  Ilyushka  the  gypsy,  Yakof  Alp^tuitoh, 
Lavrushkisk,  etc. 

•  •  •  • 

The  Emperor  Alexander  Pavlovitch  (Bomdnof). 

The  Emperor  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

Mikh^'il  Iliaronovitch  Kutdzof. 

P^vel  Ivdnovitch  Kutuzof  (vol.  iii.  p.  178). 

Feddor  Vasilyevitcii  Rostdpchin  {Ras-tdp-tchin),  vol.  ii.  p.  318. 

Prince  Adam  Czartorufsky  {Char-to-rfs-ky). 

Count  Ostermann-Tolstd'i. 

General  Prschebiszewsky  iPresh-^v-Jsky), 

Mikhail  Mikhailovitch  Speransky  (vol.  ii.  p.  318). 

Aleksei  Andrevevitch  Arakohe'yef  (vol.  ii.  p.  163). 

General  Miloradovitch. 

Yiiri  V lad  imirov itch  Dolgoriikof  or  Dolgoruki. 

Count  Viazemsky. 

Prince  Aleksandr  Naruishkin. 

Feddor  Petrdvitch  Uvarof. 

General  Benigsen  (or  Benningsen). 

Countess  Potocka  {Pototska). 

Count  Maikof . 

Prince  Soltuikdf  (Saltykoff). 

Generals  Winzengerd'de,  Barclay  de  Tolly  (vol.  iii.  p.  38),  Yermdlof,  Count 
Orlof-Denfsof  (vol.  iv.  n.  82),  PoniiCtowsky  (vol.  iii.  p.  202),  Novosfltsof, 
Weirother,  Balashof,  Murat  (vol.  iii.  p.  16,  378),  Davoust  (vol.  iii.  p.  18; 
iv.  137),  Pfuhl  (Pfuhl)  (vol.  iii.  p.  40),  Rumyantsof,  Stoluipin,  Grand  Duke 
Konstantin  Pavlovitch  (vol.  iii.  p.  39),  Potemkin  (Pat-ydm-kin),  Suvfirof 
(Suvarof,  Suwarrow),  etc. 


t>LACES   MENTIONED. 


ArMtskaya  Square. 

BezzuboYO,  B61shava^rdQinka»  Btflshiya  Mnitishchi. 
Bogach^royo,  Bolotnaya  Pldshchad,  Borodind,  Bukar^. 

Dieyitchye  Pole. 

Dorogomil(y)eYBkaya  Barrier,  Dorogobtizh,  Drissa. 

Fili,  Fominskoye. 

G<5rki|  Gostfnnoi  DyoTi  Gridn(y)€ya,  Gr^hensky. 

flyinka  Street. 
Ivin  Veliki. 

Kaldtcha  (R,),  Kalilga,  Kaltfzhskaya  (barrier),  K^Cineimiii  Ostrof  (Stone 

Island),  Kammerkolezhskv  (rampart),  Kamiensko. 
Kief  {Keef)^  Kitai-gdrod,  Kremenchtig,  Khamdvniki,  KolyaziD,  Korchero 

(Kor-tcny(f^a),  Korniki,  Kostrdma,  Kudrina  (St.)* 
Kutafya  gate,  Kruimsky  Brod  (a  pool  or  pond,  now  filled  up),  Konyiiahen- 

naya  (St.),  Knisnaya  Pakhra,  Kni^zkovo. 

Letashevko,  Lubyinka,  Ldbnoye  Myesto,  Lytfdovakaya,  Luisiya  G^mi. 

Malo-Yardslavets,  Milyiya  Mmtishcbi,  Miduin,  Mo6ky<&  (Moeoow)  Biyer. 

Nik61a  Tl^ylennoi,  Ndyoye,  Noyo-Dieyitchy  (Monastery). 

Ok^  (R.),  Ostrdyno,  Ostrdlenko,  Otrtfdnoye. 

Pskkldnnaya  (Salutation)  Gdrui,  Pa(o)yfokaya  (St.),  Pieobrazh^nskoi  (zhyifn), 

Prichistenaky  (Boulevard). 
Perkhushkdvo,  Podnoye'nsky  (St.). 

RadsE.i«il<kf,  Rykdnty. 

Saltl^noyo,  Sheyardin6,  Sam^rof. 

Sokdlniki,  Semyondyskpye,  SwiencllCny,  Sukhiref  (Tower). 

Sdkolnitchye  Pdle,  Shamsheyo. 

Ts^revo,  Zaimfshchi,  Tat^rinoyo,  Ty^rskaya  (barrier),  Tftnitiii6. 
Tri  Gdrui. 

Ukrd'ina,  T^tltsa,  IJyl^royo. 

Vibao  (Wilna),  VaWkhia  (Wallachia),  Yozdyfzhenka  (St.). 
Vorontsdyo,    val6yeyo,   Vasili   Bll^zhennui,  Vordlyeyoi  Gdmi  (Spartowa 
Hills),  Voron(y)6:di. 

Yankdyo. 
Tiikhnoyo. 

Zn^menka,  ZakblErino,  Zayi^rzino. 

408 


1